Todos os capítulos de You Left, I Could Have Fixed Us: Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

Chapter ThirtyMaya’s POVI couldn’t sleep.My body still ached from the way I had touched myself, from the images of Alvarez that had twisted and poisoned my mind.Guilt crawled under my skin, hot and unbearable, but the hunger had been stronger. I hated myself for giving in, for lying in my bed with trembling fingers, whispering his name as if I still belonged to him.The room smelled faintly of sweat and shame.My sheets clung to me, tangled and damp, sticking to the curve of my thighs. I turned on my side, then on my back, restless, my chest rising too fast as if I had run a race I could never win.I pressed my palms against my face.Why do I always fall apart when it comes to him?The clock on my nightstand glowed past three.The silence around me was loud, the kind of silence that made your thoughts turn cruel.I could still feel the ghost of Alvarez’s hands, though he was nowhere near. It was wrong, it was sick, and yet my body betrayed me again and again.Tears stung my eyes.

Chapter Thirty Two Maya’s POV The night felt endless, each second stretching and folding into the next until exhaustion finally dragged me under. Ethan’s warmth lingered against me, a steady weight that kept my restless thoughts from tearing me apart. When I opened my eyes, morning light had already spilt across the room. It painted the walls in pale gold, soft enough to make me believe for a fleeting moment that everything outside these four walls didn’t exist. I shifted, careful not to wake him, and found myself studying him instead. Ethan was still asleep, his face relaxed, his lips parted slightly as he breathed. The sight made my chest ache in ways I wasn’t prepared for. He looked so unguarded, so human. Nothing like the watchful protector he tried to be when his eyes were open. I swallowed hard, torn between guilt and a quiet, dangerous longing. My hand twitched against the sheets, the urge to reach out and touch him almost unbearable. To trace the curve of his jaw.

Chapter Thirty FourMaya’s POVThe world outside had started to wake, but in here, it felt like time was holding its breath.Ethan’s body pressed into mine, his chest rising and falling against me. His lips brushed lazily along my collarbone, soft now, no longer frantic, as though he was trying to soothe the storm he had unleashed inside both of us.I lay there, tangled in sheets and in him, my body still trembling with aftershocks I could not hide. My thighs ached from how he had claimed me, from the relentless rhythm that had pushed me past the edge again and again.The air was heavy with the scent of us. Sweat. Salt. The faint musk of his release tangled with mine. It clung to my skin, my hair, and the crumpled sheets beneath me.I closed my eyes, and the memories surged back, vivid and raw.His mouth on me, hot and desperate, pulling shameless cries from my lips. The scrape of his stubble against the soft inside of my thighs as he held me open, refusing to let me escape the plea

Chapter Thirty Six Maya’s POV I would ache for the King who owned me, even in the silence of my own bed. The thought tastes like ash and honey at the same time. I press my face into the pillow as if the fabric can muffle the truth beating under my ribs. My hand curls against the sheets, remembering the way my fingers moved, the way my body answered to a ghost who was not there. My thighs still ache faintly from how hard I clenched them together, desperate to chase a fantasy that both shamed and consumed me. The shame and the want sit on top of one another like two heavy stones. For a long time, I simply lie there, counting breaths until the dark thins to a dull grey at the edges of the room. My body is restless even in exhaustion, as though part of me is waiting for a hand that will never touch me. Then there is a sound at the door. Soft. Careful. The kind of knock someone uses when they do not want to force open what they are not sure should be opened. My throat tightens.

Chapter Thirty EighthMaya’s POVWe do not move quickly.He does not try to fix me with grand gestures. He does not throw words at me like salves. He sits with me and makes space for the slow, awkward labour of becoming less ragged.The blanket is heavy with warmth around our knees. The coffee steam fogs the air between us, and for a second the ordinary world presses in, the hum of the house, a distant bird, the soft throb of our hearts. It is small, domestic, and it steadies something feral inside my ribs.Ethan’s thumb keeps going in a small circle on the back of my hand. The motion is so simple that it would be nothing for anyone else. For me, it is everything. It says I am seen. It says someone remembers how to be kind to the parts of me that think I do not deserve gentleness.I watch him watching me. He makes no show of heroics. He simply carries himself as though tending a wounded thing is part of the day’s work. The steadiness in him calms my edges. I want to ask how he learned