He certainly refused to think about what happened next. What happened after, when their lessons were done and she started looking around her at all the world had to offer. Right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to get back in bed with her and pick up where they left off.

Except…she hadn’t asked him to stay. She’d never asked him to stay. He’d hoped she might have by now, even if it had meant adding an extra shade of blue to his balls. But she never had. Nor had she tried to stop him from leaving.

But he didn’t want to leave tonight. Not after what they’d just shared.

She stirred briefly as he slipped in beside her, draping her arm across his chest, snuggling into him, her body cleaving to his in her slumber. A feeling of rightness, of belonging, of contentment, filled up his chest, threatening to fracture his ribs as it grew bigger and bigger.

Kissing the top of her head, Tucker pulled up the sheet and flicked out the light.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Della couldn’t see, she couldn’t breathe. Her throat swelled, and her lungs seized. Nausea roiled through her gut as an oily slick of bile coated her stomach. Adrenaline pumped into her system as the darkness pressed in on her, sitting like a dead weight on her chest. Her pulse ratcheted up as she grabbed for breath, waiting for the hand to come from the dark, for the squeeze at her throat, for the blunt force to push past her lips and teeth and invade her mouth.

Coughing and sputtering, she dry-heaved as the memory from her past sank barbs into her flesh, twisted liked vines around her body. Panicked, she broke through the layers of darkness, sitting bolt upright in bed, fully in terror’s grip.

She stared blindly into the night. It was dark. So dark. Nothing but the staccato hammer of her pulse in her ears, the never-ending blackness, and the old movie reel in her head stuck in the same rut. Clawing at her throat, gasping for air, she groped blindly for the light, barely registering the presence of a warm male body, barely hearing the puzzled “Della?” as her fingers desperately sought the switch. “Della?”

He was sitting now, too, but nothing mattered except the light. Panic was making her fingers useless, and she whimpered in frustration and then in triumph as they finally located the tiny little button. Pink light flooded the room. Relief flooded her system. The barbs fell away, and the vines retreated. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she hugged them tight, waiting for the toxic cling of memories to recede.

They always took their time in retreat.

“Della? Are you okay? It’s me, Tucker.”

Tucker. It was Tucker. Tucker was still here.