Bones cracked—a fissure traveling from the base of his spine upward as he sat upright, stretching against the protest of his body. A low, gravelly groan rumbled from deep within his chest; the byproduct of a night spent tossing and turning on a mattress that only ever felt right when you were in it.

When you were there to cocoon him in warmth.

Tilting his head, his gaze drifted to you. You lay curled on your side, the blanket twisted around your body like an offering—something sacred, crafted to be worshipped beneath his hands.

So instead of turning away, instead of surrendering to another day of orders and tests, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, he turned onto his stomach and crawled toward you.

Strong, corded arms slipped around your waist, guiding you onto your back before he settled himself there. His head rested atop your stomach, finding home between the familiar heat of your thighs.

And when you stirred, half-awake, trying to shift away—

“Nah, c’mere. Stay,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep as he buried his face against your skin, arms tightening around you in a protective lock.

The truth? You had this man in a chokehold. He didn’t play when it came to you. Whoever had something to say about it could take it up with him—because your business was his to handle.

“Don’t be like that, baby…” his lips trailed lower, brushing the exposed skin of your abdomen. “Lemme love on you, yeah?”