Page 56 of His To Unravel
There’s something profoundly intimate about the domesticity of this moment, as if the world has narrowed down to just the two of us and the unmistakable care in his gesture.
We settle at the kitchen island, the city stretching out before us. Nathaniel’s voice is steady and soothing as we chat about the day ahead. It’s a relief that the conversation flows easily, as if I’ve always known this version of him—the one who remembers the small details, who cooks breakfast and turns simple moments into something deeper.
For a while, it feels almostnormal.
Almost.
Then I sigh, nudging my plate away, and say, “I should probably get back after this. I’ve got a pile of assignments waiting.”
His entire body stills.
When he speaks, his voice is a gentle command—low, edged, final. “You’ll be staying here this weekend.”
Not a question, but a foregone conclusion.
“You will study here, where I can take care of you.”
The authority in his tone sends a thrill through me, even as I blink in surprise at his directness. It’s rare for anyone to make decisions on my behalf, let alone with such certainty. And yet, there’s an unexpected comfort in his resolve, in the idea of surrendering, just this once, to someone else’s direction.
I clear my throat, instinctively reaching for a protest, but Nathaniel’s eyes pin me where I sit, the slightest tilt of his mouth daring me to argue.
“Okay. Just let me run back to the dorm quickly and I’ll come back later with my stuff.” I offer, though the words feel flimsy the moment they leavemy lips.
Nathaniel’s eyes lock on mine, steady and unwavering. “No,” he replies mildly, but with finality. “I’ll take you.”
He lets that settle, then adds, “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Olivia. Not this weekend.”
The possessiveness in his words should unsettle me, but instead, a small flutter of anticipation sparks within me. His voice is so sure, so assertive, that a part of me—the part that’s always been responsible, always been independent—relaxes into his command, feeling a welcome sense of ease in the release.
“All right,” I hear myself say, my voice softer than usual, but steady.
Nathaniel’s eyes darken with satisfaction, and just like that, the air shifts—thick with the inevitability of us.
It’slike I’m drifting through a dream this weekend—folded into Nathaniel’s world, held in place by his attention, his steadiness, and the way he’s always just within reach.
The hours blur together, each moment layering over the last, forming a vivid, unforgettable picture of what life could be like with him.
Nathaniel is relentless in his care, though he disguises it as a casual routine.
Meals appear as if conjured: plated perfectly, flavors rich and nuanced, every dish made with an attention to detail that feels extravagant, intentional.
He even takes the time to prepare coffee from scratch, using some high-end contraption that looks like it belongs in a science lab more than a kitchen. When he hands me a steaming cup, his eyes gleam in anticipation of my reaction, and the first sip spreads warmth through me, all the sweeter because he made it.
Even studying becomes an intimate experience.
I sit across from him, textbooks and notes spread between us, and he shares his knowledge freely, his notes impeccably organized and his insights sharp. He anticipates every question before I can ask, explaining things with such clarity that, for the first time, I actually feel ahead instead of buried. With Nathaniel, studying feels less like a chore and more like a collaboration.
He never misses a chance to encourage me, either—slipping in compliments, brushing my hair behind my ear, glancing up at me with a gaze that seems to say I can do anything.
But it’s the way he touches me that undoes me the most. Each kiss, each lingering caress, each gentle press of his hands against my skin tells me exactly what he sees when he looks at me, and it’s more than I’ve ever dared to hope for.
I’ve always been painfully aware of my body—the curves I’ve tried to embrace but have never quite loved. I’m not the smallest, far the most sculpted. There’s softness to me that I’ve spent too much time wishing were anything but.
Yet with Nathaniel, that shame fades like mist under the weight of his gaze. He looks at me with a hunger, like he wouldn’t change a single thing about me. He touches me like he’s memorizing me, his fingers mapping me with a tenderness and desire that feels transformative. Every time he touches me, I feel myself unfurl, like he’s slowly peeling away each layer of doubt, replacing it with something firmer: a confidence that is foreign but welcome.
I find myself relishing the intimacy, our connection deepening with each shared laugh, each held gaze. We lose ourselves in each other whenever we can, his touch so sure, so unguarded, that it pulls me deeper into this strange, wonderful dynamic.
Every time he holds me, whispers my name, says “You’re beautiful” with that dark, unwavering conviction, I believe it a little more.
