Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sadie
Are You Ready For It
Taylor Swift
Charlotte greets us with damp heat that feels like someone forgot to turn the oven off. The sky is the color of old lemon rind, and the air sticks to my skin the second I step off Luc and Lily’s bus.
I hitch my camera bag higher on my shoulder and force myself to focus on work. It’s the one thing in my life that doesn’t fail me, forget me, or fall apart under pressure.
Inside the venue, the crew is already moving in their synchronized chaos. Cherry is standing on a crate barking load-in orders. Mikey whizzes past like a Labrador chasing a ball. Hayden calmly fixes a cable that’s being strangled by a coil.
And then, there’s Dean. Always floating into my orbit, tilting me off course.
He’s in a white tee, guitar case in one hand, hair a little too messy to be an accident.
He sees me the second I walk in, his gaze locking onto me.
It hits me dead-center, like someone slapped a tuning fork against my spine.
He looks tired. Not physically, but more like, soul-tired. Like the last twenty-four hours stripped him down and left him standing there without the armor he swears is welded on. I should look away but this time I don’t.
His eyes narrow, just slightly, but it’s enough to tell me he noticed that I noticed. My heart tries to climb out of my throat, but I turn on my heel and head toward the side stage. Stay cool, Sadie, stay cool.
I busy myself with work while they do soundcheck.
I take photos. Adjust lenses. Check settings I’ve checked a thousand times.
His presence pulls at the edges of my awareness like a chord buzzing slightly out of tune.
I can feel him watching me between songs.
It shouldn’t matter, but of course it does.
When the band breaks for a breath, I slip behind a stack of amp cases, letting the wall press against my back. I exhale slowly, palms flat against the cool metal. This was supposed to be the smart thing. Us taking things slow. Not rushing. But slow is turning out to be hard too.
“You hiding from me?” His voice is low and rough, and definitely too close.
I jolt, bumping my elbow into a case. Dean stands two feet away, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes locked on mine with the intensity of a man who has reached the end of a rapidly fraying rope he knows he can’t cling to anymore.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” I deflect, rubbing my elbow.
“And you’re not supposed to look this good.”
I swallow hard. “Neither are you.”
“Somethings can’t be helped.” His voice even lower now as he takes a step closer to me.
“Dean…”
“Sadie.” His mouth quirks up into a sly grin. “How you doing with this taking it slow thing?”
I grip my camera strap like it’s the only thing tethering me to gravity. “Just tell me this is real. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am to be the girl who falls for a man just because he looks at her like she’s fire.”
“Then fall forward.” His voice gentle as he takes another step in my direction.
My chest caves inward as I blink to hold my emotions in check. “Dean…”
“Sadie, I’m choosing you.” He steps even closer, his hands hovering near my arms but not touching. “I’d really like to try.”
“I want this. I do, but I’m not sure how we make it work.”
“I want this too.” His mouth lifts a millimeter. “And we’ll probably figure it out all wrong, but let’s do that together.”
A laugh escapes me; shaky, and terrified. He reaches up and brushes his thumb across my cheek. It’s the softest thing he’s ever done. It’s also the thing that sets everything in motion.
“Come find me after the show. Unless you’re not ready. But if you are…” His breath shivers across my cheek.
“I am.” It comes out more like a warning, because I know I’m putting my entire heart on the line right now. Heat pools low in my stomach. It’s strange how fear and want coexist like sparks in gasoline.
Footsteps echo. Someone rounds the corner. Dean steps back quickly, hand dropping, mask sliding back into place. He doesn’t say another word. Just gives me one last look that is filled with such raw certainty that my knees almost give out.
The stadium is a hurricane of noise and light and people. But all I feel is my pulse thumping beneath my skin. Like every beat of the drums is counting down.
I pack my gear slowly, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to stop the tremble in my fingers. The crew filters out around me and the noise fades. My camera clicks shut in its case. I stand there in the quiet of the backstage hall, staring at the door that leads to the buses.
I take one step. Then another. My heart punching underneath my ribs. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I know who I’m doing it for. And for the first time since this tour began, I really let myself want him.
I walk toward him. Toward us. Toward a night I know will change everything for us. He’s already showered and leaning against the bus when I approach. He pushes off when he sees me, and strides over.
Jesus, he looks good. He’s wearing faded jeans, a fitted green tee that makes his eyes pop, his tattoo peeking out of the sleeve, and that chain that’s always fastened to his neck. He’s got a small duffel slung over his shoulder.
“Hi.” My greeting shy.
“Come with me.” He takes my hand in his and leads me to a car I didn’t notice was waiting. “I’m not staying on the bus for this.”
“Oh.” My brow rises in surprise, but it’s the good kind. The thought of trying to have any kind of serious interaction with Dean in the company of Mikey and Hayden was not a prospect I was looking forward to.
“I rented an Airbnb.” He shrugs. “I want us to be able to have some privacy.”
I nod in silence, understanding entirely what he means, and slide into the back seat of the waiting car.
We’re both quiet the entire ride to the apartment he rented, which is only ten minutes away.
But our palms are fused, our fingers linked, his skin against mine, the connection everything I need in this moment to keep me anchored. It says everything needed between us.
When we arrive, Dean punches a code into the electronic lock on the door, pushing it open when it lights up green, holding it until I pass through. He steps further inside, drops the duffel onto a chair in the foyer, then turns to face me.
He lifts a hand and cups my cheek before his fingers slide down to grasp the back of my neck, his forehead coming to rest against mine, his eyes locking with mine.
“I choose you.” His voice is barely a whisper as he breathes the words against my lips. “I choose this.” He feathers his mouth across mine. “I choose us.”
And this time, he isn’t gentle. He crushes his mouth to mine as his grip tightens on my neck, yanking my body flush, removing any space that existed between us, my surrender complete as I wrap my arms around him.
More quickly than I like, he pulls away, his hand skimming down my arm until his fingers link with mine. “Let’s find the bedroom.”
“Yes, please.” I nod, biting back a smile of relief as he leads me up a set of stairs, snagging the duffel as he goes.
I’m a strange mix of feelings as I follow behind him.
This isn’t our first time, yet it feels entirely like it is.
Our first time was heat and lust and curiosity.
This time carries a promise between us to open our hearts to more.
We enter the bedroom and he drops the bag to the ground, his body turning to face me. “Do you need anything?”
I shake my head, my only focus on him, my heart pounding against its cage as if desperate to escape. “Just you.”
“I’m yours.” He steps forward, and with a tenderness I had yet to experience with him, he slides his fingers around the nape of my neck, tilting my head back to feather kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose, before finally sealing his mouth over mine.
Our bodies surge together like two magnets clicking into place, everything finally righting itself into perfect alignment. His lips move against mine unhurriedly, like he has nowhere else to be and no reason to rush.
Every kiss is deliberate, a searing declaration of his decision. His thumbs brush along my jaw, anchoring me there, as if he’s memorizing the shape of me in this moment. I feel it everywhere, his restraint, his care and the way this isn’t about hunger, but about choice.
When he pulls back, just barely, his forehead rests against mine.
His breathing is uneven, mine worse, and the space between us feels electric even though we’re touching everywhere.
His hands slide from my neck to my shoulders, down my arms, as if asking permission with every inch of skin he claims.
“Come here,” he murmurs, not a command, but an invitation.
He guides me back toward the bed, never breaking eye contact.
When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, he follows me down slowly, reverently, like this is something sacred.
Like I am. He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I feel the quiet promise in it that he’s showing; I’m here. I’m staying.
His hands begin to undress me with care, not urgency. Fabric slides away inch by inch, every touch intentional, every pause loaded with meaning. When his lips trace my collarbone, my shoulder, the place beneath my ear, I swear my heart could split open from how seen I feel.
He leans back just enough to look at me, really look at me, his gaze dark and steady and full of something that finally feels like home. I reach for him then, my hands trembling just enough that he notices.
His breath catches as my fingers skim the hem of his shirt, hesitating until he nods slowly. I pull it over his head, taking my time, letting my palms map the lines of his torso as if learning a language I never want to forget.
When my hands move to the buttons of his jeans, he stills, watching me with an intensity that makes my chest ache. This time, I’m the one undressing him, not out of urgency, but reverence. Every touch is a quiet promise that I see him, that I choose him too, that this moment belongs to us both.
When my fingers free the last button, his forehead drops to mine, a shaky laugh slipping out like he doesn’t quite trust himself yet.
“God,” he murmurs, voice rough, undone. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I look up, and something in his expression shifts wide open that is unguarded.
“I spent a long time convincing myself I didn’t need this,” he admits on a whisper. “Didn’t deserve it.” His thumb brushes under my chin, lifting my gaze back to his. “But with you, I don’t want to be that man anymore. I want to feel this. I choose you.”
The words land heavy and sure, like a vow spoken in a whisper. Like a door closing on the past he’s been hiding from for a decade.
And when he reaches for me again, it’s not lust that fills the room, it’s love.
His mouth finds mine like a secret he’s been holding onto for years, slow and careful, as if he’s afraid the moment might shatter if he moves too fast. The first brush of his lips is barely there, before he pulls back a fraction, breathing me in, letting the anticipation stretch until it aches.
When he kisses me again, it’s deeper, softer, unhurried, his lips coaxing instead of taking, teaching my body the rhythm of patience. Time seems to dissolve as he tilts his head, fitting us together with aching precision, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw like he’s memorizing it.
Every kiss lingers longer than the last, a slow unraveling, desire blooming not from urgency but from restraint. When his mouth finally teases to open mine, it’s reverent, consuming in its gentleness, like he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into that single, endless kiss.
Heat radiates from every inch of my skin, need pulsing at my center. He lowers himself between my legs and drags his tongue between my folds, his feral growl vibrating against them. “You taste so fucking good.”
My fingers tangle in his hair as he dives deeper, flicking at my clit, then sucking it into his mouth, my back arching off the bed as I detonate unexpectedly, his name tumbling from me in a shout.
His face is in front of mine a second later, his mouth wet with my scent. “You screaming my name is the best thing I’ve ever fucking heard.”
Before I even have a chance to respond, his lips crush against mine, his body resting between my spread legs. His breaks the kiss to line the tip of his length up with my opening, his gaze locking with mine as the head of his cock slides inside me.
He eases into me, one slow torturous inch at a time, a small gasp of relief when he’s finally, finally, buried all the way in me. He’s completely still, his eyes never leaving mine, his voice raspy as he brings his lips to mine to murmur against them. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
And then any semblance of tenderness is gone as he rears his hips back and begins to thrust in and out of me.
Every surge is deeper than the last, made all the more intense by the fact he hasn’t broken eye contact with me.
My fingers dig into the muscles of his back, my nails breaking his skin as I cling to him, needing to remove any molecule of space between our bodies.
I forget where I end and he begins as I feel myself climb toward another orgasm, sparks igniting behind my lids when I combust, my entire body convulsing under him.
His release is only a second after mine, his cock pulsing deep inside of me as he wraps me even tighter in his arms until all that exists is the warmth of his mouth and the quiet, devastating truth that this, this is everything.