Chapter Twelve: Warmth

There was a stillness when she leaned back against him. A pause in the night, in the ache, in the quiet swirl of too many thoughts. Marissa didn’t shift her weight coyly or look up at him from beneath her lashes. It wasn’t flirtation.

It was need.

For one breath, one beat, she just wanted to feel someone else’s warmth.

Daniel didn’t move. He could feel the weight of her against his side, solid, grounding. It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t strange. It was just… surprising.

He didn’t know what to do with the feeling. If he didn’t know any better he’d have said she was making a move. Perhaps in a different circumstance he would have reacted. Tried something. But he’d already almost hurt one woman. He wasn’t about to break the trust of another.

Still he knew that they were two people who had been betrayed by the people they trusted most in the world. Two people left to sweep up the pieces of someone else’s chaos. Maybe this was the first time in a while either of them had felt something safe.

He hesitated for a second before asking, quietly, “What are you doing?”

Marissa didn’t answer right away. She just let out a long, quiet exhale and sank a little closer.

“You’re warm,” she said softly.

That was it. No explanation. No defense. Just fact.

She didn’t say it, but she liked the weight of him too, solid, anchored. Not soft in the way women were, not in the way she was used to. But not threatening, either. He smelled like sandalwood and something deeper, like smoke and bourbon and some cologne she didn’t know the name of. Masculine, yes, but not posturing. Just real.

She closed her eyes.

He didn’t dare move.

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was something. Something quiet. Something essential.

Then she shifted slowly, deliberately, moving into his lap.

Daniel inhaled sharply, instinctively sitting up straighter as her weight settled against him. Her thighs pressed around him, warm and firm, grounding him in a way that made his pulse stutter.

“This doesn’t leave this hotel room,” she said, her voice low and even, but laced with something sharp, like a threat wrapped in velvet.

Then she leaned in, her breath brushing his cheek. “I’m still a lesbian,” she whispered. Her lips hovered close, but her words were steady. “But I need something tonight. Just for tonight. And I’m choosing you.”

And then she kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t some hesitant accident between friends. It was grief and clarity. A choice, not confusion. Marissa wasn’t drunk, she was hurting. She was tired. She was angry. But she wasn’t lost.

Daniel didn’t move at first. He wasn’t sure he should. The kiss burned against his mouth like a question. He thought that she would pull away, laugh or maybe call it all a silly thing. But no, instead the kiss deepened.

And so, he kissed her back. He leaned up, found her lips again, his hands settling at her waist. He held her there not claiming her, just holding her there.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes locked onto his. He looked stunned, like he was still trying to catch up to the moment. Like he didn’t know if this was real, or if it would vanish with a blink.

She read it in his face.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft but clear. “Shut up.”

And then she kissed him again.

Whatever he had been thinking no longer mattered. Because she was choosing this—just one night. She wasn’t here for confusion or validation. She wanted someone kind. Someone who wouldn’t use her body like a battlefield. Someone who could hold pain and not try to fix it. Someone who could be soft without asking her to be.

Someone like Daniel.

Even if he went against everything she thought she wanted.

“Fuck,” she whispered, pulling away again, her breath shallow. Her forehead rested against his, her eyes fluttering closed. “This is so dumb.”

Daniel’s voice was low, rough. “Yeah,” he said voice hesitant. “We should stop,” he said.

“No,” she whispered firmly.

“Why?”

She let out a breath, part laugh, part ache. “Because you’re warm,” she repeated. “Because I trust you.”

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing her waist without thinking. “We don’t have to—”

“I know,” she said, cutting him off, firm but gentle. Her hand touched the back of his neck. She knew he wouldn’t push this or **** himself for her. “That’s why I’m still here.”

“Okay,” he said.

And She leaned in again. And this time, Daniel didn’t hesitate. The ache was still there, but so was something else. Something softer.