Page 82 of Keep Me Close

The realization is almost startling.

I lie still for a while, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing and feeling the solid weight of him behind me before rolling carefully onto my back so I can look at him.

Really look at him.

Even in sleep, the man is ridiculously beautiful.

He’s on his side, one arm stretched across the pillow where my head had been a second ago, his face is relaxed, making him look younger. The bruise under his eye still looks painful. It’s a reminder of everything that’s happened in the past few days.

Emotion presses behind my ribs, but not from fear. It’s something deeper and far more complicated.

It’s impossible not to compare this man to Dakota. My ex would have pushed for more. Not because he wanted me to feel good or he cared whether I was ready, but because taking was how he quieted the insecurities gnawing at him beneath the surface. Even when I was tired or needed space.

Only now, lying here in the dark, do I fully understand how exhausting that relationship was. How much of myself I spent managing his moods, needs, and reactions. How normal I’d let that feel.

And Knox?

Knox had every opportunity to take more. Instead, he only thought about what I needed at that moment. He gave me pleasure and asked for nothing in return.

That alone feels like a revelation.

My mother would have turned Dakota’s unhinged gift into content. The show would’ve needed a moment. A twist. A teaser for the next episode. Everything in my life has always had to become something bigger, shinier, more dramatic than it really was. It all had to feed the machine.

But Knox didn’t make it into a moment. Instead, he made space for me to breathe.

My fingers curl in the sheets as the realization sinks even deeper. This man sees me. Not the brand or the show. Not the polished version of Cheyenne Benson people expect.

Maybe that’s what terrifies me most. Once you know what it feels like to be seen in that way and to be cared for with intention…

There’s no going back to pretending you can live without it.

I shift closer before I can talk myself out of it. My hand slides over his shoulder, lightly tracing the line of muscle, not wanting to wake him. What I need is the reassurance that he’s real. That last night happened and it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

I lean in and press my lips to his collarbone. Almost immediately, his eyes open. They’re alert and focused. The first thing in them isn’t confusion or desire.

It’s concern.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The tenderness in his sleep-filled voice nearly undoes me.

I nod, my fingers resting against his shoulder. “Yeah, I am.”

He studies my face, as if he can sense there’s more.

“I just…” I swallow. “I needed to touch you. To know you were really here.”

“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I meant it earlier. I’m not going anywhere.”

My heartbeat picks up tempo at the way he continues to reassure me, seeming to mean every word.

“Last night wasn’t a mistake,” I whisper. I want him to understand that I don’t regret any of it.

His gaze holds mine. “Good. I’m glad. I’d hate if you did. And I’d hate it even more if you felt like I took advantage of you.”

Everything in me softens. Even half asleep, this is what Knox is worried about. Not whether he could have had more, but if I regret allowing him so close.

“You didn’t. Not at all.”