𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

Chapter 32

Zehra's POV

I wake up, and there's this sudden warmth on my back. It's not unusual because in winter, I'm always wrapped up in layers of cozy blankets, feeling warm and snug. But this warmth is different—it's almost like it's burning my skin.

As I try to turn and uncover myself, I realize there's a heavy weight on my back, pressing me down. Panic starts to set in, but then I look over my shoulder and see a beautiful mass of soft, dark brown hair. It's my husband, Zaidan. His head is nestled in my neck, and his arm is wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me close.

His gentle breaths brush against my shoulder, calming my racing heart. I try to move, but I'm completely enveloped by him. Our legs are intertwined, and his arm keeps me captive in this sweet embrace.

As Zaidan senses my movement, his grip around me tightens. Slowly, I try to twist in his arms, hoping to face him and push him away. But as I turn, I find myself stopping short, facing his beautiful face right in front of me.

His expression is relaxed, his eyebrows framing his fluttering eyes. His soft lips are slightly parted, which explains the gentle puffs of breath I felt on me. My goodness, he's absolutely perfect!

The old me would have pushed him away without a second thought, but now I find myself wanting any excuse to be close to him. Last night, when I saw his scars and burned skin, it brought tears to my eyes. Who knows what he's been through? These scars must hold so much pain, more than I can ever imagine. And if not the scars, then surely his past does. I realize at this moment that I know nothing about my husband. I could ask him about his past, something I've never done before, or I could try to find out more about him in other ways. It's a realization that hits me hard—I truly know nothing about him.

As my hands hesitantly lift up to touch the soft curls on his head, I realize why he's so different—he's relaxed. His brows aren't furrowed together, and his face is soft. But instead of hair, my fingers go to his eyebrows, my touch gentle as a feather, hoping not to wake him or let him know I'm touching him. But clearly, I fail, because Zaidan's eyes flutter, and I think he's about to let me go. However, he surprises me by pulling me in closer, his head dropping until it rests right on my chest. Now, I can't control my heart from beating at an unhealthy rate. It's too fast, and it makes my chest ache. But at the same time, I can't help but feel my stomach twist with a mix of emotions at the sight.

I want to stay here for a few more minutes, but I really need to go to the bathroom, so I gently nudge him. "Zai–" I stop, realizing I've never called him by his name. "Mr. Grumps," I whisper the nickname I gave him a while ago. Although he isn't Mr. Grumps anymore, except at work.

When he doesn't move, I grab his shoulder, only to quickly pull away and find myself staring at his shirtless, neck-muscled shoulder. His shoulders are big and wide, hidden beneath the loose shirts he usually wears. I grab the blanket and gently pull it aside, revealing a glimpse of his well-built, bare back. Slowly, I trace my fingers along his back, feeling the warmth and roughness of his burned skin and the cuts. I feel him shift, his breath hot against my neck as he rasps, "Stop doing that." His voice is gruff, deep, and throaty, making me shiver as his hot breath brushes against my sensitive skin.

I withdraw my hand and try to move, but his body is still on top of mine. "I need to go to the bathroom," I whisper, hoping he'll release me. He looks down at me, blinking, then stands up, running his hand through his already messy hair, making it even more tousled. My eyes wander shamelessly over his shirtless body, and I quickly take a picture before he could open his eyes. When I put my phone aside I catch sight of something black on his upper chest, near his collarbone. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I get up to inspect it, realizing it's a tattoo. I meet his eyes, which shine under the lamp's light. They're so beautiful that I get lost in them, forgetting what I was going to ask him.