I knew she’d be trouble the second I saw her dragging boxes up the stairs.
Too small for the job. Too proud to ask for help. I leaned in the doorway of unit 3B and just watched—her hair pulled up in that messy way that women think isn’t sexy, when it’s actually the most dangerous thing on earth.
“You need help?” I asked.
“No,” she said. But her voice cracked. She didn’t look at me.
So I carried the rest for her anyway.
Didn’t say much. Didn’t ask. Just noted the bruises on her forearm, the tear in her shirt, the shaking in her hands when she tried to open the wine.
She was running from someone.
And somehow… I already knew I was the one she'd run into next.
I didn’t plan to come back that night.
But when the rain started around 10, I looked out the window and saw her light still on.
And I went.
No umbrella. Just knocked.
She opened the door in a big T-shirt, no makeup, eyes puffy. Not crying. Just… emptied out.
“You good?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Really?”
She shook her head.
I stepped inside.
We didn’t talk. I just stood in her kitchen while she stared at the floor. Like her body wanted to break but didn’t know how.
Then she said it. Quiet. Honest.
“I don’t want to be touched. But I want to feel something.”
Fuck.
I’d never heard anything so raw.
I walked to her slowly. Watched her eyes track mine. I let my hand hover over her cheek but didn’t make contact.
She leaned into it.
And I held her.
Not tight. Not rough. Just arms around her like a home she'd never been given. Her head tucked under my chin. My breath steady.
Then she cried.
Soft, silent sobs that broke my fucking heart. And I held her like I’d been waiting my whole life to be useful to someone exactly like her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “You just don’t think you deserve it.”
When I kissed her, it was like pulling silk through a wound.
Slow. Careful. Devastating.
She trembled against me. Let me lead. Let me touch. Let me prove I wasn’t like him.
I picked her up. Laid her down on the bed like she was fragile but not weak. Slid my hand under her shirt and over her ribs, feeling the tremble in her breath.
“No bra?” I asked.
“I didn’t expect company.”
“You didn’t need it.”
She laughed softly. Nervous. Needy.
I kissed her collarbone. Her breast. Took my time. She arched into me, legs parting without me asking. Her body was ready even if her heart wasn’t sure.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
She just pulled her shirt off and looked at me with the kind of eyes that begged for ruin.
She was soaked when I touched her—hips twitching, mouth open, hands fisting the sheets. I went slow. Two fingers deep, curling just right. My thumb on her clit. Kissing her throat while she whispered my name like she hadn’t said it out loud before.
When I finally slid inside her, she gasped. Her nails dug into my arms.
I stayed still.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “I just didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m safe.”
God.
I moved then. Gentle at first. Then deeper. Her legs wrapped around my back, pulling me in. Her cries turned to moans, soft and wet, like the storm outside. I kissed her through all of it—forehead, lips, chest—until she started shaking under me.
She came once. Then again.
I didn’t rush.
When I finished, it was slow. Deep. Silent.
I stayed inside her until her breathing calmed.
And when she finally fell asleep on my chest, I didn’t leave.