Page 86 of Unbroken

I look him in the eyes, cup his rough jaw in my hand, and whisper, “Then show me. Stop hiding behind the mask.” I sigh. “I know what you are with me.”

And thatigniteshim.

He rolls me onto my back like I’m something fragile, something to be cradled and consumed all at once. His mouth finds my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my breast—slow, worshipful, desperate.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he growls, forehead to mine. “You don’t get to light a fire and walk away.” He kisses my forehead. “Tell me to stop.” He breathes against my skin.

I press my knees around him instead, careful not to hurt the ankle.

“I won’t tell you to stop.”

The kiss that follows is molten—melting every defense, every fear, every wall he’s ever built. He slides inside me like it means something, like it’s the only thing that has ever meant anything. His forehead presses to mine, his hands caging my face like a vow.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers, voice cracking. He doesn’t speak what we’re both thinking:like her.

I dig my fingers into his back, anchoring myself to the truth of it.

“Then don’t let go.” His hips still every few strokes as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

And we fall.

God, we fall.

His rhythm is slow and deep, like he’s trying to memorize how I break. I meet every thrust with a gasp and moan, a plea.

We shatter together. And then the world stills, and our mingled breath slows. He stays.

When we’re tangled in each other afterward—sweat cooling, breath syncing—he doesn’t pull away. He holds me tighter.

“Stay,” he says into my hair, his voice barely a sound. “Just… stay.”

I nod against his chest, eyes burning.

“I want to.”

I mean it. God, I mean it.

But then the phone rings.

Not his.

Mine.

My mother’s contact flashes on the screen.

And I know.

I sit up, the sheets falling. My skin instantly pebbles at the loss of his heat as Vadka is instantly alert, already reaching for his pants.

I answer.

“Mom?”

But it’s not her voice that answers—it’s the nurse—shaky and urgent. But I can hear my mom screaming in the background.

“Ruthie, help me. I’ve been attacked.”

Attacked?