Page 104 of Kill for a Kiss

I giggle and curl in closer, ignoring the awkward angle of Stan’s foot jutting under the blanket by my ankle.

A moment later, the room is quiet in the coziest way. I smile, feeling fulfilled. Sterling’s heartbeat stays steady beneath me, rhythmic and present. He’s still holding me. Still letting me lie on top of him, even though I know he’d rather sit on the chair and watch over me.

I tilt my head, just to look at him. Just because I can. And for a second, I almost see the mask again. But I blink it away, because his mask has been gone. He’s been showing his real face to me since the night I asked. Since I wanted to see all of him.

And now he smiles. It’s small at first, but it spreads across his face. My cheeks flush from the sight, and I let him notice it. I want him to see me. All of me too.

“You’re staying awake?” I ask.

“I’ll rest,” he says. “Later.”

I nod, not needing anything else. Not right now. So we lie here for a while, wrapped in sunlight. I don’t know how long we stay like this. A stretch of minutes. Maybe longer. Either way, this moment melts away at time and makes the world feel as if it fits inside the span of his heartbeat.

Sterling barely moves, only enough to keep his arm secured around me. His fingers drift to my hair again, trailing gently through the strands. I keep my head on his chest, listening. I trace the hollow of his throat with my eyes, follow the shape of his jaw, and notice how his silver hair strands shine.

He’s watching me too. But he says nothing, yet his gaze says everything.You’re safe.I’m here.You’re here.I’m not going anywhere.

Stan groans suddenly as he twists and turns. I giggle again. Even Sterling’s mouth twitches, another smile tugging at the corner. “Sounds like he swallowed a chainsaw,” he whispers.

I smile brightly at him. His hand cups the back of my head for a moment, then smooths along my spine in a slow stroke.

Then, in the softest voice I’ve ever heard from him, Sterling whispers, “Are you comfortable?”

My heart thuds, warm and full. “Mm-hmm.”

He adjusts slightly under me, testing the weight I’ve put on his chest, as if checking for strain. His hand pauses at my hip. “You sure?Nothing hurts?” The question is simple. The care in his voice isn’t.

“I’m fine,” I whisper. But it comes out too quiet, too tender, because he catches me off guard. How gentle he is with me. How rare it feels to be asked and truly heard. How only Sterling ever does this. Worries like this. Over me and the smallest things.

His fingers brush my hair back, thumb tracing the side of my cheek. “Need anything?”

I shake my head. Still, his brow furrows. A mere crease. But it’s enough to show he’s still reading my expressions closely.

“You warm enough? Blanket’s alright?”

I nod, unable to stop my giggle. “You’re a little much when you get like this,” I whisper, honeyed with affection.

He exhales through his nose. Barely a huff.

I bury my smile against his chest. “But I like it when you fuss, Sterling.”

He doesn’t answer with words, but his hand keeps stroking down my back, leisure and steady.

Outside, the sun continues its climb, soft light stretching across the floorboards. Inside, the fire is low, Stan is practically dead to the world, and I’m lying on the chest of a man who makes silence feel like a love language. One I never want to stop speaking.

We stay this way. Fingers drifting over skin. Breath syncing slow. Eyes holding each other like the rest of the world has nothing left to offer. And maybe, in this quaint cabin, surrounded by the quiet woods, we have everything we need.

Sterling’s fingers continue tracing my back, barely a whisper of contact. My fingers reach for his strands. His hand stills for a moment when I part my lips, voice barely above a whisper. “You dyed your hair black?”

Sterling hums low in his throat. “Helps me blend in.”

Between my fingers, a few silver strands catch the sun’s glow. “Ilike your natural hair color.”

“But it stands out.”

“Yeah, in a good way. It suits you, Sterling.”

His gaze feels like gravity. A pull I never want to resist. I don’t think I could, even if I tried. His thumb lingers at my temple, a gentle stroke that makes me melt.