Chapter 73 Don’t Hold Back
DON’T HOLD BACK
Vicious - Bhones
Ghost
Idon’t wake to noise. I wake because the room has shifted its balance.
It’s subtle – nothing out of place, no sudden sound – but the air feels…redistributed, like weight has moved from one side of the scales to the other. I stay still for a moment, eyes closed, letting my body catalogue what my instincts have already flagged.
There’s no intruder in the room, so after a beat, I exhale and open my eyes.
Honey’s sprawled across the far bed, one arm flung out like he dropped where he stood.
Hatchet’s corner is quiet in that deliberate way of his – stillness with intention behind it.
He’s dozing in the armchair instead of sharing one of the double beds – his preference, I guess.
Snow and Nightshade’s absences are a shape I’ve already learned to account for.
Good, Donnelly mutters. Let them feel it.
Kayla isn’t where she was. Before, she was curled up in Bones’ arms, fast asleep.
But now she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, back straight, feet flat on the floor.
Bones is still snoring softly behind her.
She’s awake in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
The hoodie she pulled on earlier has slipped off one shoulder, pale skin catching what little light the city bleeds through the curtains.
Her hands are clasped loosely in her lap, thumbs rubbing together in a slow, repetitive motion.
She’s steadying herself.
She always does that with her hands, Silas says quietly. Like she’s reminding herself she’s real.
She hasn’t noticed I’m awake yet.
I don’t move. I don’t want to intrude on the moment before it finishes forming. I watch the rhythm of her breathing – measured, controlled, but held a little too high, like she’s hovering just above stillness.
The room feels pared back. Shape. Heat. Space. Everything unnecessary stripped away.
After a minute, she speaks.
“I’m awake.”
No apology. No explanation. Just a fact placed gently into the dark.
I sit up slowly, careful not to jolt the mattress. She turns her head at once, eyes sharp, already focused.
“You okay?” I ask.
It’s the only check I offer.
She thinks about it. Looks toward the window, then back to me. “I don’t know if okay is the word,” she says. “But I’m…here.”
That’ll do, Silas says. She’s still with us.
She studies my face for a second, searching. Not for comfort – something else. Permission, maybe. Or proof I won’t try to steer her.
Whatever she’s checking for, she doesn’t find resistance.
“I don’t want to lie there and stare at the ceiling,” she continues. “And I don’t want to talk all of this to death.”
“Alright,” I say. Talking’s overrated if you ask me anyway. I much prefer to communicate through paint, and the longer I go without a brush between my fingers, the angstier I become. So I guess I know how she feels.
“I don’t want to be held like I’m fragile,” she adds, sharper now. “I don’t want anyone soothing me.”
I let her finish. Her jaw tightens slightly, like she’s bracing for an argument that never comes. “I need something solid,” she says. “Something that reminds me I’m in my body. That it’s mine. That I own something.”
Fair, Donnelly says. Talking’s done its job. She wants weight.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, slow and deliberate, making sure every movement is visible. I sit on the edge of the bed, my posture mirroring hers unconsciously. “Tell me what you want,” I offer.
She doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, she stands.
It’s not rushed. It’s not tentative. She steps closer until we’re nearly toe to toe, close enough that I can feel the heat of her, close enough that the space between us feels chosen rather than accidental.
Her eyes flick briefly around the room. Honey asleep. Hatchet still. Bones asleep in the bed beside her.
Still wish that was me, Silas mutters, not angry. Just honest.
Then she looks back at me.
“You. Here,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to sneak off. I don’t want to hide.”
I understand the choice immediately. Open. Deliberate. No shame.
She’s making a point, Donnelly says. Good.
“No hiding. Fine,” I reply.
I don’t move first.
She inhales, steadying herself, then shifts closer until she’s standing between my legs.
Her hands lift and rest lightly on my shoulders, fingers warm, certain.
The position does something dangerous to my focus – her this close, her body aligned with mine – and I feel it everywhere, a sharp awareness sparking low and spreading fast.
Careful, Silas says. This is not for us.
It’s not for us, Donnelly agrees. It’s for her. And we owe it to her to make it good.
I stay still. I don’t move.
Not yet.
She closes the gap, her warm breath brushing my lips before she kisses me. It’s soft at first – testing – then she tilts her head and deepens it, slow and deliberate. I hesitate for half a second before giving in, opening my mouth to her, letting her set the pace as heat curls low in my stomach.
I slide my hands to her hips without thinking, thumbs pressing lightly as if to check she’s real, as if I need the contact to reassure myself.
She makes a quiet sound against my mouth, and I deepen the kiss in response, pulling her closer until there’s no space left to question what this is, only the heat and the slow, unravelling certainty that I don’t want her to stop.
She breaks the kiss first.
Not to retreat.
To breathe.
Her forehead stays pressed to mine, her breath uneven now, no longer careful. One hand slides up into my hair, fingers curling with purpose, tilting my head back just enough that I have to look at her.
“That’s not enough,” she says. Not pleading. Not uncertain. A demand.
The words hit low and solid, like a weight dropped onto my chest. I feel the immediate response – not heat exactly, but focus snapping tighter, something coiling and ready.
There it is, Silas says softly. Not disapproving. Just aware.
She’s done asking, Donnelly adds.
She kisses me again before I can answer, harder this time. No testing. No gentleness. Her mouth opens against mine, claiming space, pulling me into it like she expects me to meet her there.
I do.
The kiss deepens fast, control slipping not because I lose it, but because I allow the shift. My hand at her waist tightens, fingers digging in through fabric, anchoring her there. She makes a sharp, satisfied sound at the back of her throat and presses closer, unmistakable now in what she wants.
“More,” she says against my mouth. Not loud. Certain. “Give me more, Ghost. I want all of you.”
Something in me answers immediately. Donnelly doesn’t push. He steps forward like he was always meant to.
My posture changes before I consciously decide to move. The restraint I’d been holding loosens, replaced by intent – clear, grounded, unapologetic. The kiss turns rougher, more demanding, my mouth setting the pace now instead of following hers.
Finally, Donnelly thinks. Stop holding back.
I grip her hip with one hand, the other tangling roughly in her hair so that I can guide her movement without asking, turning her just enough that she has to adjust, has to respond. She does, instantly, body aligning with mine like she’s been waiting for the pressure.
Her breath stutters. Not fear. Recognition.
“That,” she says, voice rougher now. “That’s what I meant.”
Donnelly doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.
The room fades at the edges – still there, still contained, but no longer relevant. What matters is weight, resistance, the way she leans into my hold like she trusts it to keep her upright.
I am still present. But I’m no longer steering. Donnelly has the reins now – and Kayla knows it.
Because she relaxes into the grip instead of fighting it, lets the momentum carry her forward, lets herself want without apology. And this time, when I kiss her, I don’t slow it down.
Her fingers tighten, nails biting into my shoulders. Not demanding. Just enough pressure to say stay.
She leans in again, but there’s nothing tentative about it now.
Her mouth finds mine with intent – no testing, no uncertainty – just contact that expects a response. I give her one. I tilt my head and take the kiss properly, deeper, firmer, letting it settle into something that has weight behind it instead of question marks.
She exhales into my mouth, a sound that isn’t soft anymore. It isn’t careful. It’s need, stripped clean of balance and steadiness.
That’s it, Donnelly murmurs. Don’t slow it now.
I don’t.
The kiss warms, sharpens, pulls tight. I adjust my grip and she reacts instantly, body angling into mine like she’s been waiting for permission to do exactly that.
Her hand fists in my shirt, knuckles brushing my collarbone as she pulls – not away, but closer, demanding space she already knows I’ll give her.
Her hips shift, pressing forward without apology.
There it is.
The transition isn’t dramatic. It’s final.
I break the kiss just long enough to drag my mouth along her jaw, down the sensitive line beneath her ear. Not teasing. Possessive. My hand slides from her waist to her lower back, firm and guiding, keeping her exactly where I want her – upright, contained, mine to direct.
She shudders. Not from surprise. From anticipation finally being answered.
“Ghost,” she says again, breath rough now. Certain.
I lift my head and look at her – really look at her. Dark eyes. Flushed skin. No hesitation left anywhere in her posture.
“Not Ghost, pet.”
Her lips part. “Donnelly?”
I grin. Her answering smile is slow, knowing. She’s not asking anymore.
She steps back and peels the hoodie over her head, unhurried, deliberate, exposing skin still warm from my hands. She doesn’t cover herself. She lets me look.
Good, Donnelly says. Now we stop pretending.