Page 22 of Rescued

Mika releases my other hand and steps toward the table, pausing with one hand on the back of a chair. He watches me carefully, waiting for what I assume is permission to sit.

“Do you need help with breakfast?” he asks, his voice steady but soft.

I sigh, frustration threading through me as I shift, trying to ease the pressure of my cock against my zipper. “No, go ahead and have a seat. It won’t take long to fix this stuff.”

I turn away before I can watch him sit down.

Big mistake.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of him settling into the chair, and my breath hitches. He looks…right. Too right. Like he belongs there, at my table, in my house.

I want to keep him.

And he wants to stay.

The thoughts send a small shiver through me, one that’s equal parts excitement and unease.

Smiling to myself, I grab a skillet and set it on the stove. It’s not just my body anymore—my head’s finally caught up. I want to keep Mika.

As I lay strips of bacon in the pan, I can’t hold back a bigger grin. It looks like I’m going to have to broaden my horizons, open my mind, and let go of whatever reservations I’m holding on to. That’s what it’ll take to have the man sitting at my table.

Twice now, I’ve seen that broken, hurt look sweep over Mika’s face, like a shadow he can’t quite escape. I don’t know why it’s there, and maybe I’ll never fully understand what’s happening between us.

But I do know this—I’ll do everything I can to make sure he never wears that look again.

Mika

Isit on the couch, my fingers plucking at the nubby fabric beneath me, unable to keep still. Across the coffee table, Gabe watches me, his gaze steady, patient, and unrelenting. He leans back in the big leather recliner, his body relaxed, but I can feel the weight of his focus pressing down on me.

It’s not fair. He looks so at ease, like this moment doesn’t hold the power to shatter me entirely. I’m the one unraveling here, trying to figure out how to say what needs to be said without losing him in the process.

I want him.

God, I want him so badly it’s starting to feel like a physical ache, a need rooted deeper than just desire. I want to wake up beside him, to see the blissful, sated look he wore earlier after we both came, or maybe that hungry, predatory heat he had in the kitchen.

I want it all, every version of him, every moment.

Butwanting doesn’t make words come easier, and right now, every word I need to say feels impossibly heavy.

“Quit stalling, Mika,” he says, his voice soft, calm, but insistent. “Just…explain the dreams, at least. Please.”

His words tug at me, their quiet urgency impossible to ignore. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“The dreams were…are possible because of this,” I say, gesturing between us. “This pull, or need, whatever you want to call it. I don’t have words strong enough to describe it, Gabe.”

I glance at him briefly, just enough to see his reaction, but his face gives nothing away. I go back to toying with the couch fabric, my fingers twitching against the rough texture.

“It’s something,” I continue, the words spilling out despite my nerves. “The dreams, and even being able to…to speak to each other without words.”

I risk another glance at him, trying to gauge whether he believes me or not. His expression stays calm, unreadable, and the silence stretches between us like a taut wire.

“So this happens with everyone you have sex with, then?” he asks.

The question hits me hard, and I freeze.What answer does he want? What will he think if I give him the truth?

“No,” I say, my voice low but firm. “Not everyone. Not anyone, ever, except you. And we haven’t even had sex. Not really.”

I let that hang in the air, needing him to understand. It’s like this because it’s us.

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