Elara POV
The bed dipped again, and the air changed—too warm, too close, too full of him.
Theron's weight hovered above me, held up by his arms so he wouldn't crush me. It should have created space. It didn't. It only trapped every sound inside my chest.
His breath brushed my cheek. Slow. Controlled.
Mine wasn't.
I felt his heartbeat through his shirt. I felt mine everywhere.
"Elara…" he whispered, voice low and rough. "Tell me to move away."
I should have said it.
I should have pushed him back.
But my fingers were already curled in his shirt, holding him there.
His eyes dropped to where my hand pulled at him, and something in his expression cracked—like restraint slipping through a fist.
He lowered his forehead to mine.
Not touching fully.
Just close enough that the warmth slid over my skin and made something inside me tighten.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"Because you're too close," I whispered.
"And you're not pushing me away."
