It's fucking hard.

Especially times like this.

Times when I know she's awake, when I know she knows I'm here, so close but so damn far away. It leaves an ache in my muscles that is hard to shake. I catch myself touching her, my fingertips trailing whatever sliver of skin is exposed. She remains still but I can feel her shiver, feel the goose bumps rising in the wake of my touch.

It's too much.

It's never enough.

I want more. I need more. I'm greedy and I want all of her. I want to love her, want to hold her, want to be inside of her again.

I want to fuck her mercilessly.

Last time I did, I hardly remember it.

I was drugged, and she was planning to leave. It's been a month... a long torturous month without her touch. I want to slip my hand beneath the fabric, strip her bare and hold her close.

But if I try, she'll use the word. Red.

I wanted to rip her fucking tongue out for using it on me the way she did.

Sighing, I roll away from her, facing the other way. I won't touch her tonight, as much as it pains me. She's upset, and I don't want to make things any worse than they already are.

I don't know how we're ever going to get over this.

One step forward, half a dozen back…

I'm a light sleeper, my body naturally attuned to my surroundings. Every time she shifts in the bed, rolling over or stretching her legs, curling up or clutching her pillow tighter, I'm startled back awake, jolted to a consciousness that isn't easy to shake.

Sleeping with someone—sharing a room with them, letting them into your most private places, seeing you in your most vulnerable moments—takes a lot of trust. I'm strong, and fast, but even a dim-witted asshole could slit someone's throat in their sleep, incapacitate them before they even woke up.

All it takes is a few seconds.

I know.

I drift off eventually, in and out of sleep. I can feel it when Karissa gets up in the morning, can hear her quiet footsteps as she leaves the room. I try to go back to sleep once she's gone, but it's impossible.

As hard as it is to sleep with her beside me, it's even harder having her gone.

Curiosity gets the best of me after a few minutes.

I climb out of bed and throw on some clothes, slowly making my way downstairs. Karissa is in the kitchen, standing by the counter, pouring herself a bowl of cereal. Coco Puffs. It's still weird, seeing this space used so much, utilized for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sometimes she just hangs out in here, just leaning against the counter for the fuck of it.

Strange.

Stepping past her, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, opening it and taking a sip when she speaks.

"I'd kill for some coffee."

Her voice is light, the words coming out easy, like talking to me these days still comes naturally.

Huh.

Leaning back against the counter, I eye her peculiarly. "Literally?"

She turns her head my way, rolling her eyes. "It's an expression."

"I know it is," I say, screwing the lid back on my bottle. "If you want coffee, call the café down the block and have them bring you some."

"And what, order fifteen cups of coffee?" she asks. "They have a minimum delivery amount, you know. I'm better off just walking there, but that requires putting on pants, and well…"

And well, she's not wearing any.

My eyes slowly scan her at the mention, drinking in the sight of her creamy skin in the soft light from the window. Sometimes I think she does this just to tease me. She never used to show so much skin. It's tempting, that's for sure.

I want to caress every inch of her.

"Do you want me to go get you some?" I offer when I meet her eyes again. "I will."

"No, it's fine," she says right away. "I don't want anything from you."

I shrug, pushing away from the counter to stroll past her when I hear my phone ringing off in the den. Ray again. Always Ray. "Fair enough. If you change your mind—"

"I won't," she says. "I'm not going to change my mind."

It's quiet again, as I walk out of the kitchen, her voice barely a breath when I hear her amend, "Not when it comes to you, anyway."

"So there's this guy…"

This is how a lot of conversations start with Ray. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard those four words…

Actually, I'm sure I have a few thousand for every time.

"What guy?" I ask needlessly, knowing he'll tell me whenever he's ready. Ray has a flair for the dramatic.

"This guy," he says, "who did some work for me. He's in the car business, you know… he owns a shop and stripped a few cars. He got in deep, though, and decided he wanted out, but you know as well as I do there is no out, so the jackass filed a report. For harassment! Can you believe it? He called the police and thought they would do something for him!"

Yes, I can believe it.

People seem to believe the police are actually there to help them.

I used to think it, too.

Before I learned the truth.

I glance at Ray as we sit in the back office of Cobalt, sipping drinks even though it's not even noon. Brandy is fast asleep in the corner, on a leather couch along the wall. I wonder if they spent the night here. I've never seen her at Cobalt so early in the morning before.

"And what, you want him taught a lesson?"

"Nah, we already took two knees," Ray says. "I'd rather he just be dealt with already."