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No words. Just tension and release.
When it was over, I lay beside him with my leg thrown over his hip, his breathing still heavy against my neck. He felt solid. Settled. It’s something I could’ve sunk into if I had let myself.
But I didn’t sleep.
Not yet.
I slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake him, and padded into the bathroom. The tile was cool under my feet, and the air smelled like steam, skin, and something distinctly male.
I opened the drawer. The pill pack sat right where I’d left it that morning.
One left.
I stared at it for a second, running my thumb along the edge of the foil. It should’ve felt like a bigger moment. Some grand internal declaration. A symbolic shift.
But all I felt was... clarity. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t even hesitant.
I was just ready.
Ready to choose for myself—for once, not because of timing or expectations or some neat little box I was supposed to fit into. Not because of a man. Not even Damian. This was mine.
I popped the last pill free, washed it down with a sip of water from the glass on the counter, and tossed the empty pack into the trash can like it didn’t deserve a ceremony.
I looked up and caught my own eyes in the mirror.
Steady. A little flushed. A little wild.
Tomorrow, it’s real.
And I wasn’t afraid of it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Damian
I woke up in her bed.
And for the first time in… maybe ever—I hadn’t already planned my exit.
The sunlight slanted in through linen curtains, soft and golden, brushing across the exposed curve of her back. Her hair was a mess, half fanned over her pillow, half stuck to her shoulder. One leg stretched out from under the sheet, all smooth skin and quiet chaos.
Juliette Vanderburg was sleeping like I hadn’t ruined her rhythm last night and was still here. I should’ve left hours ago, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to.
Was that the part that scared me?
I lay there for a while, listening to her breathe, feeling the unfamiliar weight of something that wasn’t lust. Not anymore. This felt... settled. Warm in a way that didn’t burn. Like it belonged here, in this bed, with her.
That was the first sign of trouble.
The second came when my brain kicked in and reminded me that this—waking up beside a woman like her, in a house that wasn’t mine—was dangerous. It blurred things. It made me start imagining that mornings like this could become a habit.
I needed to reset. Reclaim control.
“Let me take you to breakfast,” I said quietly, shifting just enough to press a kiss to her shoulder.
She stirred with a sleepy murmur, then smiled.
“Only if I get to pick the place.”