Page 62 of The Trust We Broke
And as soon as I do, I gag and cough violently.
“You know,” Grudge says, rubbing my back tenderly, “for a woman who can take a dick as far as you can, it’s always been a marvel that you have a weirdly inflexible gag reflex when it comes to pills.”
I huff a laugh at that. “One of the many mysteries of the universe, I suppose.”
But Grudge just looks down at his knees as he smiles sadly. “Maybe. You should get some rest.”
“Where are you sleeping?” I ask.
He glances over at the chair in the corner of the room. “Right there. Wanted to be close, if you needed me.”
The chair, as comfortable as it looks, can’t be good for a man of his stature to sleep in.
Then, I glance over the large bed. Not quite a king, but certainly big enough for the two of us to fit. “You can sleep on the bed with me.”
I shuffle down the bed and pull the pillow farther beneath my head.
But Grudge doesn’t move.
Not an inch.
He looks down at his clasped hands, elbows resting on his knees.
In the silence, I can hear his mental conversation with himself. The fact he didn’t immediately strip and climb into bed with me, almost makes this easier.
“There’s no point in you not getting any rest. We’re both grown-ups, and it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”
My eyes are heavy, and I sigh as I roll onto my side, facing away from him, and allow myself to drift off toward sleep again.
Grudge finally stands and walks to the other side of the bed. It’s a good mattress, and I barely feel it when he lies down, but I do feel the shift of the covers over me. He shuffles around a bit, and I sense his heat when he gets close. But he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t reach for me, pull me close, tug me to him.
Just the warmth and reassurance of his presence.
The intimacy of it sinks deeper than the sex ever could.
Grudge always knew how to fuck me. But this…the way he cares for me when I can’t care for myself…this was the part that once made me believe he was my forever.
“I missed you,” I whisper, my guard fully down.
His body tenses for a fraction of a second. Then, he exhales slowly and presses his lips to my temple. “Go back to sleep, Bug.”
The command is gentle. A reprieve I’m not sure I want or deserve. Because I feel it now, in every inch of my bruised heart, in the way the truth presses up against the back of my throat.
I need to tell him.
About my father.
About what it cost me to leave.
But the sum of the exhaustion in my bones wins.
I close my eyes and let sleep drag me under.
When I wake, it’s to sunlight. Golden and piercing, spilling through the cracks in the blinds.
I blink against it, and then, reach out for the warmth of Grudge.
But the bed is cold.
