Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Of course that all changed when I was taken.
It’s been years since I’ve fallen into a deep sleep and felt rested. Years since I’ve felt safe and able to sleep at ease.
Yet while I held Jay and let him hold me, it was so easy. So easy to drift into sleep. Maybe it’s the drugs or the exhaustion… or maybe the weight of the guilt settling.
Only the guilty sleep in prison, and that’s quite like what this is. I deserve to be here, because it’s my job to heal him. I know it with everything in me.
He’s broken because of me.
I roll slightly, feeling Jay's warmth cocoon me and slowly bring my hand to his chest. I never touched him back then, since he didn’t like it. He’d always wake up, and I didn’t want that. He needed rest more than I did. His gray Henley is unbuttoned at the top, and his broad muscular shoulders make the thin fabric pull tight.
I love his eyes; I always have even as they haunted me, but with them closed now I can focus on the small details of his face. How thick his lashes are, the rough stubble along his sharp jaw. The way his hair is short, but long enough to be messy.
A sad smile slips across my lips as I rest my fingers against his chest.
I wish I hadn’t though, because he wakes instantly, gripping my wrist and making me gasp. His eyes pop open and the pale gray swirls in his eyes are full of emotion. He swallows visibly and with unease before letting go of my wrist.
He blinks the sleep from his eyes and turns to look over his shoulder, the bed creaking as he looks at the door and then back to me.
He wraps his heavy arm around me, pulling me closer to him so my body touches his and then shuts his eyes as if he’s going back to sleep.
“Jay?” I whisper his name. I don’t know what time it is, but it must be very early or very late.
“Robin,” he says my name low, the deep rumble of his voice making the word linger between us.
“Let me touch you?” I try to be strong in my words, but they’re weak. I’ve always been weak for him.
He stays still, but the moment I reach forward he grabs my wrist out of instinct. His blunt nails dig into my wrist. My breathing stalls and I stare at where he holds me, giving him a moment. “You want me here to help you,” I finally say and look up into his eyes. He’s staring at my wrist as well, at his fingers curled and gripping with a force that’s unbreakable. I can feel the blood pulsing; his grip is so tight.
I swallow and add, “You need to let me do whatever I can to help you.” My voice quivers, and I have to look away. It’s selfish of me. So fucking selfish. I want to touch him, simply because I want to. So many nights he’s held me. He’s let me rest my cheek against his shoulder, and my lips have even rested against his chest. But never my hands. My hands need to be down.
“Tomorrow,” Jay finally says and releases me, leaving my hand dangling awkwardly in the air until I submit and lower it to the bed.
Jay lies still, with no indication he’s going to handcuff me to the bed. And I almost swallow my words, the plea for him not to. I don’t want to remind him, but I need reassurance.
My lips part, but the words don’t come out.
“What is it?” he asks me in a no no-nonsense voice.
“I don’t want you to handcuff me,” I tell him quickly. He lies still, with no reaction and my nerves get the better of me. I peek up at him through my lashes. His face is like stone, emotionless even. “Jay, please,” I beg him. My fingers itch to reach up and touch him, but I can’t, so instead my fingernails dig into the comforter.
“You can’t leave me,” Jay says as if it’s the only truth he knows.
This is wrong. He’s not okay, and I’m not safe. But the two of us were never meant to be right.
I can’t help what being with him does to me. I wish I could justify my feelings, but I know it’s fucked up on too many levels.
All the feelings I have for him are hovering just below the fear.
The need to cling to him to stay safe is strong. It’s hard to fight the urge to touch him. What’s worse is that I don’t want to keep myself from touching him.
“Go to sleep, Robin,” Jay tells me, his large hand splaying along my hip as he adjusts me next to him like we used to lay, calming me and kissing the crook of my neck.