Chapter 20
Izzy
Morning light streamed through the tall windows, catching the steam rising from the coffee machine and turning it into something soft and golden. The world outside his house carried on as if nothing had changed, as if doors hadn’t been kicked in and threats hadn’t been whispered into my skin.
I stood barefoot on the cool marble floor and focused on something simple.
Coffee.
It was muscle memory for me. Grinding the beans. Measuring. Listening to the machine hum to life. The scent bloomed in the air—rich, dark, grounding. Familiar.
I needed familiar.
I poured two mugs without asking him how he took his. I already knew.
The sound of footsteps made my shoulders tighten before I could stop myself.
Then I remembered where I was.
He entered the kitchen noiselessly, the same way he did everything. His hair was still slightly damp, the sleeves of his dark shirt rolled back just enough to reveal the ink and muscle and scar tissue beneath. One day, I hope he would tell me about his scars.
He watched me for a second before he stepped closer.
I could feel him before he touched me. The heat of him. The way the air settled when he moved behind me.
I reached for his mug at the same moment he did.
His arm came around me, reaching past my shoulder for the cup.
Too close.
My breath caught.
His chest brushed my back. Not intentionally. Close proximity. It sent a current through me that made my pulse spike.
He didn’t step away.
His hand closed around the mug, but instead of retreating, he stayed there. One arm braced on the counter beside me. The other holding the cup. Caging me in.
My heart stuttered. I was trapped. Exactly where I wanted to be.
I could feel the solid line of him at my back. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The tension humming just beneath his skin.
He lowered his head slightly, breath ghosting near my ear.
And then he stopped. He made no further move. He just… waited.
I realized something in that stillness. He wasn’t going to take from me. If anything happened next, it would be because I chose it.
My pulse roared in my ears. He’d been so careful. Even in his bedroom this morning, he’d kept a distance I hadn’t requested but understood. But I didn’t want distance.
I turned slowly in the space he’d created. We were impossibly close now. My back was to the counter. His body angled toward mine. His hand still braced beside me.
His eyes searched my face. Questioning. Always asking without words.
My mouth felt dry.
He wouldn’t move first. He needed to know. So it was up to me.
I rose onto my toes and closed the space between us. My lips brushed his. For a split second, he didn’t move. Then he did. His mouth softened against mine, warm and deliberate. Unrushed. Not hungry.
His lips were softer than I expected. Pillowy, slow, tasting faintly of mint and something distinctly him.
The world narrowed to that single point of contact. Butterflies exploded in my stomach, wild and electric. A slow heat coiled low in my belly, unfamiliar and thrilling and terrifying all at once.
He kissed like he meant it. Like every movement of his mouth carried weight.
One of his hands came up, fingers threading into my hair. He held me there, not forcing, just anchoring.
I melted. I didn’t know any other word for it. I melted into him.
My hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. I pressed closer without meaning to. A soft sound slipped from my throat into his mouth before I could stop it.
He deepened the kiss in response, slow and languid, exploring without devouring.
It was the most exquisite thing I’d ever known.
Not frantic. Not desperate. Just… feeling.
I had never been kissed like that. Like I mattered. Like I was something worth taking time with.
My knees weakened.
The mug in his hand clinked against the counter and was discarded without ceremony. His other arm slid around my waist.
He broke the kiss just long enough to look at me. His eyes were darker now.
I didn’t have to speak.
He lifted me easily, one arm sliding behind my legs, the other supporting my back. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck.
The movement felt surreal and perfectly natural all at once.
He carried me down the hall without hurry. Into his room. He laid me gently on the bed, like something fragile he had no intention of breaking. He didn’t climb on top of me immediately. He stayed standing for a moment, looking down at me.
There was no assumption in his gaze. Only a question.
Are you sure?
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. But I wasn’t afraid.
I nodded. Small. Certain.
That was all he needed.
He joined me on the bed slowly.
Not with the careless confidence I had come to expect from him, but with something far more careful—almost cautious. As if every movement carried weight. As if this moment meant more than either of us had prepared for.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight, the space between us narrowing until the warmth of his body surrounded me again.
His hand lifted first.
It brushed along my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin, tracing the line of my face as though confirming I was really there. The touch lingered for a second before sliding lower—along my neck, where my pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips.
Then to my shoulder. Each touch unhurried. Thoughtful. Like he was mapping my body.
He leaned in and kissed me again. Slower this time. Deeper.
The kind of kiss that wasn’t about urgency or possession but about presence—about staying in the moment long enough to feel every breath between us.
His mouth moved against mine with measured patience, drawing the air from my lungs until I forgot what it felt like to breathe without him.
There was no rush. No frantic fumbling or nervous energy. Just heat.
It built slowly between us, wave after wave, rising through my body in ways I didn’t fully understand. My hands moved instinctively, sliding up into his hair, my fingers threading through the thick strands as I pulled him closer.
He made a sound then. Low. Rough. It vibrated against my mouth and sent a sharp shiver down my spine.
His lips left mine only to trace the edge of my jaw.
The slow path of them down my throat made my breath catch.
Every place he touched seemed to spark awake beneath his attention, my body responding before my mind could even catch up.
And still he moved with that same deliberate reverence. Like every moment mattered.
My hands rested against his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the tension he carried even now. But beneath it was something softer. Something I hadn’t expected from him.
Comfort and care.
He kissed me again, and this time I felt something move between us. Something deeper than the heat building in my chest.
It wasn’t just physical. It was emotional. In the way he looked at me. In the way his hands held me with steady certainty instead of impatience.
I felt seen. Not examined. Not claimed. Chosen.
He touched me like I was something both precious and untouchable at the same time. And when we finally moved together, it wasn’t frantic or clumsy the way first moments sometimes were.
It was slow. Unhurried.
Every motion deliberate, like we were both learning something new with each breath we shared.
The rhythm we found wasn’t about urgency. It was about connection. About the expected trust that had somehow grown between us without either of us noticing when it started.
Time blurred.
The world beyond that room disappeared entirely.
There were no walls, no house, no complicated lives waiting for us outside that door.
Just warmth. Skin. Breath.
The soft yet terrifying thrill of something unfolding between us that neither of us had planned for.
Something that felt brutally close to first love blooming in the most unlikely place.
When everything finally stilled, I lay there with my head resting against his chest.
His arm came around me almost automatically, pulling me closer until I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
It had slowed again.
Calm. Strong. Alive.
My fingers traced absent shapes against his skin while we lay there in the aftermath, the room dim and peaceful in a way that felt almost unreal.
For a long time neither of us spoke. His breathing rose and fell beneath my cheek, and for the first time in what felt like forever, my mind wasn’t racing toward the next disaster waiting to happen.
I simply existed. Right there. With him.
And as I listened to the steady drum of his heart beneath my ear, a welcome realization settled into my chest.
This hadn’t been reckless. It hadn’t been some desperate moment born from fear or loneliness. It had been a choice. A clear one. A conscious step toward something that felt frightening precisely because it mattered.
And for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel like I was giving pieces of myself away. I felt like I was finally keeping them.
Right where they belonged.