CHAPTER 19. KISS AND CONTROL #4
I groan, only now realizing just how wrecked we must’ve been. Eight hours—gone, like nothing.
“Was the food delivered?” I ask, because I’m so hungry, I’m pretty sure I’ve been dreaming about sushi this whole time. Right on cue, my stomach growls.
“Yeah,” Xavier says, his lips twitching. “Want me to bring it in here? Eat in bed?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Let’s eat in the living room. I don’t want to spill soy sauce all over your bedsheets.”
Xavier smirks, the twist of his mouth blatantly dirty. “Good point. I’ve still got plans for these sheets tonight—before I toss them in the washer.”
I blink, my face heating. He just watches me, gaze dark and amused, making my heart race.
“Cool,” I say, aiming for casual.
“Let’s go eat,” he says with a chuckle, clearly entertained by how flustered I am.
“I need to shower first,” I add. “And check my thigh—change the bandages, just in case we, uh, stressed it.”
The memory alone makes me flush hotter. Fuck, just remembering how Xavier fucked me is enough to make my cock stir again. I’m already halfway to imagining round two before dinner—
Until I see his face. The second I mention my leg, his expression turns serious.
“Do you need help?” he asks.
“No,” I say, grinning. “I’ll be super fast. I’m starving.”
“Okay,” he says, but I can tell he’s still itching to fuss.
So yeah—guess sex is officially rainchecked until after we eat.
I head into the shower and spend twenty blissful minutes under the hot water, washing up and rebandaging my leg.
When I step out, dressed and clean, hair still damp, my whole body feels loose and warm. A little sore, yeah—but I feel amazing. I head back into Xavier’s room, looking for him—but he’s not there. I pass through the empty kitchen and into the living room.
Xavier’s standing by the couch, but it’s the table that grabs my attention first. My brows shoot up. It’s completely buried under sushi—platter after platter, enough to feed us for a week.
I laugh, staring. “Xavier, what the hell did you do?”
He shrugs, clearly pleased with himself. “We’ve got guests anyway.”
I frown, turning toward the door—and freeze.
There are Monica and Ernest, just slipping off their coats.
“Hi,” Monica says brightly. “How are you?”
“Hi,” I echo, caught off guard but genuinely happy to see her. To see both of them, actually. “I’m great.” I shake off the surprise and cross the room to hug her.
“You look great,” Monica says, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I feel amazing,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before turning to Ernest. I reach out to shake his hand—except he skips the handshake and pulls me into a hug instead.
Stunned, I glance over his shoulder at Xavier. Xavier just rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching.
When Ernest lets go, I clear my throat, suddenly awkward. I gesture toward the table. “Come on, join us—we’ve got enough sushi to feed the whole block.”
Monica follows my gaze and her eyes go wide. “Wow. Were you expecting company?”
“Nope,” I say, grinning. “Xavier just got a little carried away.”
Xavier snorts, rolling his eyes again. “You said you wanted sushi.”
“I did,” I laugh. “Not complaining.”
Xavier shoots me a smile, and I smile back, feeling stupidly happy—until I notice Monica and Ernest watching us, clearly baffled by our very obvious moment.
“I’ll go wash my hands,” Monica says with a knowing smirk, and Ernest trails after her. Something tells me he’s planning to talk to her. Probably about us. But honestly, after everything we’ve been through, Ernest poking around doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
As soon as they’re out of the room, I walk over to Xavier. He looks mildly annoyed—probably about his uncle—but the second I step into his space, his expression softens.
He’s in a plain t-shirt and soft lounge pants, looking so domestic it makes something flutter in my chest. I slide a hand to the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss. My tongue slips into his mouth, and he melts into me without hesitation, arms wrapping around my ass, tugging me close.
“Play nice tonight,” I murmur against his mouth as I pull back a little.
“I’ll be nice,” Xavier says, though his face doesn’t quite sell it.
I snort. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”
His hands tighten on my ass, and he gives me that flat look—half glare, half exasperation.
“Come on,” I murmur, brushing my thumbs over his neck. “She’s my sister. And your uncle’s not that bad either. We can be civil for one night.”
Xavier snorts. “Alright.”
“You’re the best,” I grin, planting a quick kiss on his lips and catching the way his cheeks turn pink.
“I’ll be civil,” Xavier says—but of course he can’t stop there. “Just don’t expect me to nod along to everything he says.”
He visibly pouts, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Don’t pout,” I tell him. “You look way too cute when you do that.”
Color creeps up his cheeks, and he shakes his head, muttering, “Shut up.”
I chuckle and kiss him again—slower this time, savoring the way he softens under my touch without meaning to. His shirt smells like soap, his hair still damp from the shower. Domestic Xavier, warm and mine to touch, might be my new favorite thing.
“I just…” he says, hesitant. Then, almost shy, he blurts: “I had plans for us. After sushi.”
I tilt my head, smiling. “Plans? What, like…going somewhere?”
That earns me a look.
“Of course not.”
My stomach flips. Heat rushes in as I realize exactly what kind of plans he means.
“Oh,” I say softly, grinning even as my face flushes.
He shifts, suddenly awkward, like he regrets saying anything. It only makes me want to push him further. So I lean in, close enough that my lips brush his ear. My voice drops as I say,
“If you make it through dinner without starting a war with Ernest, I’ll let you fuck me all night. Any fucking way you want.”
I feel him shiver under my touch. His breath stutters; his pupils blow wide, blue eyes gone almost black. For once, Xavier’s the one who’s speechless, his face flushed as he nods—like he’s just been given orders he fully plans to follow.
The tension between us is dizzying—I can feel the heat rolling off him, his body tense, jaw tight.
Then, suddenly, he lets go of me and straightens. His eyes flick past my shoulder.
I turn around, fast.
Monica and Ernest have just stepped back into the living room, staring at us like they walked in halfway through a play and aren’t sure what scene they’re seeing. I clear my throat, suddenly aware of just how much PDA they walked in on.
“Let’s eat,” I say, nodding toward the table, and the four of us take our seats.
We spend the next couple of minutes passing around chopsticks and wasabi packets before finally digging in.
The second the salmon hits my tongue, I realize just how starving I was.
So for the next ten minutes, I barely say a word—just listen to everyone else talk (well, mostly Monica and Ernest, who are firing off questions at Xavier about Bernard and what went down in the café) while I inhale as much sushi as I can reach.
Turns out, Ernest already knows a lot about the case. I’m guessing that has something to do with him being in touch with Willand. That’s how we spend the next hour—and just as I’m starting to think I might actually burst from all the sushi, Ernest suddenly turns to me, his expression going serious.
He sets down his chopsticks, swallows, then says, “Chief Willand told me you saved Xavier’s life.”
I blink, caught off guard. Monica turns too, staring at me with sudden interest.
“It was the vest,” I say, shaking my head, already hoping to move on. “That’s what saved him.”
But Ernest doesn’t buy it. He nods slightly, his voice quieter as he says, “Thank you.”
It’s simple, but there’s real weight behind it—more emotion than I’ve ever heard from him. Then, almost solemn, he adds, “I know Xavier loves you. So you’re part of the Ormond family now.”
Before I can even process what he said, Xavier reacts. He shoots Ernest a glare sharp enough to kill, his face going beet red.
“Please stop,” Xavier mutters through gritted teeth, clearly mortified.
I glance at him—pointed, a quiet reminder of our deal. He holds my gaze for a beat, then lets out a rough sigh, like he’s shoving the anger down.
Under the table, I slide my hand into his and squeeze, grounding him. He exhales, squeezing back.
“Thank you,” I tell Ernest, my face a little flushed. He nods at me, as if he’s just done something important.
The table goes quiet for a second, the sushi all but forgotten. Then Xavier clears his throat, still blotched red across the cheeks.
“Ernest,” he says, clipped. “Come help me with the wine in the kitchen.”
I duck back to my plate, hiding a smile. It’s transparent as hell—he doesn’t care about the wine, just wants a word alone. Still, I can’t help finding the effort kind of endearing, clumsy as it is.
With them gone, the room feels easier. Monica pops another piece of sushi into her mouth, then turns to me with that big-sister blend of warmth and worry.
“Mom and I were so worried about you,” she says, finally letting out the breath she’s probably been holding since she walked in. “She’s called me like a hundred times already, totally worked up. She wanted to come herself, but I talked her out of it.”
“Thank God,” I mutter—then add, because I can’t help it, “Xavier kind of wants to meet her, though. Which is…weird.”
Monica blinks, then laughs outright, incredulous.
“You’re together, right?”
Heat rushes to my face. I nod, feeling it burn.
“And he’s serious about you.”
I nod again, flustered. She leans over the table and hugs me tight.
“I’m so happy for you,” she murmurs into my shoulder. “I never thought I’d see you this in love.”
My face burns hotter, and I duck my head, unable to stop the smile tugging at my mouth. Monica pulls back from the hug, still smiling, but her eyes are already gleaming with mischief.