Chapter 28 #2
I pause in the entryway, reluctant to let the last few hours go.
Hex nudges the door shut behind me with his boot, sets the bags down, and slides his arms around my waist.
“Thank you,” I murmur, resting my hands against his chest. “For today. I can’t remember the last time I let myself just… be.”
He kisses my forehead and doesn’t move. Warmth from his breath brushes against my skin, as if staying there could freeze this moment in time. “You make it easy.”
I lean back to look at him, and he must see a softness return to my face because his expression shifts.
It’s the permission he needs, letting him know the stress of the week is coming to an end and I’m ready to relax.
His eyes dip past my lips and toward my breasts.
His fingers curl into my waist. “Been thinking about how I want to give you number three since breakfast,” he says quietly.
I let out a breathy moan as his warm mouth moves just under the lobe of my ear. “You really don’t let things go.”
My feet leave the floor as he lifts me without warning, arms secure beneath my thighs. “Not when it’s something I want this bad.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, letting myself be carried, not just in the literal sense.
He is picking up the weight of my body, sure, but also the weight of my stress, the weight of my trauma, and handling it with such care, I cannot help but be stolen away by this man.
There’s something grounding about being held like this, about the confidence in his touch. I’ve needed this for so long.
Inside the bedroom, the light is low, a hush as the evening begins to settle. He sets me down gently at the foot of the bed, but when I move to reach for him, he grabs my outstretched hand. He sits instead, pulling me into his lap and guiding my legs around his hips.
Hex’s hands stay grasped onto my body, steadying me. “Before we do this,” voice low as it slithers over my skin, “I’ve got a condom. I got tested a while back. Haven’t been with anyone since.”
I nod, threading my fingers behind his neck and into the short hair I’ve been dying to feel again. “I have an IUD. I got tested after I found out about Andrew. I’m good.”
His brow lifts. “You want to skip the condom?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
But even as I say it, something must flicker across my face, because his hand comes up to brush my hair back behind my shoulder.
“You sure you’re ready?” he asks. “We can take things slow. I noticed your hesitation when I told you to take your leggings off the other day.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, stomach tightening.
Of course he saw me overthinking.
Because even when I swear I’m playing it cool, that nervous static still hums beneath my skin. I want this—God, I want him—but my brain? It doesn’t always listen to my body. Not when it comes to sex. Not when it comes to letting go.
“It’s not that I don’t want to.” I try to smile, soft and wry, like I can pass it off as casual. “I’m thirty-nine, for fuck’s sake. I should be past this.”
But the truth rushes in before I can stop it.
“I’ve never fully let go,” I admit, the truth catching in my throat. “Not even with Andrew. Ten years, and I still held a part of myself back every single time. There's always been this voice in my head. A tight grip I can’t unclench.”
A calloused thumb brushes against my cheek. “What does it say?”
“That I’m not enough.” The answer tumbles out of me as if the dam finally broke.
“That if I let someone see all of me—my need, my mess, the way I lose myself in pleasure—they’ll pull away.
That I’ll get left.” I pause, a wave of shame threatening to rise, but I ride it out.
“I stay in control. I make jokes. I stay sharp. I prove I’m worth keeping around in all the ways that don’t risk breaking my heart. ”
I place my hand gently on my chest, then slowly lower it down my body, feeling the heat beneath my skin.
“But I know that version of me—the one who can let go—exists. I feel her when you touch me. When you look at me like I’m already known.
” My voice softens to a whisper. “You get me so wet it scares me. The way I crave you… it’s like my body knew you were coming.
And now all I want is to finally exhale. And breathe you in.”
Hex leans in until our foreheads meet, his voice caressing my lips. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll breathe. Together. I want you to be completely comfortable. Confident. That comes from trust.”
I nod. “I do trust you.”
“No.” He draws the word out and tilts his head, gaze never breaking from mine. “You say that. But I’ve learned something about trust, Sable. It’s not about words.”
He pauses. With two fingers, he lifts my chin. “I’m not gonna tell you I won’t hurt you.”
The words instantly bruise.
They knock the air out of me, faster than I can hide it. My heart stutters. Every old wound flares hot. The abandonment. The rejection. The hollow ache of promises that meant nothing.
Not again. I can’t do this again.
I start to pull back, my hands pressing against his chest like I’m about to climb off, save myself before I fall. Before he can leave me half-broken, trying to pretend I’m fine.
But his hands don’t let me go.
Hex catches my ass in a firm grip, dragging me forward until I’m flush against him, straddling the unmistakable hardness of his length.
A small whimper escapes my lips.
He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t apologize. He just holds me there, locked to him. And when his voice comes again, it’s steel wrapped in velvet.
“What I mean is… I won’t say it. Because saying it doesn’t mean shit. But I’ll show you. Every day. Over and over.” His eyes burn into mine. “Trust is earned through action. Consistent. Constant action.”
And then—God—he grinds his hips up just enough to remind me what’s pressed between us.
Hard. Unapologetic. Undeniable.
“That?” he growls. “That’s for you. Only you.”
Heat floods through me so fast I nearly moan. My confidence cracks open—just a little—but it’s enough. Because this man, this walking inferno of control and chaos, is hard beneath me, from me. From this. From all the messy, guarded, terrified pieces of me I thought no one could ever fully want.
His gaze softens, but his grip on my ass stays firm.
One hand trails up my back—slow—dragging his fingers along my spine in a delicate path that’s so intentional, it feels like worship.
He palms the base of my skull, threading his fingers into my hair and lightly gripping the strands in a fist as he positions me closer, lips brushing mine but not yet kissing.
“You scare the hell out of me,” he says, breathing the words into my mouth. “But not because I think you’ll break me. Because I know I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone else harm you.”
The words settle deep on my lips, molten and possessive.
And just like that, the fear doesn’t vanish—but it quiets. Because he’s not asking me to be fearless. He’s asking me to believe I can trust him through the fear. To let go. To feel.
And with the way his body moves against mine, his heat, his promise, his brutal honesty—I just might.
“I’ll never ask you what you want.” He begins to press kisses down my neck.
The words catch me off guard. I blink, unsure I heard him right. “Why not?”
He keeps descending, mouth moving across the hollow of my collarbone and every nerve below my waist strains for his attention
“That’s my job,” he murmurs, dragging his lips back to my mouth, voice like a drug. “To figure it out. To know you—and your body—better than you do. To listen. To take what it tells me and give it back to you until you can’t remember how to breathe without me.”
A flush blooms hot beneath my skin, rising in waves I don’t try to stop. My hips move instinctively, pressing myself into him, needing friction. Needing more.
Is this what it feels like to be wanted completely? To be known before we’ve even fully connected?
His fingers release my hair and slide to the back of my neck. His eyes never leave mine, drinking in every flicker of reaction like it’s gospel.
“I want to learn every inch of you,” he says, as the hand on my ass scoops me further onto his hard cock. “Every sound you make. Every place that makes you come. I want to make you feel so good, you forget every man who didn’t give a fuck about learning you at all.”
It hits me like a current. The way he says these words. The conviction in every syllable. This isn’t a man trying to impress me. This is a man telling me the truth. Declaring it.
And I can’t speak. Can’t look away. Can’t pretend I’m not trembling in the most delicious way.
This isn’t just lust. It’s restoration.
“And if it helps,” he adds, his mouth curving into that devastating grin, “I’m happy to guarantee an orgasm every day as reinforcement.”
A laugh bubbles up—light and choked and desperate all at once. My heart’s pounding. My thighs ache. And somehow, through it all, my sanity is still holding on by a thread.
But if he keeps looking at me like that, if he keeps talking to me like I’m the only thing in this world worth worshipping…
He taps my hip, then leans back on his hands. “Stand up.”
I slide off his lap and step back, pulse pounding beneath my breasts but not out of fear. Anticipation. Desire. Something much deeper.
He stays seated, legs spread comfortably wide, and my eyes fall to the straining bulge beneath his jeans.
“Take off your clothes,” he says. “Slow. I want to watch.”
The words have my eyes snapping to his. I feel exposed, even fully dressed. But I don’t look away.
This is what trust looks like. Not a dramatic declaration. A choice. One piece of clothing at a time.
My hands go to the hem of my simple cotton T-shirt.
I creep it up past my stomach, then ribs, revealing a neutral-colored bra that pushes the girls up, but is more suited for not showing lines than a striptease.
I let the shirt fall to the floor. Not trying to do too much.
Just what he asked of me. His eyes follow every motion like they matter.
Like I matter. And comfort stokes the fire in my core.
My limbs begin to feel less and less tense, relief from the ache of overthinking.
As I reach for the button on my jeans, he pulls his own shirt over his head revealing that chest built of packed muscle and rippling abs that I must take the time to count with my tongue.
We match each other move for move. I’m still nervous—self-conscious in a way I can’t explain—but each time he mirrors me, something settles.
Like maybe he doesn’t notice the stretch in my stomach from carrying Bash, or the softness in my thighs that never truly left.
Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.
Bra. Gone.
He lifts up and his pants drop next.
My jeans slide off in a sluggish shimmy down my thighs, that makes me giggle.
He stands, letting his boxer briefs fall, and I’m stunned again by the sheer presence of him. Not just the size, not just the body… him.
I take a deep breath and hook my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear. I glance up and his dark eyes are still locked on my face.
“I want all of you,” he says simply.
So I give it to him. One step at a time.
I stand exposed, heart galloping beneath my ribs, the cool air teasing my skin. A charge of trust rushes through me. Then the tension hits.
“Now what?” I ask, breath caught somewhere between nerves and need.
Hex doesn’t miss a beat. His voice becomes gravel and fire, pebbling my nipples to hard points. “Now I get to fuck you. And worship every inch of that beautiful body.”
God.
He’s all sharp lines and raw strength, every muscle taut beneath inked skin.
That angel tattoo sweeping down his arm draws my eye across his bicep, over his forearm, ending at his large hand wrapped around himself.
The contrast of that softness—the reverence in the way he strokes—makes even more heat bloom between my legs.
Something about it makes me proud. Not just to be wanted like this, but to feel like I deserve it.
I move toward him.
He reaches for my hips, drawing me closer. His mouth finds the swell of my breast, lips warm and sure, and I gasp as he sucks one erect nipple into his mouth. Then moves to the other. His tongue swirls, teasing, then teeth drag just enough to make me squirm.
My hands find his shoulders first—broad, solid—and then my fingers slide into his hair, gripping at the nape, holding on as my body starts to respond faster than I expect.
A large hand glides between my legs, then delicately brushes my lips and strokes through my wetness before one thick finger pushes inside me. Then another joins it. I gasp at the pressure, the stretch, the way my body welcomes it.
“You’re tight,” he groans against my skin, voice muffled. “You’re gonna need another to fit me.”
After a few more caresses, a third finger pushes in and my breath stutters. He moves them with care at first, then purpose, sweeping in and out, dragging against every spot that makes my legs weak.
My head falls back, hips rocking forward. “Hex—” I choke out. “I’m close… I’m gonna come. Stop.”
His voice is velvet and a growl all at once. “There will be more.”
My breath is ragged now, falling out of me in huffs as if I can’t catch a deep enough inhale. “I’ve never had more than one during sex.”
He lifts his head, eyes on fire. “That’s because you’ve never been with me.”
Then his fingers curl again, and he whispers, “Go ahead and come on my fingers, darlin’.”