Wrapped In His Arms Novels & Stories

They all respect her because she did save us, but they are still wary. His scent hits me just as he wraps his arms around me. His lips touch my temple, and my eyes immediately shutter closed. The warmth and the safety I feel in his arms I can’t put into words. “What are you thinking about, beautiful?” I turn in his arms, resting my chin on his chest. I wrap my arms tight around his waist in an attempt to soak him up.

Then he pulled me fully into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin and wrapping himself around me like a protective shield. "I'm just glad you're back," he murmured against my hair, his voice thick with emotion he didn't try to hide. "In my arms. Alive for both of us."

Without thinking, I threw myself into his arms, colliding with his bare chest. He caught me easily, his grip tightening around my waist in a way that felt a little too natural, like his hands had been there before and knew exactly how to hold me. His skin was warm against mine, and I could feel the strength in his arms as he held me firmly, almost possessively, as though he thought I was going to fall.

I sighed, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. “I thought I was going to lose you.” I whispered, burying my face into the crook of his neck. He was frozen in my arms but slowly thawed. His arms finally wrapped me in his embrace. “I thought he was going to kill you. I could… I couldn’t let him take you from me. I won’t let anyone take you from me.” he whispered, burying his face into my shoulder as we held each other.

His arms wrapped around me instantly, strong and warm despite his own injuries, holding me tight as if he could shield me from the entire world. “Aria,” he murmured into my hair, voice low and steady. “I am here… I have got you.” I clung to him harder, tears soaking into his hoodie, the terror of the break-in mixing with the overwhelming relief of him being there.

His arms wrapped around me instantly, tightly, completely like he'd been waiting years to hold me again. I buried my face against his chest. And finally... I cried.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, steady and warm. “Yes, I remember,” he whispered, his voice a reassuring murmur against my skin. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Relief flooded through me, washing away the doubt that had crept in. I could stay like this forever, held by him, feeling safe and understood. We stayed wrapped in each other for a few more moments, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe longer. I didn’t keep track, savoring the calm that settled over us, the way his arms held me as if nothing could touch us here.

That was all the confirmation Artemy needed. He enveloped me in his arms, pulling me close to his body, providing a secure sanctuary within his embrace. My head rested above his heart, and I closed my eyes, tuning in to its steady rhythm. Placing my hands on his chest, I nestled into his form, allowing myself to melt into his warm, tender hold. My fingers clung tightly to the fabric of his jacket, afraid to let go. His warmth encased me, filling my senses until all I could perceive, feel, and think about was him.

His suit was covered in blood, a white bandage on his arm, and a small one on his head. Without hesitation, I run towards him and he opens his arms as I throw myself into his embrace. Thank God he is okay. “I’m okay, babygirl,” he whispers against my wet hair as I feel the tears roll down my cheeks. I look up and he smiles lightly. His lips brush mine lightly in a tender kiss while his arms tighten around my body.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. He was taller, broader—but in that moment, he folded into me like someone who hadn’t been held in a long, long time. As if he wasn’t made of solid muscle and pride and sharp edges—but of something delicate, bruised and breaking beneath the surface. His arms slipped around my waist, and he buried his face into my neck, sucking in long, deep breaths that trembled through his entire body. Every inhale felt like an effort, every exhale a quiet unraveling. His fingers dug into my skin—not to hurt, but to hold on.