Page 95 of Heavy

Ipickedherupand carried her back to the cabin after finally finding the strength to take myself out of her. I’d have kept ravaging her in the woods, but something told me to take her back.

Doesn’t mean I didn’t continue to fuck her once we stepped foot inside. I bent her over the kitchen’s half-done countertops, making her and myself come all over again. Then I took her into the shower, where again I think we covered the entire space with some form of our fluids.

I had to help her put a tampon in. She said,“Since you can take them out, you can put them in.”Unsure if she thought I’d argue, because I didn’t. I got to look at her pretty pussy swallowing it. I was half tempted to eat her out during the process, but I withstood the temptation. She needed a break.

When she pressed her forehead to my chest, her hands tucked behind her back, she requested I carry her to bed.

It’s strange, I’ll admit, that her out of lustful state is quite endearing to me. She’s a light switch, screaming to be ravaged then turns around and wants to cuddle. I’ve never felt inclined to want that—the latter—until her. The desire to make anyone else feel good has never been a priority for me. Since getting out of prison the first time, I’ve always put myself first, second, and last.

Except now, as badly as I want to make her cry, I equally want to see her smile. It’s a conundrum I’m glad she understands; at least, is trying to.

Speaking of crying, why the fuck is it so hard to make it happen? Jesus Christ, even if her eyes filled with tears several times, it’s like she sucks them back. Theonlytime she has was when I told her why I don’t like anyone touching me.

I wonder if I cut her, would she cry?

I’d never. Even if I did have that desire, she’s perfect, and the last thing she needs is another scar. The one on her calf—I’ll need her to tell me who put it there. And if it’s from an innocent fall... Well, I might just spank her for being reckless.

I’ve been running my fingers through her hair for a while now. I woke up before her—not a surprise—but with the way she’s been shifting, I suspect she’ll be waking soon.

Her back is to me, as it has been the past two nights, and likely will be for a while. Part of me doesn’t want a larger bed; if she had more room to move, I think she’d drift. I’ve never needed much space, having slept on a twin bed for as long as I can remember, but judging by how she sleeps, she’d be all over the place.

I’m nervous about waking up with her hands on me, and what I might do if I react instinctively. The last thing I want is to hurt her in a way she doesn’t want.

Her hand moves under her head, resting on my arm. Those soft fingers, used to hard work, wrap around my bicep, and I take a steadying breath. She does so well keeping her hands to herself, and I won’t punish her for a natural shift while she’s sleeping.

Even if every fiber of me itches to move her.

Swallowing, I place my palm under her chin, drawing her head up so I can see her partially parted lips.

“Cal, it’s time to get up.”

She doesn’t respond, just mumbles something unintelligible. I could just leave her, get dressed, and start my day.

But how long will I have with her like this?

I hate that I think this way—that my mind can’t let me believe this could last. But I know better, someone like me doesn’t keep good things. I’m a chipped glass. With enough pressure, the fracture will give, and I’ll shatter. I’ll mess up like I always do and lose everything.

A heat rises up my neck, and I roll onto my back, slipping my arm out from under her before getting off the bed. Without looking back, I make my way into the closet.

“Ronan?” Her sleepy voice tugs at something inside me, making me fight the urge to curl up beside her, as if we were just a normal couple.

I’m going to get angry just thinking hownotnormal we are, and I need to extract myself for some air. “Get dressed, I’ll be outside,” I say after grabbing my clothes.

“Okay…” is all I hear before I’m out of the room.

Once I’ve got my pants and shirt on, I head to the garage and hit the button to slide the metal door open. The fresh air is exactly what I need, a simple pleasure I remember craving. In prison, being outside is a privilege, but even then, it’s caged in—boxed, the sky itself feeling crowded.

When I got out, all I wanted was to go right back. Everything was shit-sandwiched between concrete white walls, but it was all I knew: free food, free housing. I ruled that place. I was the king; no one messed with me. Out here? I’ve had to survive. I have to live.

But... if living means being with Calista, maybethat’sexactly what I want now.

I hear her step out the door behind me, but I don’t turn. The gentle tapping of her feet approaching makes my muscles tighten. She knows better, I know she does, but it’s still hard not to turn around and stop an impending mistake.

She then comes around me, back to my chest and leans into me. “Good morning.” She lifts her head, and smiles. “Or, rather, good afternoon.”

The edge of my lip pops as I chuckle. “Afternoon.” I circle my arm around her neck and hold her tight to me. “Good girl.”

Her head shakes. “Listen to me, Ronan, it’s too early and I need some coffee.”