Page 98 of His To Unravel
“Because no one else has ever made me feel the way you do,” I say, my voice dropping lower. “You’re brilliant, Olivia. You’re determined. You see the world differently than anyone I’ve ever met. Everything in my life felt hollow before, like I was just going through the motions. Then, I found you. You make it all matter, baby.”
Her expression is indecipherable. Her silence is louder than any reaction she could’ve given. I’m sure I’ve crossed the line. That I’ve finally pushed her too far.
A sharp pang of panic surges within me. My mind races ahead, a thousand scenarios crashing into one another, each more desperate than the last. I’ll drop to my knees if I have to. Beg her tostay. Promise her anything, everything—whatever it will take to make her forgive me.
I open my mouth, ready to plead, to fight for her, because the alternative is unthinkable.
But then she speaks.
“I should be scared…” Her voice, quiet but steady, cuts through the chaos in my head, halting my frantic thoughts in an instant. “And maybe I am, a little. But there’s…something about this.” She gestures between us, her fingers trembling slightly. “Something I can’t walk away from.”
Her admission stuns me.
My hand finds her face, cradling her cheek as I lean closer. “You’re the only person who can handle me. My love, my devotion—it’s not easy to bear. Butyou do.You match me in every way, Olivia.”
She closes her eyes as I kiss her, softly at first. But the weight of everything—the dinner, the confessions, the uncertainty—it all pours into the way my lips move against hers. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans in, her hands finding the fabric of my shirt and holding on.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers. “It’s never going to subside,” I warn. “The way I feel for you. It’s only going to grow. And if it consumes me, then so be it. I’d gladly drown if it means keeping you by my side.”
Her breath shivers against my lips, and I feel her nod, even as she remains silent. It’s enough for me… For now.
Olivia standsby the bathroom door, her silhouette illuminated by the warm light spilling into the bedroom. The tension she carried all evening has melted away—her shoulders relaxed, her movements unguarded. I watch her as I always do,captivated, though this time there is an edge to my focus—a persistent anxiety that claws at the edges of my thoughts.
She still hasn’t asked.
The question I have braced myself for never comes. She has seen the portraits, has traced the image of two boys who look nearly identical. I expect her to press, to search for the truth, but instead, she says nothing.
“Your bath is ready,” I announce softly.
Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I search her eyes for some clue to her thoughts. I find neither accusation nor probing curiosity.
She steps past me, her fingers brushing my arm as she enters the bathroom. I follow, unable to let the distance between us grow, even for a few minutes.
Steam curls in the air, carrying the scent of lavender and roses. Olivia slips out of her clothes, unhurried, and I feel something sharp twist in my chest.
It’s not just desire, though that rises fast and hot. It’s awe. Reverence. The way she bares herself so easily in front of me—after everything I’ve confessed—should undo me completely. That she still trusts me with her vulnerability…it feels like forgiveness, even if she hasn’t said the words.
I watch as she steps into the water, her skin glowing under the haze of steam, the curves of her body shifting like something out of a dream I haven’t earned.
I kneel beside the tub, rolling up my sleeves with deliberate slowness, trying to gather the remnants of my control.
“Lean back,” I instruct.
She obeys without question, her eyes fluttering shut as I scoop water over her shoulders and down her back. My movements are measured and intentional, as though this ritual can erase the night’s uncertainties.
Olivia sighs softly, the sound one of pure contentment. Ireach for the washcloth, running it along her arms, her collarbone, the delicate curve of her neck. Each touch feels like a promise, a silent pledge to hold on to her, no matter what it takes.
When the water begins to cool, I lift her out of the tub, wrapping her in a plush towel. She allows me to guide her to the bed, her movements languid. I dry her hair, my fingers combing through the damp strands with infinite care.
“Here,” I say, slipping one of my shirts over her head. She smiles as the fabric falls to her thighs. The sight of her in my clothing never fails to stir my possessiveness.
Once she’s settled beneath the covers, I sit at the edge of the bed, taking one of her feet in my hands. She mumbles a half-hearted protest, but I ignore it, pressing gentle circles into her skin with my thumbs. Her breathing slows, each exhale longer than the last, until finally, her eyes drift closed.
Even asleep, she is breathtaking. Her auburn hair spills across the pillow, one hand resting lightly on her chest as though protecting her heart. I let my hand linger on her ankle, as if the contact alone could bind me to her.
I know sleep won’t come easy for me, and I don’t want to disturb her.
Carefully, I rise, slipping out of the room without a sound.
