And it still does.
I close my eyes, letting the scent wash over me, and for the first time since my life went sideways, I don't feel hollow.
I don't feel ruined or broken.
Our long talk helped me more than I realized, especially hearing it all from him. He opened up and told me everything. From the funeral, which is just unbelievably crazy, to his months of drinking himself into oblivion, and everything up until he found me.
I told him about the cold concrete floors, the pills, the numbness, the way Maxim's voice would echo in my head long after he left the room.
I cried and he held me. We kissed and I finally started to feel normal.
And then we slept, tangled together like we used to be, like we always were before the world ripped us apart.
I exhale slowly, my fingers curling into the sheets.
Maxim is dead. The Volkovs can't touch me anymore, and Adrian loves me.
Even after everything, the pills, the dissociation, the terror, the way I flinched when he touched me.
He still loves me, unconditionally.
And that makes me feel whole again.
No matter what happened, no matter what was done to me, Adrian was always able to make me feel this way. Whole. Complete. Confident. Sure of myself.
I stretch and then run my hands through my hair to remove some of the tangles.
My body feels different this morning, lighter and more alive.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I think about what Adrian did to me last night mixed with my dream of him and I bite my lip as heat begins to build low in my belly.
My mind isn't stopping it anymore. My body isn't betraying me anymore.
I'm filled with the sudden rush of wanting him, needing him.
And you know what? I'm going to have my man.
I swing my legs out of bed and open the door. I move down the hallway, my steps quiet, and when I reach the living room, I see him.
Adrian is sitting at the table, his back to me, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scrolls through something on his phone.
He looks good. No. He looks perfect.
Dark hair messy from sleep, face shadowed with stubble, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he swipes at his phone.
I stop and lean against the wall, and I just watch him for a moment.
He must sense me because he turns his head, his dark eyes finding mine, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
"Hey," he says, his voice rough and warm.
"Hey," I say, pushing off the wall and walking toward him.
He turns in his chair to face me fully, and I see the way his gaze drags down my body, taking me in.
He asks me how I'm doing, but I can't concentrate.
I look down at him, my fingers brushing through his hair, and all I can think about is the way his hands felt on my skin last night. The way his lips felt. The way his body pressed against mine, solid and warm and safe.