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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

VICTORIA

Coming to, I find myself entangled with Elena. Glancing over her body, I don’t see Conor. I hastily feel behind me, only to find the sheets cold—I’m not waking up from a horrible nightmare then.

Bringing her hand to my face, I give it a soft kiss before slipping from her embrace and climbing off the bed. It’s like I’m being torn in half. I want to stay here in her warmth, but I need to be by his side. I need to be there when he wakes up.

The guilt hanging over me is suffocating. Guilt that I didn’t tell him how I felt. And even though I wanted to, I was so scared of truly giving myself over to him that I just kept fighting it. The idea of being his in every sense—surrendering to him and his dominance—terrified me. I didn’t want to lose myself in him, because I was afraid of how much I’d need him. How much I do need him .

I need him as my Dom and my partner. I need him to take control when I can’t— like Elena is somehow doing for me. I need him… and now that I’ve admitted to myself, I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without him. I hate myself for not realizing it sooner. For making him wait while I pretended I could do this on my own. Pretended I didn’t crave him in ways I couldn’t put into words.

I settle into the hardbacked, unyielding chair beside his bed, ready to wait for him. I’m not leaving again. They can’t make me. Not when I still haven’t told him the most important thing I need him to know.

My hand rests over his, and I watch his chest rise and fall, matching the steady but distant beep of machines. I shift, trying to get comfortable in the chair again, but nothing feels right. I should’ve stayed in bed with Elena and gotten a few hours of sleep. I know I need it . But every time I step from his bedside, it feels like I’m abandoning him. Like if I let go, I’m going to lose the last piece of him I still have.

Unable to fight my exhaustion, I let my head drop onto his thigh. I try to fight it. I don’t want to fall asleep… To miss anything. But my body is too tired. My eyelids are so very heavy, and darkness overtakes me.

A sudden, sharp movement rips me from my sleep. My eyes blow wide, and my heart stops. I jerk upright, my breath catching in my throat and my gaze immediately snapping to Conor. He’s moving. I can barely process what I’m seeing. His fingers twitch—barely—but it’s enough to make my pulse race. His body shifts ever so slightly, a faint tremor running through him. I lean forward, holding my breath, every inch of me frozen in disbelief.

“Conor?” I whisper, my voice trembling with hope and skepticism. And then, just as quickly as it started, the movement stops. He goes still again, and my heart sinks. I can’t breathe. You can’t fucking leave us . “Conor,” I plead, louder and more desperate. “Please, come back to me.”

Tears sting at my eyes, blurring my vision. My hands shake as I squeeze his fingers tighter, a stupid attempt to will him back. “Please,” I beg, my voice breaking, “I love you. I love you so fucking much, Conor. I’m so sorry I didn’t say it before. Please, don’t leave me like this.”

But there’s no answer. No response. Nothing.

I lean forward again and press my forehead against his as sobs wrack through me, raw and unrestrained. “I love you,” I whisper through my tears. “I need you. Please…wake up. Please don’t leave me.”

My heart is cracking and on the verge of shattering, I know it. A soft squeeze of my hand. Light and so faint, but unmistakable. Conor’s fingers twitch around mine again, and this time, I know it’s intentional.

“Oh my God,” I gasp. My lower lip trembles as I gasp for air. “Conor? Conor, please…please, come back to me.” My tears fall faster now, streaming down my face without restraint and dropping onto his body. I don’t care. I just need him to wake up. I need him to hear me. I need him to know.

“I love you,” I repeat, my words barely a whisper now. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize how much I need you. How much I love you.” The words are tumbling from my lips for the first time, and I can’t hold them back anymore. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.”

He moves again. This time, it’s not just his fingers—his whole body shifts. A soft groan, so small I almost miss it, slips past his lips. His eyelids flutter. Slowly, his eyes crack open, and the sharp, familiar blue of his gaze meets mine. H e ’s awake .

“Conor,” I choke, fighting the array of emotions rushing through me and tangling together. My hand cups his face, my fingers trembling as I trace over the unruly stubble covering his jaw. He’s silent, and his gaze is fuzzy, but he’s here. He’s here.

“ Cailín dáigh ,” he croaks. His voice is hoarse and raw. But hearing him speak—calling me his stubborn girl—it’s enough to melt my heart.

“I love you,” I blubber uncontrollably through my tears. “I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t let you give me what I needed. I should’ve given you all of me. I need you. I need you so much.”

His hand presses against mine, and he struggles through his pain and exhaustion to smile. “Am I going to have to nearly die every time I want you to admit that I’m right? That I know what you need?”