Twenty-Nine

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"Welcome back."

Gatlin blinks up at me from his position on the bed. Dark circles form around his blue eyes, but they're bright and happy once they settle on me. I move closer to his side and lean forward to press a single kiss to his forehead. A content groan rolls through his chest, and his right arm slips from under the comforter and yanks me against him.

"G—Gatlin," I murmur, trying—and failing—to push myself away from his chest. "You're stronger than me, remember?"

He chuckles, but releases his grip. Despite his sickly appearance, the newly installed organs are functioning at peak performance and his white cell count is normal. There are no hitches in his breath and no darkness swirling in the depths of his gaze.

Tightly, I grip his arm with one hand and sling the other across his torso. It falls on lean flesh, softer and far less muscular than before. He's dropped an awful amount of weight in the past few weeks.

"How long was I out?" He asks, curling closer to plant a sweet kiss to my lips. Grunting, he collapses back onto the bed. "Shit. I feel like I've run a marathon."

When I draw my gaze away from his, he slides the arm around my face upward to cup my cheek. Reluctantly, I turn to face him again. Water blurs my vision and I choke back a sob, clinging to him so tightly my knuckles turn white.

Grimacing, he pulls me closer. This time, he doesn't press his lips to my forehead. Instead, they fall to mine.

He's gentle, coaxing my lips apart with his tongue. I don't battle him for dominance. Sighing into his mouth, I melt into a puddle of thankfulness and sublime desire.

I've missed this. I've missed him. His hands restlessly wonder my frame. Carefully, he traces the dip of my waist, the width of my hips and measure the roundness of my thighs to squeeze. I both want and need more than a kiss, but after this ordeal, the last thing he should have to deal with is me rubbing against him like a cat in heat.

When his hands shift a second time, sliding to find the hem of the oversized t-shirt I'm wearing, I pull away.

"You need rest."

His head shakes. "I need you."

"You have me."

Intrigue colors his features, and he raises an eyebrow. "Catrina?"

"Gone."

The single word whips all expression from his face, except for one. It burns through me like a fire, setting my entire being on fire in a way I can only describe as scorching. If he wasn't in his hospital bed, still hooked up to machines—I'm not sure how long we would both be wearing out clothes.

"Then you're mine completely?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Good." I gasp as his hands contract roughly. "You didn't answer my question."

Slowly, his lips move to my neck, nipping and kissing as they drag from my shoulder to my ear. He makes the circuit again, trailing his tongue across my pulse and downward, dipping to plant a kiss to the top of my right breast. Shivering, I arch my back.

"What question?"

"How long was I out?"

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I don't want to answer. How do I explain he lost over two weeks of his life because of someone else's jealousy? Should I explain at all?

Charlie and Ryker weren't exactly thrilled with my discovery. Yet, I hadn't seen either of them the last 18 hours. I'm sure Ryker sent Charlie to pick up the instigator and interrogate them.

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