Chapter 7 #2
I smiled into his hair. God, I loved this man. Sometimes, it felt too big—like trying to hold sunlight in my hands, like it might tear straight through my chest.
“If I’m being totally honest—and you know I suck at this—when you opened the door and I saw you…” He trailed off, rubbing his face against my shirt. I couldn’t see his expression, but I’d bet anything his cheeks were flushed. Probably his ears too.
“What?” I asked gently.
“I was turned on. You turn me on. A lot. Especially like this.”
My smile spread. “Yeah?”
He nodded, still pressed against me.
I was used to people wanting me—used to recognizing that look in someone’s eyes within seconds. But that was just sexual interest—surface-level, transactional. And the more it happened, the more hollow it felt. Like they didn’t want me, just the idea of me. The ease of getting what they came for.
But Atty had never made me feel like that. Not once. His attraction had always felt real. Honest. Even when it scared me, I’d become addicted to it. To the way he saw me. Wanted me.
I tugged on his hair, tilting his head back and kissing him. He opened for me instantly, soft and eager, his hands urging me closer at my hips. Atty’s body sometimes seemed carved from stone, but up close, he radiated softness—in his touch, in the way he asked without words.
My body arched into his on instinct, and I groaned into his mouth. “Okay, we should cut this out.”
He pulled me back in by the nape of my neck. I gave in for another second before breaking the kiss again, just as his mouth began trailing down my neck.
I shut my eyes. I kept forgetting how damn good he was at that.
“Atty,” I warned again.
“Let’s just stay in,” he murmured, his lips brushing over my throat, then lower.
I reached for his hands, trying—halfheartedly—to peel them off me.
“You smell nice,” he whispered against my pulse point.
And that was all it took to get me hard.
“We’re going to be late,” I tried again, voice uneven.
“We don’t have to leave…”
I shook my head. “Nuh-uh. Come on. Let’s go.”
His grip on my waist tightened, and his lips froze mid-kiss. His breath spilled warm against my neck. “Noah…”
“Yeah?”
His fingers pressed harder into my side. “Why don’t you want me anymore?” The words came out low and fragile, hitting dead center in my chest.
“What?” I asked, thrown.
He sighed deeply. “As long as we’re being vulnerable…you keep pushing me back. You never used to—” He cut himself off, breathing in again. “You keep pushing me back.”
“Atty, of course I want you. I love you. Where’s this coming from?”
“You never want anything more than a couple of kisses. I don’t understand. You just stop.”
“Because I’m trying to keep things slow.”
“But you left,” he said, voice cracking. “You left, and it almost killed me.”
Forget speared—those words tore straight through me.
“I didn’t think something could hurt that bad. And now we’re here—you’re here—and it feels like I’m trying to grasp air. Like I can’t hold on to you, and it’s not real. It doesn’t feel real,” he kept going, clutching me harder around the waist.
I held on to his neck just as tight. “Atty—”
“There’s so much space between us.”
“You know why—”
He pulled back abruptly, cupping my face in both hands. He held me there, locking our eyes together. “Promise me you’re not going to leave again.”
“I’m not going to leave.”
“Swear it, Noah. On your life, mine, whoever—but mean it. Swear you’re never going to do that again.”
“I swear, Atty. I’m not going to leave.” I tried to meet his gaze, but my vision blurred. The hurt was etched so clearly on his face—in that tiny crease between his brows, in the sadness spilling from the depths of his blue eyes.
“Swear that you’re mine. That this is real.”
“I’m yours. Forever, if you want me. I’m always going to be yours. Atty, I’m—” He stopped me with a kiss; a hard one.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “I don’t need more apologies. I just need you. Please,” he whispered, breath shaky against my lips. “Stop holding up this wall. I need you, Noah. I need—”
That’s as far as I let him go.
I kissed him fiercely, one hand fisting in his hair, holding him there.
Harsh. Deep. Consuming. I pushed him back onto the bed and climbed over him, pausing only long enough to flick off the light.
The moonlight poured softly through the window, draping us both in shifting shadows.
Just enough to see each other without revealing every detail.
Our mouths crashed once more. He stripped off my shirt; I yanked his free. There was nothing gentle about it—only need. The desperate kind.
Everything he felt, everything he said, echoed in me. I didn’t feel like I had him back, not really. He still felt like something I could lose at any moment, like a dream I couldn’t quite touch. Like if I blinked, he’d be gone again.
He rolled us over, mouths still fused, kneeling between my legs as he stripped off my too-tight jeans in one quick motion.
Then he dropped his weight onto me, mouth back on my neck while I wrestled him out of the rest of his clothes.
I heard the dull thud of his shoes hitting the floor, and then his body—warm, bare—pressed down against mine.
I dragged my blunt nails down his back, drawing a groan from his lips.
“Let me get on top of you,” I said, nudging his shoulder.
He rolled us sideways, taking me with him, and I wasted no time, kissing down his body from his chin to his navel.
“Noah,” he panted, trying to pull me back up to his mouth.
I shook my head, curling my hand around his cock and stroking him.
“Fuck.” His eyes fluttered shut, throat arching as a low sound caught there. In the faint wash of moonlight, he was beautiful—achingly so.
I let my gaze fall between his legs, taking a moment just to admire before I leaned down, running my tongue over the head of his cock.
He hissed, but it didn’t stop me. If anything, it spurred me on.
I wanted to feel him unravel. I wanted him to know how much I wanted him—how I’d missed this, missed him, and how I’d do whatever it took to hold on to him.
I took him into my mouth—just the head—savoring every gasp I pulled from him. His hands tugged at my hair, but I didn’t budge. Still stroking him, I kept licking and sucking until his hips started to rise from the bed, seeking more.
“Noah, come here,” he gasped.
I shook my head and pressed my forearm across his stomach to pin him down. He groaned, and I took him deeper, holding him there before pulling back to start again.
Every gasp, every twitch of his thighs, every whispered curse urged me on. I ignored the ache in my jaw and let his body tell me what he needed.
He gripped my hair tighter. I only pushed down harder with my arm and doubled my efforts. With a rough, broken cry of my name, he came in my mouth.
I swallowed slowly, savoring him, softening my movements as he trembled beneath me. When his hips finally stilled, he reached for me, pulling me up.
I could still make out his flushed face, lips parted as he panted, brows drawn together in a silent plea for mercy.
Without overthinking it—or stopping to wonder if he’d hate it—I climbed into his lap.
He reached for me, but I pressed firmly on his shoulder and held his gaze, stroking my cock with fast, rough pulls.
Atty licked his lips. “Let me—”
I pushed a little harder, shaking my head. “Stay. Look at me.”
He nodded, eyes locked on mine as the pleasure built. The want on his face, the short, shallow breaths slipping through his lips—this was Atty. Atty, back in my bed. Atty, who wanted to be here with me. Atty, who I got to love again. He was mine.
My nails sank into his skin as I groaned and came, my eyes fluttering shut from the force of it. I forced them open, watching as I painted his chest with jet after jet of release, shadows softening the sharp lines of his body.
He was mine.
Warm fingers skimmed my neck, tugging gently at the chain resting there, drawing my attention back to his face.
“Can you kiss me now?” he asked softly.
I didn’t hesitate. I leaned in and kissed him deeply, letting the taste of him and the glide of his tongue ground me. Our breaths mingled, ragged and warm, as I rode the tail end of the high.
When I finally pulled back, I swept his hair off his forehead and gave it a soft tug. “Don’t ever think that.”
“Think what?” His voice was rough, like it had been dragged over gravel.
“That I don’t want you. Don’t ever think that. You’re the only person I’ve wanted like this. Like I could go up in flames if I didn’t get to touch you. You’re the only person who’s made me want to stay inside my own head when we’re together.”
His head tilted slightly. “What does that mean?”
I kissed the corner of his mouth and rested my forehead against his. “It means I love you. And I trust you.”
He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me back in. “Can we stay in?”
“Yeah,” I said against his lips. “Let me grab something to clean you up.”
I kissed him again, then stepped off the bed. I pulled on my underwear, then, on impulse, dragged his shirt over my head. On my way to the bathroom, I flipped the lights back on. When I returned with a damp towel, I caught him watching me.
“What?” I asked, sitting beside him and running the towel gently over his stomach, feeling the way it tensed and softened beneath my touch.
“I like how that looks on you,” he said at last.
I smiled. “I like wearing them.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you do it.”
I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the towel. “I kept a couple. Wore them all the time.”
He reached up and tugged on my necklace, drawing my gaze to his. There was a question in his eyes—quiet but heavy, the kind that sat behind your ribs and ached.
I took a breath. “When I packed…” I swallowed hard. “I couldn’t leave everything behind. I’m sorry I stole your shirts.”
His thumb brushed my cheek. He sat up, looking slowly around the room.
“I don’t like being here,” he said quietly.
My heart stopped. “What?”
His chest heaved as he let out a loud exhale. “It’s like we’re trapped in the past. I know it’s different—I know you’re different, we’re different—but being in this apartment…” He gave me an apologetic look. “I can’t escape the bad memories here.”
I nodded slowly.
Of course he couldn’t. This place had seen the worst of us. No wonder it still haunted him.
“Do you want to go back to yours?”
He hesitated.
“I could come with you,” I added. “We could watch a movie or something. I don’t have to stay, but—”
“Yes,” he cut in. “Let’s go. And stay.”
“Okay,” I said, a little breathless.
Relief rippled through both of us. It softened his expression. This was progress—a step forward that felt monumental. A single brick laid in a new foundation. A stronger one.
And it wasn’t about sex. It was about vulnerability. About letting the walls down and showing each other the bruises.
As the moment broke and he started getting dressed, I took one more leap. So much had happened today, but I needed to get it out.
“Mathew wanted to have a chat with me,” I said.
Atty tied his shoes—still shirtless but otherwise dressed. A small crease formed between his brows as he turned to me. “Oh yeah? What about?”
“He just wanted to clear the air. Said he didn’t want to be in the middle.” I paused. “Told me he’s seeing someone.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that,” Atty replied casually.
I took the opening. “You still talk?”
He shook his head. “Not really. He texted after your first class together to give me a heads-up. That’s it.”
The tightness in my stomach eased. I smiled. “Okay.”
He gave me a pointed look. “Am I getting my shirt back?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” I said, grinning.
“I can’t leave your apartment shirtless.”
“Trust me, no one’s going to complain.”
“Noah…”
“Just wear one of mine,” I said, already heading for the closet.
“I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“It’ll be snug,” I said, pulling one out and tossing it to him, “but again—no complaints.”
He tugged it on. It was very snug.
A laugh burst out of me.
“It’s not funny,” he muttered, but there was a smile hiding in his voice.
“It’s not funny at all,” I said, eyeing him. “It’s hot as fuck.”
I finished dressing, still wearing his shirt, and we headed out.
In the parking lot, as I pulled out, he reached for my hand and turned toward me. “Thanks for tonight.”
I looked over, smiling. “You don’t have to thank me for blowing you.”
He looked away, a flush creeping up his neck, though his mouth twitched with a smile. “I meant for talking to me. About what was bothering you. And for listening.”
If he felt the need to thank me for that, I’d really fucked up as a boyfriend.
I squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “It just felt big.”
As Atty looked out the window and I drove toward his apartment, I realized he was right.
That same feeling I’d had before—the lightness—was still there. Because even though our relationship had always felt like air to me, this was the first time in a very long while that it felt easy.
And wasn’t that something?