Chapter 12 Eli #2
The rest of the world falls away. There’s only the give and take of him, the pull and answer, the low sounds caught between us that have nothing to do with language and everything to do with the moment.
He cups the back of my head, anchoring me as his mouth brushes mine between ragged breaths until it’s impossible to tell which heartbeat is whose.
We push through that bright, dizzy stretch where thought drops out completely—where it’s not about counting or controlling, just need.
Just us. The connection thrums through every inch of me, and in that wild, perfect rush, I know: This isn’t just about wanting him.
It’s about letting him all the way in. About keeping him.
He adjusts, slipping one hand lower to wrap it around my hand that’s now on my cock, joining me in jacking me off.
“Fuck,” I say with a gasp. His touch steals what’s left of my control. My body arches into his, chasing the sensation, and the coil inside me pulls sharper, faster, until it breaks.
It hits in a rush—everything clenches, every nerve sparking white—and I’m gone, the release pulling through me in long, shuddering waves.
Above me, Ant’s own rhythm falters; his grip tightens as a ragged sound escapes him, the force of it tipping him over too.
For a moment, the only thing in the world is the way we’re clinging to each other, every muscle locked in that bright, breathless aftermath.
We stay there, catching the tail end of each other’s shivers, until the pace of our hearts finally starts to slow.
After, the quiet is full—no apology in it, no second-guessing.
Just breath settling. The room smells like cedar and heat and the hint of lemon that always follows me out of the shower.
He’s heavy along my side, one hand spread low on my belly like he put it there and forgot to retrieve it. I don’t remind him.
“Hi,” I say into his hair, because post-earthquake, you start small.
He huffs. “Hi.”
We lie here and let the world reorder itself around the fact of us. The ceiling fan ticks. A car passes somewhere out front and fades. The light on the wall shifts another inch towards night.
“How much time do we have?” I ask, hating to break the spell, but life is still life, and Henry is still a person we both love who tells time in dinner-o’clock and bedtime.
“Hours,” Ant says, and I hear the relief in it. “Mel’s organising a movie night. She said—and this is a quote—‘If you two don’t come up for air until tomorrow brunch, I will cope.’”
I groan into his shoulder. “I love my sister.”
“Get in line,” he says, smile audible. “She made that face she does when she’s two steps ahead of us and enjoying the view.”
We’re quiet a minute more. Then he shifts, propping himself on an elbow so he can actually see me. Whatever he finds there makes him soften in that way that still knocks me sideways.
“I kept thinking about it today,” he admits. “How easy it is now Henry knows. No big drama, no awkward sit-down. Just… part of the air we breathe.”
I smile, remembering the way my niblings took it yesterday—Ava grinning like she’d just figured out the ending to her favourite book, Noah asking if this meant Henry was going to start coming to our Sunday pancakes.
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re all good with it. Like they’d been waiting for us to catch up.”
Ant’s mouth curves, slow and sure. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Better than good.”
The ceiling fan hums above us, pushing warm air across my bare skin. The sheets are twisted around our legs, the smell of sex still thick in the room. There’s no rush to move—no school pick-up, no Henry bounding in with a soccer ball, no real world tugging us out of this space.
Ant shifts closer, draping an arm over my back, palm resting at my hip like he’s staking his claim. “Feels good,” he murmurs.
“What does?” I ask, even though I know.
“This. You. Us.” His thumb strokes my skin, lazy and warm. “Knowing we’ve got more than just… moments between everything else.”
I turn my head, watching him watch me. “We’ve got nights like this whenever we want. Days too. Henry’s good with us. That’s the hard part done.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Still feels like we’re just getting started.”
“That’s the best part,” I say. “Means we’ve got time. To do the coast trips, camping, Sunday pancakes with my manic family. All of it.”
He smiles, slow and certain, the kind of smile that makes me feel it in my chest. “Sounds like a plan.”
Outside, I can hear the ocean faintly through the open window, steady as a heartbeat. Ant pulls me closer until our foreheads touch, and for a long time, we just breathe each other in. This isn’t a grand declaration, but it’s better—it’s a promise. Quiet, sure, and ours.
I’ve lived here long enough to know the rhythms—the way the tides shift, the way the light changes in late afternoon—but seeing it through his eyes, fresh and a little awed, makes me love it all over again.
He’s only just started calling this place home, but already, he’s part of what makes it feel like mine.
I think about the life we’re shaping here, how the rest will follow, and I know exactly what we’re keeping.
This. Always this.
He tilts my chin up and kisses me, slow and unhurried, like he’s got nowhere else to be. His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me there, and I press closer until every inch of me is against him. The kiss deepens, soft heat turning into something that tastes like the start of forever.