Chapter 32 #2
I must’ve drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I felt Dare’s warm breath against the back of my neck, his arm heavy around my waist, palm spread over my stomach like he meant to keep me there forever.
“You still with me?” he murmured, sleep-rough.
“Barely,” I mumbled. “You’re heavy.”
He didn’t move. Instead, his hand found mine beneath the blanket and laced our fingers together.
“I wasn’t gonna come home,” he said quietly. “I told my dad I needed the space. But then I saw your bag by the door and thought… fuck it.”
My chest tightened. I turned toward him, our legs tangling. “Why?”
He blinked the sleep from his eyes, honesty cracking through the usual walls. “Because I missed you. Even when I hated you. Even when I thought I was supposed to. And I didn’t want to waste another year pretending I didn’t.”
My throat worked, but nothing came out. He brushed his thumb along my cheek like he needed to memorize it.
“When you kissed me in middle school,” he said, voice barely audible, “I wanted to kiss you back. Again and Again. I was just scared. And stupid.”
“You did kiss me back, Dare.”
“I know, I couldn’t stop myself, but later, I convinced myself I didn’t. Told myself it was all you. You were mine, Tru, and I threw you away so carelessly.”
I blinked fast, but the tears still stung. “You ruined everything after that.”
“I know.” His voice broke. “I knew it even then. But I couldn’t admit it. Not to myself. Not to anyone. So I pushed you away, and I lied. And every time you looked at me like you didn’t recognize me anymore, it fucking killed me.”
I exhaled shakily, gripping his wrist. “I stopped writing in my journal because I didn’t want to see your name anymore. It hurt too much.”
“I looked for it anyway,” he admitted, a weak smile playing at his lips. “Even when I swore I was over it.”
“Asshole,” I whispered, but I said it like an endearment.
He slipped his hand beneath the blanket to graze my hip.
“Can I kiss you?”
“You don’t have to ask.”
Dare brushed his lips over mine softly, still asking. I answered by parting my lips and seeking out his tongue. Soft and velvety, it slid along mine, stroking me until my dick hardened.
He stared at me for a long second, then kissed me again, deeper, with more need. We shifted together, letting our bodies find the rhythm we never lost. Fingers exploring with aching tenderness, lips trailing secrets down bare skin.
It wasn’t frantic this time. It was forgiveness made in flesh. Love without armor.
He touched me as if he was making up for every night he’d spent pretending he didn’t want to.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he breathed.
“I’m yours,” I whispered. “Always.”
My words flipped a switch in his head, and he became desperate, urgent. His fingers bit into my hips, his teeth nipped, his lips sucked dark, claiming welts.
“Gonna stretch you before I fuck you.”
A shiver danced up my spine. His touch set off a fire that spread down my thighs and curled my toes.
Dare watched me with dark, soft eyes as he glided his hand down the center of my chest, mapping out every place he planned to worship.
“Earlier, we took the edge off. Now, I want to take my time,” he said. “Want to feel all of you.”
I nodded, breath shaky. “Okay.”
He kissed me again, deep and slow, then shifted lower, pushing my thighs apart with a quiet confidence that made my breath catch. He stroked along my inner thigh, not touching where I needed him yet. Teasing. Building.
“Why so quiet?” he murmured.
“I’m trying not to beg,” I admitted, cheeks hot.
Dare smirked against my skin. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”
He licked between my legs, tongue lapping at my balls until I made a keening sound.
Then his fingers found my hole, gentle at first. Testing.
Exploring. Slick heat and callused skin making me jolt, hips twitching up into his hand.
He whispered something under his breath.
My name, maybe. A curse. I couldn’t tell. Everything started to blur.
“I’ve thought about this,” he said hoarsely, pressing deeper, fingers curling just right. “So many fucking times. Thought about what you’d sound like. What you’d feel like.”
He kept his rhythm slow, eyes locked on mine as I writhed under him. It was maddening and perfect. I clutched at the sheets, at his arm, at anything.
“Please,” I gasped. “Dare—”
He kissed me to quiet me, trying to keep me from coming undone too fast. But I could feel the tremble in his hands, the tension in his own body. He was barely holding back.
“I got you,” he breathed against my lips. “I’m right here. Just let me.”
And when he finally moved over me—flesh to flesh, heat to heat—it wasn’t just lust or history or pent-up tension. It was love. It was a reckoning. It was years of silence finally shattering.
Dare brushed the head of his dick over my hole, breath ragged, hand shaking a little as he stroked himself. His eyes never left mine.
“You sure?” he asked, one last time.
I didn’t answer with words. I reached up, curled my fingers around the back of his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss that said everything.
That I wanted him. That I trusted him. That I’d never wanted anyone else.
Dare pushed in slowly, a groan catching in his throat like it surprised him. As if the feeling of being inside me knocked the breath from his lungs. It did the same to me. My hands dug into his shoulders. I gasped, legs trembling around his waist. He shuddered, burying his face in my neck.
“Jesus, Tru…”
It hurt, but not in a bad way. Not with the way he held me, like I was something breakable, but he was dying to touch anyway. I clung to him, panting, feeling so open it was almost unbearable.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “So fucking good for me.”
The burn started slow and intense, spreading through my blood like wildfire. It was everything we never said, translated into touch.
I clung to him, and he whispered my name like a vow. He started to move, slow at first. A grind and pull that set every nerve alight. My thighs clamped tighter around him. I could feel everything—him, us, the years we lost building into this moment. Dreams becoming real.
He kissed me as if he needed it to survive, then buried himself deeper with each thrust.
“Say my name,” he panted.
“Dare—” I moaned, head tipping back.
His rhythm stuttered. “Again.”
“Dare—fuck—I’m close.”
He shifted, angling just right, and it hit something sharp and white-hot inside me. I cried out, nails dragging down his back. His fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. It was overwhelming. I was unraveling under him.
“I’ve got you,” he said again, voice rough with emotion. “Come with me.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him, and it undid me completely. Tall and lean, muscled arms and chest, dark hair a bit too long and dipping into his eyes, and that tiny mole dotting his upper lip. Darien Carter was my wettest dream, my teenage fantasy, and he was fucking me like a God.
With a strangled moan, I fell apart in his arms, gasping his name, clinging like I’d never let go.
He thrust once, twice more, and then he was coming too, hips jerking, head pressed to my shoulder, breath caught in a broken gasp. I felt the warmth of it, the tremor in his body, the way he clutched me like he couldn't believe it was real.
Then there was only quiet, the kind that meant peace, not distance. He stayed inside me, dick pulsing, chest heaving, lips tracing my temple.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said. “I’ve always known.”
Sometime later, I slipped out of bed for water, the room hazy with the scent of us. The air was thick with warmth and something that felt dangerously close to hope.
Dare lay sprawled across the sheets, hair a mess, lashes brushing flushed cheeks. He looked younger. Safe. Mine.
That’s when I saw it.
The rock.
It sat on my nightstand like it had never left. To anyone else, it would appear ordinary, gray, rough. But not to me. My breath caught. The towel slipped from my fingers. I stepped closer, my heart starting to hammer.
It was the same rock he’d given me on my fifteenth birthday. The one he’d left under the ramp, our secret hiding place for sodas and candy bars and all the dumb stuff that made sense only to us.
When I turned it over, I saw the words still scratched into the surface, uneven and careful:
“Happy Birthday.”
And on the back, smaller, like he couldn’t help himself:
“Sorry I ruined everything.”
I didn’t cry back then. I’d been too mad. Too proud. But I’d held that rock until it felt welded to my skin.
I remembered setting it back on his nightstand later, looking him straight in the eye and saying, “You hold onto it for me. You’ll know when it’s time to give it back.”
And now, here it was.
The timing was obvious. So was the meaning.
I didn’t know it then, but that rock was never just a gift—it was a breadcrumb back to each other.
My chest imploded, all the air leaving me at once. I reached out, tracing the old carving with my thumb. He’d kept it all this time. Through everything. And now he was giving it back.
Maybe it was an apology.
Maybe a promise.
Maybe both.
I looked at him again—sleep-soft, the corners of his mouth curved like he’d dreamed something good—and I wondered if he had any idea what he’d just done.
Because with one stupid rock, he’d given me back every piece of us I thought was gone.