Page 51 of His To Unravel
The mix is heady and intoxicating, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
Her eyes find mine, uncertain but unflinching. They are darker now, shadowed remorse that she doesn’t deserve to carry. She takes a tentative step forward, then another, until she stands just feet away, close enough for me to see the faint sheen of moisture on her skin, the slight tremor in her lip before she speaks.
“Nate,” she begins softly, her voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry…for tonight. For everything.”
The words gut me. Landon’s transgressions are his own, and hearing her apologize again ignites a desperate need to make her understand that she has nothing to feel sorry for. That it’s not guilt she should feel, but reliefthat I was there to protect her, and that I always will be.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I say, a rasp of control threading through the words. “None of this is on you, Olivia.”
She bites her lip, her eyes welling with something too complicated for either of us to name. “If I hadn’t gone out… If I hadn’t?—”
“Stop.” My voice cuts through the tangle of her guilt, low but firm. “Don’t carry what isn’t yours. I was there. I willalwaysbe there.”
She blinks up at me, the hint of uncertainty softening into something closer to trust.
“I’m scared,” she whispers. The confession slips out like a secret she hadn’t meant to share.
I reach for her, cupping her cheek, letting my thumb trace the delicate line of her jaw. “You don’t have to be. Not with me.”
Her breath stutters. “It’s not just tonight. It’s everything. It’s how fast this is happening. How much I feel.” She looks up at me. “I don’t know how to slow it down, and that…scares me.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. Not fear of me—fear of herself. Fear of how deeply she’s already tangled herself in this, inus.
“Olivia,” I murmur, her name a plea and a command all at once. “You don’t understand what you mean to me. What I need you to be.” I reach for her, cupping her jaw and pulling her close to me.
Her brow furrows, confusion and something deeper flickering in hergaze. “Nathaniel…”
I lean closer, pressing my forehead to hers. “I need you to be mine. Completely. Not just for tonight, but always.” The words tumble from me, rough with the memory of another man’s hands on her. “I can’t—I won’t—share you. Not with anyone. Not with anything.”
Silence stretches between us, taut and trembling like a wire about to snap. Her lips part again, and I brace myself for rejection, for resistance, for anything but what comes next.
“Nate…” she whispers. “I meant what I said.”
One of her hands curls into the fabric of my shirt, clutching just over my heart. Her other slides up to cup the back of my neck, narrowing the space between us.
“I’m already yours.” It lands like a promise.
Then, she leans in and presses a kiss to my jaw, soft and sure, and I feel it everywhere.
The room tilts, my world collapsing and rebuilding in the span of a heartbeat.
Relief courses through me, sharp and overwhelming, matched only by the triumph that surges in its wake. Her words aren’t just an admission; they are a surrender, and I will accept nothing less.
Before she can say anything else, I crush my mouth to hers, the kiss demanding and insistent, leaving no room for doubt. Her grip on my shirt tightens as though it is the only thing keeping her upright. I deepen the kiss, pulling her flush against me, reveling in the way her body molds to mine.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her breath ragged, her eyes glassy with need.
“Come with me,” I say roughly as I bend and scoop her into my arms.
She gasps but clings to me without hesitation. And that act—her silent surrender—breaks something open inside me.
In my bedroom, I lay her gently on the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. She looks up at me, her damp hairframing her face, her lips parted slightly. There’s a softness to her expression that makes my knees weak.
So I kneel before her, reverent, and trail my fingers up her calf slowly. Her skin is like satin beneath my fingers as I continue my ascent upward. I stop when I reach the hem of my shirt pooled at her thighs, letting my knuckles brush the sensitive skin just beneath. “Olivia, I need to see you.”
Her breath catches, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric, clutching it like armor. For a moment, I think she might resist, that some last vestige of doubt will draw her away. But then her hands loosen, falling to her sides, as she locks her eyes with mine and nods.
Giving herself to me.
