Page 187 of Detectives in Love

“I thought I lost you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t,” I say. “I’m right here.”

He swallows, and I watch his throat move, his lips twitch like he doesn’t trust the calm settling over us. Then he kisses me again—slower this time, less frantic.

I shift on the bed, scooting back to make room. Xavier doesn’t say anything, but after a second, he stands, shrugs off his coat, and kicks off his shoes. Then he lies down next to me on his side, careful not to jostle the mattress.

The bed’s too small for both of us—but I don’t care. I just want him close.

“How’d you get in here?” I murmur.

He exhales through his nose. “I know the guard.”

I snort. “Of course you do. Didn’t the nurses see you?”

Xavier doesn’t smile. “They did. But I begged them to let me in.”

I can’t hold back a laugh. “You?Begged?”

Xavier nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He just looks at me—and there’s so much grief in his face it physically hurts to meet his eyes. I start to reach for him again, but he stops me.

“Show me your back,” he says.

I pause.

He doesn’t say anything else, just waits—his gaze dark.

I roll onto my side, and he unties the gown at the back, pulling it open to expose my skin. I hear him draw a sharp breath.

“How do I look?” I ask, glancing back at him.

His jaw is clenched, his chest rising and falling like he’s barely keeping the emotion down.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Xavier doesn’t answer—but I feel his fingers brush against my skin. It hurts the way deep bruises do, but I try not to wince.

Then I feel him shift behind me, and when I move to turn toward him, his hand flies to my arm, holding me still—and a second later, his lips brush against my back.

My breath catches.

He kisses the bruises, one by one, and I feel the heat of his mouth against my skin. My stomach tightens. The moment is so tender, so fragile, I feel a flicker of guilt when my cock twitches from the contact.

“Xavier,” I call again, rolling over to face him. “Come here.”

I pull him into a kiss.

His mouth meets mine, and I kiss him deeper—trying to melt the tension, the guilt, trying to anchor him. He pushes in, his tongue brushing against mine, sparks of arousal shooting through me. His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek.

“I’m fine. I promise,” I whisper against his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

Xavier’s hand drops to my side, drawing me in until our bodies are flush. It trails down my bare back, then lower—his fingers closing around my ass, kneading it. His expression shifts—sadness giving way to heat.

I reach for the front of his pants, finding him hard beneath the fabric. My pulse hammers as he leans in to kiss me again. This time, it’s all tongue and breathless urgency.

“Lock the door,” I whisper into his ear.

Xavier freezes—his gaze dark, his breath uneven. “We should wait for the MRI,” he says. “I don’t think you should be straining.”