Page 39 of Born in Fire

“You’re incredible,” he says, tracing my cheekbone with his thumb.

The simple statement brings tears to my eyes, though I couldn’t explain exactly why. “So are you.”

He smiles, a warm, genuine expression that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Stay right here. I’ll be back.”

He disappears into the bathroom, returning moments later with a warm washcloth. The tenderness with which he cleans me is almost more intimate than the sex itself. No one has ever cared for me this way afterward—taken the time to ensure my comfort without making me feel dirty or used.

When he’s done, he draws me close again, pulling a quilt from the back of the couch to cover our cooling bodies. We lie together in comfortable silence, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my arm, my hand splayed across his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart.

“I don’t usually do this,” I confess softly.

“What’s that? Have mind-blowing sex on the couch?” His tone is teasing, but his eyes are serious when I look up at him.

“Open up like this.” I trace the outline of one of his tattoos, following the dragon’s tail as it curls around his bicep. “Let someone in so quickly.”

His arm tightens around me. “I don’t either.”

“Really?” I can’t help the skepticism in my voice. A man who looks like him, who moves with such confidence, whoknows exactly how to touch a woman—surely he’s had plenty of experience.

“Really,” he confirms. “I’ve had my share of… encounters. But this is different.”

I feel a surge of jealousy at the thought of those “encounters,” but I fight it down.

“Different how?”

He seems to consider the question carefully, as if searching for the right words.

“I’m not good at letting people get close. Never have been.” His voice grows softer. “But with you, it’s like… I don’t know. Like part of me recognizes something in you.”

The confession catches me off guard with its sincerity. “I feel that too,” I admit. “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way we just… fit.”

“Strange,” he agrees. “But good.”

We fall silent again, content to exist in the shared warmth of our bodies, the shared intimacy of the moment. Outside, the city continues its nighttime symphony of car horns and distant sirens. Inside, there’s just us—two people who’ve found unexpected comfort in each other’s arms.

And in this moment, I feel truly at peace. Not because a man is holding me, but because I’ve chosen this connection—freely, deliberately, with full awareness of my own desires. Tyler’s shadow seems to recede further with each passing moment, each gentle touch of Dorian’s fingers on my skin.

“Stay,” I murmur, echoing his words from the night before. “Stay the night with me.”

His lips brush my forehead, and I feel his smile against my skin. “I’m not going anywhere, stargazer.”

I believe him. Whatever this is between us—this unexpected, powerful connection—I want to explore it fully. No more hiding. No more fear. Just this moment, this man, and the person I’m becoming with him.

As sleep claims me, my last thought is that something fundamental has shifted inside me. Like a key turning in a lock, opening a door to possibilities I’ve only just begun to imagine.

My night is dreamless, restful. Not filled with faceless forms who pursue me down endless corridors.

Finally, morning light wakes me, golden and warm across the bed. He must have carried me here in the night, and I find myself warmed by the thought of it. I open my eyes to find Dorian already awake, watching me with an expression I can’t quite decipher.

“You’re still here,” I observe, voice husky with sleep. I’d half-expected to wake up and realize I’d imagined it all.

“I am.” He traces my cheekbone with his thumb. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay.” I stretch, feeling none of the anxiety I would have expected at finding someone in my bed. Only contentment.

He studies me in the morning light. “You know, I don’t usually do this either.”

“What, seduce vulnerable women recovering from panic attacks?” I tease.

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