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When Teague’s words filter in through the haze of my orgasm, they’re almost reverent. “There it is That’s my good girl. Look at how well you take me, fucking gorgeous, hummingbird. Christ you’re magnificent. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life.” My arms shake and threaten to give out. “Come here,” he murmurs, hands sliding from my hips up my back until my head is cradled in one of his strong hands.

I collapse onto him, my chest pressed against his as his free hand glides up and down my back, my arm, and smooths the hair away from my face.

Somewhere along the way, Teague has become my safe space. I’m not exactly sure when. I don’t know what made it happen, but it did. And I have never felt as safe, truly safe, as I do in this moment.

I blink against the bright light streaming through the window and take stock of myself, the room—I’m alone. My muscles are sore, but there’s no actual pain. I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that didn’t involve pain. And I had an orgasm. An amazing, earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm. That’s never happened during sex for me either.

I slide out from between the sheets and walk silently to the en suite to pee. When I wash my hands, taking time to look at myself in the mirror. There are no bruises reflected back at me. No dried blood caked around freshly sliced skin. There’s…there’s no dried, crusty cum anywhere on my body. Again, I’ve never experienced that before.

What do I do with myself now? I’m utterly out of my depth and wild thoughts swirl through my head. Should I stay in the bedroom? Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed without permission. Old panic pushes in at the corners, and my head threatens to go hazy with fear.

I tiptoe out of the bathroom and freeze, naked and completely exposed, at the sight of Teague leaning against the doorframe. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to the floor.

He pads across the room, stopping right in front of me. He hooks a finger under my chin and lifts until my gaze meet his. “You have nothing to apologize to me for.” His brows are low and pinched together, but his warm chocolate eyes are completely sincere. Concerned… for me?

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I ran downstairs to start the coffee pot when I should’ve stayed. Should have been here when you woke up.” Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his warmth. “God, I’m so sorry. I fucked this all to hell.”

Unease skitters through me at sudden contact, and I freeze.

His hold loosens, just a little bit. “Shit, tell me how to make this right?”

I shake my head, too stunned to speak. And let’s face it, I’m not great with words on a good day, and right now, I’m teetering on the edge.

Teague presses his lips to the top of my head, and laughs. Which throws me.

“Hummingbird, you have queen energy burrowed deep down inside you. You showed it last night, so there’s no denying it exists. I will spend the rest of my life proving to you that you are worthy.”

The iciness I’ve carried with me to numb my pain begins to melt.

“Bath? Breakfast? Or do you want to go back to bed?”

I shiver because as warm as Teague is, the air in the cabin is cold. “A shower? Please? And then…” I shrug.

He guides me into the bathroom and flips on the taps in the huge stone and glass shower. Steam swirls almost immediately as Teague guides me under the spray dropping his low-slung lounge pants as he steps in behind me.

He pampers me, running his fingers through my hair, lathering and rinsing it. Concentrates on applying conditioner, working it through every strand and then rinsing that too. He washes me, from head to toe, gentle and full of care.

The contrast is stark between the time and care he took in making sure I was clean and the hurried pace with which he cleans himself. He twists the taps off and wraps me in a warm towel, using another one to pat the water from my limbs and squeeze it from my hair. When he’s done, he wraps it around his waist and settles me in front of the mirror.

Each mundane task is completed with diligence. My hair is combed until it’s snarl free and smooth. He holds up a finger indicating he’ll be right back, reappearing with a fresh pair of lounge pants, a soft gray t-shirt, and a hoodie that is far too big for me. All of the clothes are, but I’ve been stealing them to wear this whole time. Being surrounded by him calms me. It keeps the anxiety from taking over and crushing me.

I pull on the items, one by one, drowning in their security.

When he’s similarly dressed, Teague holds his hand out for me to take and leads me down to the main level.

“I got the fire started. Curl up there, and I’ll bring you a coffee. Then we’ll go over the tracking app and tech shit. As much as I want to hide away here with you, I’m going to have to go back to the estate and I can’t do that unless I know you can find me.”

I don’t like the fact that he’s going to leave me here alone, but even that takes a back seat to the fact that he wants me to be able to track his whereabouts. More iciness melts away.

Teague brings me coffee, perfectly doctored with cream and honey, and settles in next to me on the deep green sofa. He pulls a sleek phone from his pocket and grabs my hand, pressing my finger to the screen.

“The tracking screen is here. It updates in real time, allowing you to see exactly where I am.” His eyes find mine, creasing at the corners as he smiles. “I dropped some numbers in your contacts. Winnie, Garrick. Me. And I attached the reading and shopping apps to my account. Order whatever you want. Deliveries will go to the estate—for safety reasons—but Garrick will bring anything you order. Sound good?”

I nod.

“Good. Now let me get you something to eat and then we can spend the day any way you want.” He hands the phone to me, gives my thigh a quick squeeze, and stands. He leans down and takes my mouth, kissing me stupid and leaving me breathless.

While he cooks, I sit and stare at the flames, their dance choreographed to music I wish I could hear, accented with crackles and pops. I’d be happy as a pig in shit if I never had to leave this place.