Carved in Her Bones

Rhian

I hadn't spoken to Oliwia since Sunday, and a small pang of guilt kept flickering at the back of my mind. I'd always promised myself I wouldn't become one of those women who, enraptured by a man, drift away from their friends. Yet here I was, cooking dinner in Peter's kitchen, this man I barely knew, who watched my every move with a focus that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. I wanted more nights like this, to exist in this space with him, to feel the gentle but electric charge of his presence so close.

Peter leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, his suit jacket abandoned somewhere. His hair was slightly tousled, probably from him absentmindedly running his fingers through it. The sight of him—casual yet somehow commanding—made me feel strangely at home. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt at peace, like I belonged right here, in this moment. I let myself sink into that feeling, even as my mind lingered on the quiet but undeniable signs of his intensity: the unannounced appearances, the way he'd tailored clothes to my exact size, the way he studied me like he was memorizing every detail. Just quirks, I told myself firmly, not red flags.

"Peter, you really don't need to explain this to me again," I teased, glancing over my shoulder. "I'm not that bad at math. If they don't throw in more than four of those kinds of problems, I'll be fine."

He cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms and stepping closer. "So, a high 80s is good enough for you?"

Before I could reply, he was behind me, close enough that his warmth made my skin tingle. He gently moved my hair to the side, and his lips brushed against my neck, soft and unhurried. I closed my eyes, trying to breathe evenly, but his touch was pulling me apart. His hand slipped under my shirt, fingers grazing up my stomach, teasing, light as air. I barely whispered, "More..."

But just then, he stopped, his touch disappearing. I turned around, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He stood there, a smirk on his lips, his eyes glinting with something I couldn't quite place. My face felt hot, caught between confusion and want.

"Why did you stop?" I demanded, half-breathless.

He just chuckled softly, leaning down to place an infuriatingly innocent kiss on my forehead. With a mischievous look, he walked out of the kitchen, leaving me there, flushed and wondering how he could undo me and yet keep me whole all in the same moment.

As I was catching my breath, my phone rang. I hurried to the library where I'd left it, barely sparing a glance at Peter, who was focused on his laptop, surrounded by documents.

I mouthed a quick, "Sorry," as I answered. It was Oliwia, and her voice was dripping with accusation.

"Rhian, where have you been all week?"

"Oliwia, now really isn't the best time—"

"Oh my God, are you still at that guy's place? The sex must be that good."

I laughed, probably louder than I meant to. "Oliwia, we haven't even had sex yet!"

A pause. "Why not?"

"I don't know! It's not like I can just flat-out ask him why he hasn't slept with me yet."

"Of course you can." The voice wasn't hers—it was Peter's, echoing from the doorway. I nearly dropped the phone.

I mumbled an awkward goodbye to Oliwia, who would definitely want an explanation later, and hung up, glaring at Peter. "You know, eavesdropping isn't exactly polite."

He ignored my comment, crossing the room with that intense focus, his hands reaching out until his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him. He tilted my chin up, his gaze meeting mine with a kind of honesty that left me speechless. "Because, Rhian, you're not ready yet."

I blinked. "How would you know?"

He sighed, softening. "I just do." He reached for my hand, gentle. "Now can we eat?"

"No," I said, pulling back slightly. "I think I want to go home."

A flicker of hurt crossed his face. "Why?"

"Because you confuse me," I admitted, the frustration cracking in my voice. "You clearly want me, and yet, for some reason, you're the one holding back."

His expression softened, and he pulled me close again, like he sensed my urge to distance myself but wasn't going to let me. "Rhian, I want you. Believe me, I do. I'm just... not ready yet."

I threw my hands up, exasperated. "A minute ago, you said I wasn't ready. See? Confusing."

He held my gaze, his eyes unwavering, an intensity that left me frozen. "Because this is it for me. If you give yourself to me completely, that way—I know I'd never be able to let you go. I'm already so far in with you it's almost... insane." His voice was low, a quiet confession. "But I'm not going to push you, not if it means I lose you. So... take this slow with me, okay? I just need you to catch up to me first."

The room fell silent. All I could hear was the faint ticking of the clock, his gaze steady and sincere, waiting for me to let my guard down. And despite everything, a part of me had already caught up.

4o