“Breathe, brother.” “I am breathing.” “Slower.” I tried. Locke tightened his hold on me. “Deeper.” Like that helped, but I made an attempt to obey him, because I liked it when he told me to do shit. The freaky authority he seemed to have over me. The earthy timbre of his voice. His unrelenting touch. Also, he was right. I wasn’t fucking breathing—not really. Not until I was, and the fog in my head began to clear. Locke rubbed my back. “There it is.” There it was. My head had found its way to his shoulder. I left it there for long minutes. Then I missed his face. Those eyes.
