33. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 33
Magnolia Steel
Alex props on a sea of pillows, his leg elevated. The pain’s not gone, but it’s easing. He hasn’t gritted his teeth once tonight. That has to be a win.
I help him with the last of his meds, brushing my fingers against his when I hand him the water glass, and something about that small touch makes my chest tighten. These past two weeks have been tender. Healing. Familiar in a way that both comforts and wrecks me. It’s about more than recovery.
It’s been about us.
This isn’t the kind of intimacy you plan for—helping him to and from the bathroom, guiding him in and out of the shower, making sure he’s hydrated and fed.
Real life, unvarnished. No filters.
And it’s been good. So good.
But something’s shifted.
Now I’m lying next to him in the dim bedroom after his pain medicine has kicked in, and my heart won’t stop beating like it knows something I don’t. I should be asleep. But I’m staring up at the ceiling, replaying a hundred tiny moments in my head, trying to make sense of what’s missing.
He hasn’t brought up rugby. Not once.
It’s not only the silence. It’s the weight of it––like he’s carrying something he can’t bring himself to tell me yet. And the longer it goes unsaid, the more convinced I become that whatever he’s planning may not include me.
I turn on my side, studying the sharp line of his jaw in the low light, the way his lashes fan out against his cheeks. His hair’s still damp from the shower, a little unruly at the crown. One hand rests on his stomach, the other rests between us.
I love him so much.
I love him in a way that terrifies me, in a way that is uncertain if I think too far ahead. Because what if this ends again? What if we fall apart not because of anger or betrayal… but because of distance? Or bad timing?
What if we want different things?
His fingers flex, like he’s feeling for me, and I lace my fingers through his.
“You’re quiet,” he says, voice low and rough with sleep.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
I stare up at the ceiling, where the shadows stretch long. “Tomorrow. Leaving.”
His grip tightens. “Yeah, me too.”
His thumb caresses the top of my hand. “You okay?”
“No.” How could I be when I’m getting on a plane in the morning and leaving half of my heart behind in this bed?
I roll onto my side, letting my hand drift across the warm expanse of his chest, the steady rise and fall beneath my palm.
His eyes find mine in the dim room like he senses it too—this hunger. This unspoken thing pulling tight between us.
“Are you in pain?”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “Not pain. Just aching for you.”
I don’t need him to explain. I feel it too. This desire, this need, that lives somewhere deeper than skin.
My lips curve as I slide my hand farther down, fingers brushing the waistband of his briefs. “Lucky for you, I have the cure for that particular ache.”
His brow lifts, and he watches me like I’m something to behold.
I sit up and tug the blanket down, careful of his leg. He shifts for me, wincing as I push his waistband down. When he’s bare, I press a kiss just below his navel, and he breathes out my name—low and wrecked.
I kiss lower. Then lower still.
I smile against his skin, teasing the edge of his hipbone with my tongue, dragging it slow. Deliberate. He sucks in a breath, hips twitching beneath my touch.
“Fuck… babe.”
I trace the defined cut of his abdomen, fingers trailing light as a whisper, making him shiver beneath me. My nails scrape along the inside of his thigh, and he groans.
“Open up that pretty little mouth for me. Show me how much you want to taste my cock.”
I flatten my tongue and lick a slow, lazy path from base to tip, taking my time, my gaze locked on his face.
His jaw clenches, and he fists the sheet.
“Babe, you’re fucking killing me.”
I hum, letting the vibration tease against him. Because I know he loves it.
My hand grips the base of his cock, stroking slow and steady while my touch traces the crown of its head. When I take him into my mouth—inch by inch, warm and wet and deliberate—it’s not a physical act. It’s connection. Pure and consuming.
It’s about us. The trust. The want. The need to give this to him—this pleasure, this devotion—because there’s no one else I’ve ever wanted like this.
He groans, deep and guttural, hips bucking before he steadies himself with a rough exhale.
“Fuck, Magnolia… you feel so good. So damn perfect.”
His hand tangles in my hair. I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, letting my tongue swirl and drag as I move, slow and steady. His thighs tense. His breath stutters.
“Don’t stop… please don’t stop.” And I don’t. Because I want this—every sound, every twitch of his body, every broken word that falls from his lips like prayer.
Because I want him undone by me.
And he is.
His fingers twist in my hair, and his hips twitch, breath going ragged as I work him slow, steady, deep. Every flick of my tongue, every soft moan that spills from his mouth, roots itself inside me.
His fingers tighten in my hair, and his voice breaks into a groan. “God, I love your mouth. But I want to finish inside you. You know that’s where I want to be.”
I kiss his stomach, slow and deliberate. He’s shaking by the time I crawl up his body and straddle his hips. My fingers wrap around him, guiding him inside me inch by inch.
A shared breath––and soft gasp––when I sink down all the way, careful not to put any pressure on his leg.
His hands grip my thighs, his eyes locked on mine. “Fuck.”
“You okay, big guy?”
His hands move up to my hips. “Never been better.”
I rock against him, slow and deep, and he lets out a strangled sound, head falling back into the pillows. “Yeah, ride me just like that. I want to feel all of you.”
His hand slides between us, finding my clit with the ease that comes from knowing a body by heart.
“Does that feel good?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I ride him, rolling my hips. His fingers work in tandem with my rhythm until I’m spiraling, clenching around him, crying out as I fall apart.
He follows with a low, broken groan, his body arching, burying himself deeper as he lets go. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him as we both come.
Neither of us says it—but we’re both thinking it. How are we going to make this work?
I rest my head against his shoulder, letting the steady thump of his heart anchor me.
His lips brush my temple. “Don’t move yet. I want to stay inside you like this for a while.”
His arms wrap tighter around me. “I’ve been thinking about what comes next for us.”
My breath catches.
His hand traces a slow line up and down my spine. “You’re building something incredible in Charleston. I see how much it means to you. How much you love it.”
I lift my head, searching his eyes in the low light. I see the question there. And the truth is I’ve already asked myself that same question.
“I’m going to say what neither of us wants to bring up: one of us must relocate, which means one of us is going to give up life as we know it.”
My chest tightens. Because he’s right. Someone is going to let go of something big. And the thought of it guts me.
Alex has such a wonderful life in Sydney. A tight-knit family, not only in Australia but also in Samoa. So many people who love him, who’ve raised him. A family business built on legacy. Lifelong friends. And possibly a career in rugby again. Even if he’s not saying it yet, I can sense it. The door that was once closed is now open again.
What do I have in Charleston?
Violet. A business in its infancy. A tiny studio and a hopeful blueprint for a future I’ve only just started building. But there’s no blood there. No unshakable roots. No one waiting on me but the version of myself I’m still trying to become.
How can I ask him to give up everything he has when I have so little?
He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t about who has more to give up.”
I pull back and meet his gaze. “But it matters, doesn’t it? You have so much there. And I love that for you. I could never ask you to walk away from it all. It wouldn’t be fair.”
He holds my stare for a long beat. “You’re not asking me for anything. We’re trying to figure this out—together. And we don’t have to have it all figured out tonight. We just need to agree that this is worth figuring out.”
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “It’s worth it. You’re everything to me.”
His hand curls around the back of my head as he holds me close. “We’ll figure it out.”
And we will.
Even if it remakes us in the process—we’ll find our way through. Because I love him too much to not try.
He exhales like he’s been holding the breath in for weeks. “Let’s get through the recovery first. Then we’ll revisit this.”
I kiss the corner of his mouth, letting the promise settle between us. “It’s you and me. Forever.”
His arms tighten around me again, and for the first time in days, the ache in my chest dulls.
We may not know where we’re going yet—but we’re going together.