6. Hayes
Hayes
Nash from Steel Haven doesn’t ask questions—just chuckles on the other side of the phone call and says he’ll have my car towed to the shop by noon. One of the Monday regulars, a fellow brother who’s hauled worse than a waterlogged sedan out of a ditch.
Lucky break. Or maybe luck’s got nothing to do with it, because right now, the only thing that matters is the woman beside me, tugging me toward a weathered apartment complex with a parking lot that’s more pond than pavement now that we’ve crawled out of the tight back seat of a cramped car she hired through some app on her phone.
Kelsie’s grip on my hand is tight, her fingers laced through mine like she’s afraid I’ll bolt if she lets go. Funny, considering I’d follow her through a tornado after last night.
The building isn’t much—peeling paint, a flickering exterior light, the sour tang of wet concrete clinging to the air. But she’s here, biting her lip as she glances back at me, and suddenly the cracked stairs and sagging gutters don’t mean a damn thing.
We’ve kissed so many times I lost count. It shouldn’t be possible for something as simple as her palm against mine to kick my pulse into overdrive. And yet, my heart is out of my control.
“Not what you expected?” she asks, voice low, like she’s bracing for me to wrinkle my nose at the waterlogged welcome mat.
I squeeze her hand instead. “Expected?” I huff a laugh. “After last night, I stopped expecting anything. Just happy to be where you are.”
Her shoulders relax, just a fraction, and she leads me inside.
The inside of her apartment smells much better than the outside—like vanilla and fresh linen, with the faintest hint of coffee grounds lingering beneath.
It’s tidy, lived-in but deliberate, the kind of space where every throw pillow and stacked book feels like a choice. A half-read novel rests facedown on the arm of the couch, a pair of sneakers kicked off near the door but lined up neatly.
“Make yourself at home,” she says, slipping her hand from mine to take off her own shoes. “I’ll put on coffee.”
I follow her into the small kitchen, leaning against the doorway as she fills the pot with water, her movements a smooth blur. The morning light through the window catches the few silver strands in her hair, the curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder.
Last night flashes in fragments—her mouth on mine, the way she gasped when I nipped at her bottom lip—and my hands flex at my sides like they’re already missing the weight of her.
She glances over, catching me staring, and smirks. “What is it?”
“Just thinking how pretty you are.” Gaze softening, the truth rolls off my tongue easily now that I’ve crossed the line holding me back.
Staring at me with wide eyes, her lips part, and her skin grows red at a record-breaking speed. The flush crawls down her throat, and I watch the way she swallows.
The machine gurgles to life, and she turns, her hands fumbling as she makes two cups of coffee. Barely being able to ask me how I take mine, she’s quick to take a big gulp of hers like she needs a shock to her system.
Setting my cane down, I’m careful to eliminate the space between us as only one thought circles through my head.
As soon as I’m close enough, she’s pressing a mug into my hands. Like she’s ready to busy me with my own drink, her plan fails the moment our hands make contact.
Our fingers brush, and neither of us pulls away. The steam curls between us, fragrant and warm, but all I can focus on is the way her breath hitches when I step closer.
“Hayes—”
I don’t let her finish. The mug thunks onto the counter as I cup her face, tilting her mouth up to meet mine. She tastes like sleep and sugar, and when her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me in, it’s everything.
The coffee can wait. Right now, the only thing I can think about tasting is her.
I walk her backward until the edge of the counter presses into the small of her back, my body caging hers in. Her mug is still clutched in her hand, forgotten, so I take it from her and set it down beside mine.
Her lips are parted, her eyes hazy with the same want that’s been burning through me since last night. But this isn’t like last night. No storm rattling the windows, no worry of anyone catching us in the act.
This is her space. Her walls, her air, her scent wrapped around me. Can’t get more personal than that.
I drag my thumb along her bottom lip, watching the way her breath shudders before her tongue slips out to trace where my touch trailed.
“This okay?” My voice is rough, barely recognizable.
Last night, she’d drawn a line, and I’d honored it, even when every brush of her mouth threatened to wreck me. But now? Now her hips tilt toward mine, and the heat of her is undeniable.
She nods, slowly, like she’s savoring the decision.
Last night wasn’t enough for either of us. It could never be enough. The way she’s looking at me now, like she wants to devour me just as bad as I want her? It’s torture.
The second she tilts her head back, lips parted and eyes dark, it hits me like a live wire—that sharp, sweet ache, the rush of blood so sudden it’s dizzying. My cock stiffens in my jeans, thick and heavy, pulse pounding in every inch of me.
“Yeah.”
Fuck.
That single word unravels the last of my restraint. I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp as my hands slide down to grip her from behind. Every inch of her is soft and warm.
I shift, the rough drag of denim making me grit my teeth. Every heartbeat throbs lower, hotter, until I’m half-hard just from the scent of her skin, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
If she so much as brushes against me, I’m done for.
Despite knowing my limits, I can’t help but step closer, aching for whatever form of touch I can get.
I break the kiss just enough to growl against her lips, “Where’s your bedroom, Kelsie?”
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “Down the hall.”
I break the kiss just enough to whisper against her lips. “Show me.”
Her pupils grow, understanding flaring hot between us. Without a word, she takes my hand, fingers twining tight with mine as she pulls me away from the kitchen.
The second we cross into her room—soft light, rumpled sheets, the scent of her skin clinging to the air—she lets go of my hand. I don’t waste a second. My palms find her waist, dragging her close as I yank her shirt up and over her head in one rough motion.
It’s like the wind’s been punched out of me.
She’s all smooth skin and sharp breaths, the dip of her collarbone begging for my mouth. My hands drag toward her chest, thumbs brushing the lace edge of her bra, and I swear my next inhale burns—like I’ve forgotten how to fucking breathe.
“Kelsie—” My voice is wrecked already.
Discovering that her blush isn’t just for her cheeks, my eyes follow along every inch the pink runs as I take her in.
“I have something to admit to you…” She shivers as I squeeze her sides. Eyes darting to the side, her next breath catches in her chest as she prepares her words. “I’ve never done this before. Sure, I’ve kissed people before, but everything else…”
The motion of my thumbs pauses as she lets me in on her secret.
“You’ve never let a man touch you like this?” My voice is low, rough with disbelief, but something warmer flickers beneath it—a tenderness I can’t quite hide.
She shakes her head, her cheeks flushing deeper as her fingers twist nervously together. “No. Never.”
A slow breath leaves me, my grip on her gentling as the weight of her confession settles between us. I trace the curve of her waist, marveling at the trust she’s just handed me—fragile and unspoken, but so damn precious.
“And you chose me?” The words slip out before I can stop them, hushed with something like awe.
Her eyes finally lift to mine, shy but steady. “I wanted it to be you. From the moment you first started coming to the bar, actually.”
Something fierce and possessive tightens in my chest, but softer, too—a protectiveness, a reverence. I brush my thumb along her jaw, tilting her face up as my other hand laces with hers, squeezing gently.
“Then we go slow,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Who’s to say I can even keep up with you? I’m old and damaged.”
And yet, she wants me. Despite all the chats we’ve shared, and anything she’s witnessed when I wasn’t aware, she still wanted me.
Blowing out a laugh, she pinches my shirt, giving it a tug. As I help her peel off my shirt, she’s just as guilty for eating me up with her eyes. “You’re hardly either of those things. I just might need a little guidance, that’s all. Plus, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her eyes drift down to my hip, where the faintest traces of scars peek above my belt. She’s always been like this—selfless, putting others before herself. Even now, her concern isn’t for her own inexperience, but for me.
A quiet determination settles in my chest. One way or another, we’ll make this work. But more than that—by the time we’re done, I’ll make sure she’s the one who loses herself in it.
The one who forgets everything but pleasure.