Chapter 20 In my Bed
Aiyana's P.O.V
The night felt endless.
PINCH ME! He's literally in my bed.
I lay still in the faint glow from the bedside lamp, listening to the quiet pattern of his breathing.
Slow at first, tense, then gradually deepening as sleep dragged him under. Jerome Black, ruler of men and monster to his enemies, slept on the narrow couch like a guard dog too loyal to leave his post.
Every time I shifted even slightly, his body tensed as if he sensed the movement through instinct alone. His presence filled the room . It was not loud, not forceful, but heavy, like a storm waiting behind glass. I didn’t know when I finally drifted off, only that when I woke again, it was still dark and something felt… different.
Softer.
Quieter.
I pushed up onto my elbows and turned to look at him.
Jerome was no longer rigid. One arm had slipped off the couch, palm resting against the floor, like he had been reaching for something even in sleep. His pillow was crooked beneath him, his blanket half-fallen. I realized with a faint ache that he slept like someone who never truly rested, someone who never believed he was safe.
Not even here.
Not even with me alive in the same room.
His jaw, normally cut from stone, had softened. In the stillness, he looked younger, stripped of the cold command he wore like armor. Just a man, not a myth. Barefoot, vulnerable, wrapped in exhaustion and unspoken fear.
I shouldn’t have stared so long.
But I did.
Because this version of him that was quiet, unguarded, and fragile was something I had never imagined existed.
I lay back again, heart steadying and for a moment, I felt something like peace. Like we were two wounded animals who had found temporary shelter in each other’s silence.
Hours passed.
Birds began to stir outside before the sun even rose. Light seeped under the curtains, soft and pale. I eased out of bed quietly to stretch my aching muscles as the night’s chaos still lived in my bones, but as soon as my feet touched the cold floor, Jerome moved.
Not abruptly.
Not violently.
Just a tiny shift. His hand lifting slightly, reaching out into empty air. His brows pulled together, a subtle crease of distress forming.
He was dreaming.
Of what, I didn’t know.
But I knew with strange certainty that the emptiness near him frightened him even asleep.
Before fear could catch up to thought, I crossed the room and knelt beside the couch. Not touching him, just close enough that if he reached again, he would find presence, not absence.
As if guided by something silent between us, his hand brushed my wrist.
And stilled.
His breathing settled.
Something inside me trembled.
I could have pulled away. Should have. All logic screamed that whatever was happening between us was dangerous, emotionally, physically, in every possible way. But the warmth of his fingers against my skin quieted logic like a hand over its mouth.
He wasn’t holding me.
He was anchoring himself.
I swallowed hard and whispered for him or for myself, I wasn’t sure.
“You don’t have to be afraid in your sleep.”
He didn’t answer, not consciously, but something in him loosened. His grip gentled, his shoulders unknotted. I sat there on the floor like a fool, watching the most feared man in the city find peace only when I was within reach.
Time blurred.
At some point, my body leaned against the side of the couch as sleep tugged at me again. I must have drifted off because the next thing I felt was warmth. Steady and strong, wrapping around me like an embrace.
I woke slowly, head resting against his chest.
He hadn’t moved me forcefully. No, his arm was around me in a tender, almost hesitant way, as if he had only sought closeness in unconscious need. The blanket once on the couch now covered both of us, tucked around my shoulders with gentle precision.
Jerome slept beside me.
Not in the bed, not above me, not claiming, just near enough that breathing didn’t feel like a lonely act.
Close enough that I felt his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt.
It startled me how natural it felt.
His fingers were loosely curled against my back, not gripping, not taking, just simply holding, like he feared letting go more than crossing the line we’d both been dancing around.
He could have dragged me to him. Could have made desire the point. But he hadn’t.
He had chosen comfort.
Connection.
Humanity.
Slowly, trying not to wake him, I lifted my head. His lashes were long against his skin. A faint scar cut across his jaw — one I’d never noticed before. He looked peaceful, but beneath it was tension that even sleep couldn’t erase.
A man who had lived too long without softness.
I was still admiring the rare stillness of him when his eyes opened.
Not sharp, not instantly guarded but hazy, human, warm in the early morning half-light. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of us moved. His gaze traveled slowly, taking in my proximity, my hand resting against his chest, the blanket around us both.
Then something fragile flickered across his face.
Not triumph.
Not dominance.
Relief.
He had fallen asleep beside me, and I was still there.
His voice, when it came, was rough from sleep.
“You stayed.”
I swallowed, pulse fluttering like wings. “You were… restless. I didn’t want to wake you.”
His hand hesitated, a breath from pulling away but instead he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that nearly undid me.
“I sleep only when I feel safe.” he murmured. “Last night was the first in years.” He whispered with a voice that made him even more attractive, if that was possible .
I couldn’t look away. His eyes held too much fear, longing, something deeper that pressed against my ribs like a heartbeat I didn’t know how to answer.
I whispered, “You shouldn’t depend on me for that.”
He exhaled, a soft, humorless sound.
“I already do.”
The honesty stole the air from the room, from both of us. Not a confession of love, not desire — something heavier. More binding. A vow neither of us had prepared for.
Silence wrapped around us like another blanket.
He didn’t kiss me.
He didn’t pull me closer.
He only rested his forehead lightly against mine. A gesture intimate in its restraint, in the choice he made not to take what he wanted.
His voice was a whisper I felt more than heard.
“Just… stay a little longer.”
My heart answered before my mind had a chance to stop it.
I stayed.
Not out of fear.
Not out of obligation.
But because the space between us, tangled in blankets and morning light, felt like the safest place either of us had ever known.
We stayed like
that until sunlight touched the walls.
Two people who didn’t know how to love gently. Learning slowly, painfully, beautifully, that gentle was possible.