A rustling startles me awake.
For a moment, I think I’m back in my house and there’s an emergency and everyone needs to evacuate the property.
But before I can stumble from the bed, the ceiling with stars that glow in the dark comes into view.
A breath whooshes out of me, but it gets stuck in my throat when I make out the reason behind the rustling.
Knox.
I’m lying partially on top of him like we’ve done every night for the two weeks since he started living here. Because I’m usually a deep sleeper, I only wake up when the alarms go off. Plural. This is the first time I’ve been hauled out of sleep in the middle of the night; it’s because of the Red Bull I had with Gwen and Chris yesterday afternoon. I told them caffeine messes with my system, but they called me weird for never trying an energy drink in my twenty-year-old life, and my pride was kind of wounded, so I drank it.
I’m glad I did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen the scene beneath me.
Knox’s eyes are slammed shut and sweat covers his naked chest and glistens against his tattoos. The samurai looks gruesome in the darkness, haunted even. I click on the flashlight of my phone, bathing the room in soft white light, then slowly shake his shoulder.
He seems to be having a nightmare, a really bad one, judging by how his lips are pursed and the way his beautiful face appears to be in agony.
It hurts. Seeing him so deep in torment is similar to being slashed open and bleeding out.
“Knox…” I whisper. “Wake up.”
My free hand strokes his cheek and I try to smooth the lines between his brows, but they get deeper with each passing second.
“Knox…please wake up—”
My words turn into a yelp when he grabs me by the shoulder and hauls me off him. I think I’m about to fly off the sofa and land on the floor headfirst, but my back hits the cushion and a large body hovers over me.
Knox.
He stares down at me with a glassy look, the hazel in his eyes muted and his shoulder and chest muscles flexing. One hand grabs my shoulder and the other shoots to my throat. But he doesn’t grab the sides of it, where I get a bit lightheaded but absolutely delirious with pleasure, like he usually does.
This time, he chokes my windpipe.
As if his sole purpose is to suffocate the hell out of me.
My lungs burn from the lack of oxygen and I try to thrash beneath him, my nails digging into his arm, but it’s like an ant is wrestling a buffalo. I’m unable to move him even an inch.
And the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to be seeing me.
“K-Knox…” I choke out.
He blinks a few times and he freezes. He doesn’t release me, but he’s not actively trying to suffocate me to death either.
Slowly, too slowly, the golden gleam seeps into his eyes and he pushes off of me with a sudden shove, then scrambles to his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck!”
I drag in copious amounts of air through my nose and wince at the burn of every inhale and exhale.
Before I’m able to get my bearings, strong hands grab me by the shoulders, pulling me into a sitting position. I stare into Knox’s eyes and a wild sense of comfort slams through me.
The thought that I’d lost him even for a moment filled me with damning trepidation.
“Are you okay?” He inspects me, then his face scrunches with pain when he focuses on my neck. “Bloody hell.”
“I’m fine.”
“The red marks on your neck indicate otherwise.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not fucking nothing. I almost choked you to death just now.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Why the fuck did you even touch me? You’re usually out of it until the morning.”
“Wait…does that mean this happens a lot?”
He’s silent, his sharp jaw flexing as if he’s suppressing something.
Inching closer, I place my unsteady fingers on his cheeks, cupping them. “What’s plaguing you so much that you have constant nightmares about it?”
“Why would you care?” There’s no accusation in his tone. In fact, it sounds a bit vulnerable, as if he wants me to care but is scared that I don’t.
“Why wouldn’t I? I don’t want you in pain.” I stroke my fingers over his cheeks and he leans into it.
He often does when I touch him lately, whether I’m reading fantasy books to him or we’re watching movies or bingeing on some crime show. As per his rules, he always gets to touch me until even I can’t concentrate on what I’m reading, but it feels more intimate now.
We’ve fallen into a peaceful rhythm that scares the shit out of me sometimes. It feels too real and too different from the no-strings-attached arrangement we started with.
There are so many strings attached now that I can’t count them.
“I’m fine,” he says coolly, seeming to be more in control of himself.
“You’re obviously not. Tell me, Knox. What is it?”
“If I do, if I bare myself to you, will you do the same?”
I gulp, my fingers freezing on his face. “I can’t talk about my past. It’s dangerous.”
“Maybe mine is, too. So I guess we’ll both leave it at that.”
He starts to release me, but I wrap my legs around his waist to stop him from getting up. “It doesn’t matter.”
Knox gives me a questioning glance but remains in his position.
“It’s okay if our pasts remain in the past. We can just focus on the present for now.”
“For now?”
“My mom once told me we can’t escape our pasts forever. There will be a day when we’ll have to face it.” I brush my lips against his briefly, letting myself taste him on my tongue. “But that day isn’t today.”
He remains silent for a long second, staring, unblinking.
Shit. Did I say something wrong?
I’m about to backpedal or pull away, but he captures my mouth in a long, passionate kiss that steals my breath away.
Then we fall back asleep with his heartbeat against mine.
