Page 110 of Meet Me In The Dark

Thirty-Four

Celeste

The car ride home is quiet.

It’s not awkward or tense. It’s just that soft, bone-deep quiet where neither of us feels the need to fill the space.

My head is still caught in the library with every beam, every speck of dust, the weight of the air, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room.

No one’s ever taken me anywhere like that. Not to impress me or because it was convenient, but because they truly saw me.

Julian didn’t askif I’d like it.

He knew.

And God, I did.

We stayed longer than we should, exploring every dusty corner. We read the spines of forgotten books out loud to each other and tried not to laugh when the desk nearly buckled under us. We kissed like we were seventeen and tipsy on hormones. He didn’t rush. He let me linger, breathe, and soak in every creaking floorboard, every exposed nail, and every smell.

It was one of the best nights I’ve had in years.

Which is why what happens next feels so unfair.

He’s somewhere between whispering filthy words in my ear and pinning my hands to the bed when a sharp, white-hot pain explodes low in my abdomen. It’s so sudden and savage, it robs me of breath.

No. Not now.

I cling to the pleasure like I can hold onto it and ride it out, but the pain quickly grows, like a clawed hand wrapping around my uterus and squeezing.

My body locks before I can stop it.

Julian’s still moving, still deep, still watching me with that look that unravels me, but it’s gone.

All of it.

The cramp slices deeper, burning through my hips, my lower back, and down my thighs.

“Celeste?” His brow pulls tight, dominance gone and replaced with panic.

“We need to stop,” I manage, my voice tight.

He pulls out and cups my face in his hands. “Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head.

He didn’t.

This isn’t him.

This is my traitorous body reminding me who’sreally in charge.

And I hate it.

I hate the worry in his eyes. I hate that I can’t control this.

I hate that I feel the old rage rising.

Rage at the clock, at my own anatomy, at the way pain always feels like it’s stripping away pieces of me I just got back.