Lahat ng Kabanata ng They Know What She Wants: Kabanata 131 - Kabanata 140

He gave me one small nod, then walked across the street and sat on the bench farthest from the fountain, the one half-hidden by a cluster of bare winter branches that still managed to offer a thin veil of privacy even without leaves. He pulled out his phone, opened it, and kept his eyes on the screen, giving me the gift of not watching, not waiting for me to perform or prove anything, just letting me exist in the space.I stood there for a long moment after he sat there, the paper bag from the art store clutched against my chest, the weight of the charcoal tin and the fresh sketchpad inside pressing into my ribs with every breath. The park was quiet with only a few dog walkers in the distance, an older man feeding pigeons near the frozen fountain, and the occasional jogger cutting through on the path but every sound felt amplified against the edges of my nerves. I didn’t want eyes on me. I didn’t want to be… seen.So I scanned the perimeter until I found exactly what I needed: a n

His mouth was warm. Surprise-stiff at first with his lips parted just enough that I tasted coffee and the faint salt of winter air. My hands were still fisted in his coat and for one endless, stupid heartbeat he didn’t move, and I thought—God, I actually thought—he might let me have this, might let me take whatever small piece of safety he carried and keep it for myself. But then he pulled back like I’d burned him. His face was flushed bright red with the unmistakable crimson spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears. His eyes were wide behind the wire-rimmed glasses, pupils blown with shock as he lifted one arm and pressed the back of it hard against his mouth, covering it like he needed a physical barrier between us, like he could erase the last three seconds if he just pressed firmly enough. “Mia…” His voice cracked when he finally spoke my name. Then he stood so fast the bench creaked under the sudden shift of weight. The sketchpad I’d set between us slid to the gro

I smiled against his mouth, stroking again but slower this time, twisting my wrist on the upstroke just the way I knew made his thighs tense. “You said taking care of me was your favorite thing,” I whispered, voice husky, and teasing. “But I think taking care of you might be mine.” His laugh was breathless when it came out, and he caught my wrist gently but firmly before I could stroke him again. “Careful,” he warned, though his hips still rocked subtly into my hand like he couldn’t help himself. “You keep that up and we’re not making it out of this tub tonight.” “Maybe I don’t want to,” I countered, leaning in to nip his lower lip, tugging lightly before soothing it with my tongue. “Maybe I want to stay right here until the water gets cold and the sun comes up.” He groaned again and released my wrist, letting me continue the slow, torturous strokes while his hands slid up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, teasing without quite touching where I wanted him most

I woke up to the soft creak of the bedroom door opening, followed by the familiar sound of bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. The room was a bit dark with curtains drawn against the early morning light, but enough grayish glow slipped through the gaps to outline Gage’s silhouette as he stepped inside carrying a tray. My stomach rumbled before my brain fully registered what was happening.He set the tray on the nightstand and leaned over me, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured. “I made pancakes. Just like you requested.”I groaned, low and dramatic, rolling onto my back and throwing an arm over my eyes even though I was already smiling under it. “It’s not the same,” I mumbled. “We were supposed to do it together.”He laughed and sat on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. “That was the plan,” he said, fingers tracing lazy circles on my bare shoulder where the sheet had slipped down. “But you were dead aslee

“Fuck,” I muttered, shaking my head even though the staples screamed at my scalp. “Fair enough.”We didn’t say shit for a minute or two while I sipped the lukewarm soup, letting the heat crawl through my chest and take the edge off the constant goddamn ache—just a fraction, but I’d take it.Then the door opened.I glanced over, half-expecting the night-shift nurse with the bleach-blonde pixie cut who always hit me with the pain-scale, or maybe that twitchy phlebotomist who’d already turned both my arms into bruised fucking road maps. But it wasn’t either of them.It wasn’t even a nurse.The man who stepped inside was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the same charcoal sweater and wire-rimmed glasses from that first foggy morning I woke up here… Harlan. The stranger who’d pulled over on that empty stretch of road, called the ambulance, and then—apparently—planted his ass in this room for hours while I was out cold.“Sorry I haven’t been back sooner,” he chuckled, voice warm but sheepish