Page 48 of Held-

“I should probably warn you,” she says, pulling back just enough to speak against my lips. “I'm not usually a morning person.”

“Could've fooled me,” I mutter, my hand finding the curve of her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp.

She bites her lip, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “You're a bad influence.”

“Baby, you have no idea.” I roll us so she's beneath me, her hair fanned out across my pillow like spilled gold. The sight of her there—sleep-warm and marked up, looking at me—it does something to my chest. Something I'm not ready to name.

I'm about to show her exactly how bad an influence I can be when her phone chimes from somewhere on the floor. She groans, dropping her head back against the pillow.

“Ignore it,” I growl, dipping my head to taste the hollow of her throat.

“I can't.” She squirms beneath me but makes no real effort to get away. “It could be my dad.”

The mention of her father douses everything in an instant. Right. Her Preacher father.Whose daughter I thoroughly defiled last night.Multipletimes.

I roll off her with a grunt, immediately missing her warmth. “Go ahead,” I say, watching as she scrambles to find her phone in the tangle of clothes we left on the floor.

She hesitates, then slides out of bed. I peek at her from under my arm, watching as she moves naked across my bedroom, all soft curves and faint bruises. My marks. My claim. I've never been particularly possessive before, but something about seeing her wear the evidence of last night makes my blood run hot.

She digs through our discarded clothes, finding her phone in the pocket of her jeans. When she checks it, her whole body goes rigid.

“Shit,” she mutters. “Shit, shit, shit.”

I sit up. “What is it?”

“My dad,” she says, her face going pale. “He's sent me five texts and called twice.”

I sit up straighter, watching as she scrolls through her messages, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“What does he want?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Daddy's little girl didn't come home last night. And I'm the reason why.

“He's worried sick. Says he waited up until midnight, then started calling hospitals.” She looks up at me, panic replacing the soft contentment from moments ago. “He's threatening to call the police if I don't respond in the next thirty minutes.”

“So call him,” I say, trying to sound casual even as something tightens in my chest. This is how it starts—reality crashing in. Her remembering who she is, who I am, and all the reasons this was a mistake.

She nods, but doesn't dial. Instead, she stares at her phone as if it might bite her. “What do I even tell him?”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, suddenly aware of my nakedness in a way I wasn't before. “Whatever you want. That you stayed with a friend. That you're fine. Or tell himthe truth—that you spent the night getting fucked six ways to Sunday.”

“Don't be an asshole.”

“Just being realistic, princess.” I stand, grabbing my boxers from the floor and stepping into them. “I'm just saying, you've got options.”

The hurt in her eyes shifts to something more complicated. Not anger, exactly, but enough to know that I am fucking this up already.

“Is that what you want me to do?” she asks. “Lie to him? Pretend this didn't happen?”

I scrub a hand over my face, suddenly feeling cornered. “I want you to do whatever makes this easier for you.”

“That's not an answer, Brayden.”

She's right, and we both know it. I'm dodging, because the truth is I don't know what I want her to do. Part of me—the part that's been keeping people at arm's length my whole life—wants her to lie. Keep me separate from her real life. The other part, the part I don't recognize, wants her to claim me.

“Look,” I say, grabbing my jeans. “Call your dad. Tell him you're safe. The rest...we can figure out later.”

She watches me for a long moment, then nods, her shoulders slumping slightly. She dials, pressing the phone to her ear while I try not to eavesdrop on her conversation.

“Dad? Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry I worried you.” Her tone softens, slipping back into the polished composure she carried the first time I saw her in town. It’s a mask settling into place.