Page 122 of Seek Me Darling

I flinch inwardly.

I know she didn’t have this harsh reaction to Bodhi. I listened. But Bodhi... he showed up when necessary, for missions with the organization and afternoon training where he could place himself in her path. But me? I was there nearly every day. I lived in the trenches with her. I sat beside her for hours, shoulder to shoulder, breathing the same air, pretending like every moment wasn't slicing me open because I couldn’t have her the way I needed to. I was the one bleeding with her. Drinking with her. Watching her try to stitch herself back together while I barely held myself in one piece.

I lived in the spaces between her breaths.

And fuck if it didn’t destroy me every single goddamn day.

"It gutted me," I rasp, dragging the words from somewhere deeper than my ribs, "what was worse was watching you at those clubs after missions. Celebrating. Laughing. Dancing with boys who didn’t even know how to touch you. Watching them try—and knowing they'd never satisfy you the way I could. The way we could."

Her shoulders hitch slightly, her hands tightening against her sides as if she’s trying to hold herself together.

"Every time you smiled at them," I say, softer now, "every time you let yourself believe for one second that they could see you the way I do—it tore me apart."

Her breath catches, but she doesn't move away.

"You deserved better," I whisper, taking another step forward, close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. "And every goddamn night, I dreamed about giving it to you."

Her chin lifts, defiant and trembling. "And yet you lied to me."

"I lied to protect you," I say, rough and breaking. "I lied because I didn’t know how to be close to you without wanting to destroy the world for you."

She swallows hard.

I step even closer, my hand lifting to brush her jaw with a touch so reverent it feels like prayer. "But, I wasn’t lying the other day," I murmur, voice thick with everything I've never been able to say. "I’ve wanted to taste your lips for so fucking long."

Her breath stutters.

And then I kiss her.

Not rough. Not brutal.

A kiss so slow, so desperate, it feels like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth against mine—like I’m trying to stitch something broken back together with nothing but touch and breath and the hollowed-out pieces of everything I never said. A kiss born from years of silent wanting, from restraint worn down to rust and ruin. From the silent obsession in every stolen glance, every unspoken word. A kiss heavy with all the promises I never dared to make aloud.

A kiss that tastes like regret and hope twisted into something unbearable.

I pour it all into her—the mistakes, the obsession, the devotion that’s carved me open and hollowed me out until only she remained inside me. Everything I am. Everything I could never be without her. I give it to her now like an offering, knowing it will never be enough to fix what I've broken.

I kiss her like she’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning for years.

My hand skims her side with aching reverence, tracing the curve of her waist, the trembling tension under her skin. My fingers brush over the lingerie we bought for her—the fragile black lace clinging to her like a second skin, like a brand burned into her for no one but us.

And still—still—I want more. Not just her body. Her trust. Her fury. Her broken, beautiful heart.

Even if I know I’ll never deserve it.

She stiffens slightly, pulling back just enough to breathe. Her forehead rests against mine, breaths mingling between us.

"I don't know how to forgive you," she whispers.

"I don’t expect you to," I murmur back. "But you should know... it was never a game."

She shakes her head slowly, a few stray tears slipping free.

"You broke everything I thought was safe," she says, voice cracking open under the weight of it.

I close my eyes briefly, feeling her words rip straight through me. Because she’s right. I didn’t just break her trust—I shattered the foundation she built her entire life on. I tore apart the belief that her instincts, her choices, could protect her. I made her doubt the one thing she was supposed to be able to trust—herself.

"I know," I rasp, my voice thick. "I was supposed to be the safe one. The one you didn't have to question. The one standing beside you when everything else went to hell."

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