Page 42 of Hero Worship

His grip tightened slightly. "Never done it like that before," he admitted quietly. "Not with anyone."

I turned to face him, catching the uncertainty in his eyes. "Hey." I touched his face. "It was good. You were amazing."

"Yeah?" Something vulnerable crossed his features.

"Yeah." I curled closer, letting him feel how relaxed I was. "Nobody's ever made me feel that good."

He pulled the blankets over us both, tucking me against his chest. One hand kept stroking over my marked skin while the other played with my hair. The gentle touches felt perfect after everything.

"Get some sleep," he murmured. “We have a few hours before we have to be at the club.”

I was already drifting off, content in his arms. We'd deal with missions and danger later. Right now, this was exactly where I needed to be.

I watched Xander's transformationfrom the bathroom doorway, fighting the urge to stake my claim all over again. Every precise movement, every carefully chosen product was part of an intricate ritual that turned vulnerability into armor. After seeing him stripped bare physically and emotionally, watching him rebuild his defenses piece by piece was a study in beautiful contradiction.

The air still held traces of sex and submission, a reminder of how thoroughly I'd claimed him. My marks decorated his thighs and throat, but this wasn't about sex anymore. This was abouttrust. No one else got to witness this transformation. This was a privilege earned by proving I could handle all his contradictions.

"Staring is creepy," he said, but there was no heat in his voice as he massaged something called hyaluronic acid into still-damp skin. His hands shook slightly, the barest tremor that betrayed how raw he still felt. "Even for a professional stalker."

"Profiler," I corrected automatically, moving closer to study his collection of products. Each one was precisely arranged, the labels all facing the same direction. The military precision of it spoke to deeper needs for control, for order, for the ability to craft himself exactly as he chose to be seen. "And I've never seen anyone treat skincare like a military operation before."

His laugh held an edge of hysteria that made my protective instincts flare. "This is vitamin C serum. Brightens dark spots, fights aging." His voice took on that manic quality I was learning to recognize. He was spinning between craving my attention and terrified of being too much. "Then niacinamide for pores, peptides for firmness."

He was talking too fast now, words spilling out like he could keep me interested through sheer force of information. "Moisturizer, sunscreen, then we wait exactly three minutes before primer." His fingers twisted the cap of the serum too tightly, and I caught his wrist before he could crack the expensive bottle.

"Breathe, baby." I pressed against his back, letting him feel my solid presence. "You don't have to perform for me. Not here. Not now."

His breath hitched as he met my eyes in the mirror. The vulnerability there made my chest ache. "I just..." He swallowed hard. "I don’t want you to think I’m high maintenance and run off."

"I'm not running." I pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I meant what I said this morning. Every part of you is mine now. Thepretty parts, the deadly parts, and yes, even the parts that require an hour of skincare."

He laughed, but some of the manic energy eased from his posture. "You say that now. Wait until you see my evening routine."

I watched Xander layer product after product, fascinated by the technical precision they brought to something I'd always taken for granted. "You do this every day?"

"Twice a day." They tilted their head, examining their skin in the magnifying mirror. The movement exposed the marks I'd left on their throat. "Morning and night. Though the evening routine is more intense. Double cleanse, exfoliation, retinol..."

He caught my expression and that familiar mask of provocative confidence slipped back into place. "What, you thought this skin maintained itself?"

"Honestly? Never thought about it." I traced one of the bruises I'd left. "My ex-wives had their routines, but I never..." I trailed off, realizing how many intimacies I'd missed in my previous marriages. How many walls I'd maintained out of some misguided notion of privacy.

"Never watched? Or never cared to understand?"

The question hit deeper than intended, making me examine decades of careful distance. "Both, maybe. It was their private time. Their space." I moved closer, drawn by the precise way he patted something called "essence" into his skin. "This is different."

"Because I'm not your wife?" His hands shook slightly as he reached for the next product.

"Because you're you." I caught their wrist gently, stilling the tremor. "Because everything you do fascinates me. The way you turn daily rituals into tactical advantages. The precision you bring to something as simple as skincare."

Their breath hitched, but they didn't pull away.

"It's not simple," they whispered, voice cracking. "Nothing about this is simple."

"I know." I released his wrist, letting him resume his routine. "That's why I'm watching. I want to understand all of it. The maintenance requirements you thought would scare me off. The rituals that make you feel secure. The armor you build, piece by piece."

I stepped closer, letting him feel my presence without interrupting his routine. "That looks expensive."

His hands worked the product into his skin with practiced motions. "It is. This little bottle?" He held up what looked like liquid gold in crystal. "Three hundred euros. And it only lasts like a month."

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