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Half-shaking, he stopped dead. There on the floor, his prayer mat. Aligned perfectly. Pointed toward Mecca. His knees nearly gave out. It wasn’t the neatness. It wasn’t the orientation. It was the care. Thereverence. She had touched his most sacred possession and honored it.
His throat closed up, emotion burning through him like acid. He turned slowly, gaze catching on the connecting door. Still open. A soft golden light bled through the space. He took the first step…trusting Grace was all he could do now.
She waited.He crossed the threshold with a force that felt like destiny unspooling.
Grace.
Lit from within, black lace clinging to every curve like it had been crafted for worship. Her hair tumbled like flame, her green eyes wide, shining, devouring him. Her breath caught at the sight of him, bare-chested, soaked in sweat, fists still wrapped in crimson and trembling with restraint.
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Shecame to him.
Grace reached out and gently took one of his hands in hers. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she worked the edge of the soaked red wrap loose, unspooling him one coil at a time.
The unraveling began. First the warrior, the man who knew war. Then the survivor, the one who’d paid its cost. Each tug of the fabric made him shake a little more.
When the first wrap fell away, she lifted his bare knuckles to her mouth.
Kissed them. Soft. Precise. Devastating.
He groaned, barely audible, his eyes closing under the weight of her touch. She moved to the other hand. Undid him the same way. The guilt released first, like a shadow. Then the pain dulled, just enough for breath to return.
When her lips brushed the bruised bone of his second hand, the kiss didn’t soothe. It shattered everything else.
"Unravelme, Nash,"she whispered.
He couldn’t speak. Only move.
His hands reached for the belt at her waist. His fingers fumbled,he was aching, but he untied the knot. The silk fell open. The lace beneath stole his breath. Barely there. Shadowed curves. Her full breasts were exposed but for the black lace crossing over the tight peaks of her nipples, hard and begging.
He reached out with both hands, slid them over her shoulders, slow and possessive. Her skin was warm, satin-smooth. She moaned when he touched her, and it lit him from the inside.
His hands tightened in the lace. He yanked her forward, crushing her against his chest. Her body molded to his like they were born from the same spark. He arched her back, his mouth hungry as he took her nipple and sucked, deep, wet, his.
With a ravaging cry, her hands curled into his hair, holding him there. He kept at it, groaning around her, needing her in his mouth, needing her sounds, her breath, her everything.
“Take it off,” she gasped. He didn’t hesitate. Herippedthe lace from her body. It came apart in his hands like cobwebs.
She pressed her palm to his chest, eyes wide, mouth open, her body flushed with arousal and ragged breath, holy fucking courage. She was so beautiful, he couldn't breathe. Couldn’tthink. But then she moved behind him.
“Stay still for me,” she whispered. He did.Ya Allahhelp him, he did.
For the first time since that op, the one that never left him, the one that chewed up his team and spat him back out, he went completely still. Inside and out. No fight. No noise. Justmotionless.
Her mouth landed soft on his shoulder. Then lower. She kissed his spine, breath warm, lips tracing him like a blessing. Her hands followed, firm, hungry. She mapped his body with her palms, down the flex of his lats, across the carved ridges of his back. She squeezed his ass, full-handed, groaning softly.
Hooking her fingers into the waistband of his shorts she slowly dragged them down. Over his hips. Down his thighs. Until they hit the floor.
Her breath ghosted over his skin, and he closed his eyes, a ragged moan leaving his throat. She kissed his shoulder again. Then his back. Her hands were relentless, bold and awed and hungry all at once.
Then she reached his waist.
He knew the moment she realized.
“Oh, God. What is this?” she breathed.
He tensed.