Page 80 of Zorro

He didn’t move. Not yet. He didn’t want to break the spell. Her breath was soft against his shoulder, her fingers still resting on his ribs like she needed to feel him breathe to keep herself anchored. Every inhale she took matched his without thinking.

They were synced.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked at her.

It hit him like a bullet to the chest.

Those eyes.

Last night, when she was straddling him, when he was deep inside her and she was looking at him like he was the only person on the goddamn planet. The way she took him, the way she said Let me have you, the way her mouth closed over him, the unbelievable pleasure was eclipsed by her desire for him. She touched his skin like it was life-sustaining. He hadn’t just felt wanted. She’d seen him, and the ache that left behind was terrifying.

She hadn’t needed him to fix a damn thing. He hadn’t healed a wound, or saved a life, or carried anyone out of a fire. So, did that mean he hadn’t earned this? Confusion settled in.

She’d just come to him.

That was what killed him.

Her leg shifted slightly, the sheets rustling between them. He felt the brush of her thigh against his, and his body stirred in instinctive response. God, he wanted her again. Every part of her. The slow drag of her mouth, the soft break in her voice when she came, the tears in her eyes when she’d held him like she was afraid to let go.

But it wasn’t just his body that wanted.

It was his soul.

He’d die to protect this woman. No hesitation. No question. But what the hell was he supposed to do with her trust?

With her want?

It wasn’t just desire anymore. It was a question, echoing through the silence between them.

Her voice was low, still wrapped in sleep, but the words came clear. “How do we do that?” she whispered. “Build this new world?”

His breath caught.

For a beat, he couldn’t answer. The question wasn’t about logistics. It wasn’t about the where or the how or the details.

It was about him.

You, Mateo. Can I build it with you?

He stared at her. Just like that, all his fucking dreams came true.

It scared the hell out of him.

He was a confident bastard. He knew how to clear a building in ten minutes flat. He knew how to keep a teammate alive with nothing but gauze, instinct, and willpower. He could hike through monsoon rain with a broken rib and carry a man out with blood soaking his shirt.

He knew how to serve. How to fight. How to kill. How to heal. How to be a son. A brother. A teammate. A SEAL.

He knew that code. Lived it. Wore it on his soul like armor.

But this woman?

This fucking beautiful, brilliant, damaged soul who laughed like sin and wept like a prayer?

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

She was asking him for a future, and the thing that unmade him wasn’t the question. It was the fact that she asked him.

She was choosing him.