Page 77 of The Assist
Her eyes go molten. “Then take me.”
We barely make it to the bedroom. Clothes hit the floor in a trail behind us; shirts, joggers, her leggings inside out where she yanks them off with a low laugh. I kiss every inch of skin I can find. I want her to feel worshipped.
She’s soft and sharp in turns, her nails dig into my back, her lips trail delicate kisses along my neck, and her hips are arching against me like she can’t get close enough. And I give her everything. Every slow thrust. Every whisper in her ear. Every kiss between her breasts and on the curve of her knee.
When we come, it’s messy and raw and real.
After, she curls against me, sweaty and warm and silent.
I smooth my palm over her spine, trying to memorise this exact moment. Her breathing. The smell of her skin. The ache in my chest that’s not just from what we did, but what I feel.
She turns her face into my neck. “If they find out, if Jonno finds out, I could lose everything.”
My jaw tenses. “You won’t.”
“I might. It’s written in black and white in my contract.” I feel her heart rate increase beside me.
“Then we go grey,” I say, brushing her hair back. “We find the shade no one reads.”
She snorts softly, but it’s not a laugh. “You really think we can keep this a secret?”
“I think we have to try. I absolutely do not want you to be a dirty secret, but if that’s how it has to be for now, until we figure this out, then I’ll do whatever we have to.” I lift her chin, meet her eyes. “I’m not walking away, Mia. Not from you.”
Something flickers in her gaze. A crack in the armour. A flash of something that looks a lot like hope and she nods slowly.
And when she tucks herself back against my chest, I feel her settle in like maybe she believes me.
But I can’t ignore the coil in my gut. The tension winding tighter. Because secrets don’t stay secret forever.
And I’m not sure what scares me more; losing her if we get caught, or watching her fall apart if her world off the ice starts to crack too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
DYLAN
Mia’s still asleep when I wake.
Her arm is flung across my stomach, her face buried in the curve of my shoulder, one leg tangled through mine like she forgot to keep space between us.
I lie still, breathing her in. Vanilla shampoo and faint traces of lavender lotion. It’s stupid how easily I know that now. Like I’ve been memorising her in pieces and didn’t realise until she was wrapped around me like this.
There’s a thin shaft of sunlight slicing across her back, catching in the strands of her hair. I could stay like this all day. Pretend we’re not skating too close to something that could wreck us both.
But the truth settles in like a bruise under the skin.
She’s scared. She’s scared of what’s happening with her dad, scared of whatever this is between us, and scared that it could cost her everything she’s worked for.
And me? I’m scared I’ll screw it up. The way I always do.
Her breathing shifts, deepens. I slip out of bed slowly, careful not to wake her, and pad into the kitchen. I flick the kettle on and lean against the counter, rubbing a hand through my hair.
It’s too quiet in here.
I should be basking in the afterglow. I should be replaying last night with a smirk and a heartbeat too fast. But instead, my chest is tight and there’s a dull ache.
Because the second I felt that crack in her, that tremble in her voice;I’m scared, it hit something in me I didn’t even realise was still raw.
I know what it’s like to be scared of the people who are supposed to love you most.
