Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
God, he’s good.
Too good. He could’ve been a musician instead of a mentalist, and the world would’ve been better for it. And yet, I’m selfishly glad he’s here, in this room, singing only for me.
When the song ends, the final notes linger in the air like a promise, and I raise my gaze to meet Koen’s, finding his expression soft and unguarded. The way he looks at me makes my stomach tighten like he sees something I don’t.
But what’s new?
“You’re amazing,” I manage to press out once the music fades, the tension left between us only growing stronger in its absence.
He sets the guitar down carefully beside him without breaking my gaze. Then he stands from his chair, rests his knee on the bed in front of me, and cups my cheek, pulling a small gasp from me. His thumb traces a slow path along my skin like he’s memorizing me or afraid I could slip away one day.
Which is accurate. That thought, paired with the intimacy of the moment, makes my throat close up, and it suddenly feels hard to draw breath. I don’t know what to do with tenderness like this.
The space between us is charged with possibility as his thumb once more brushes against my skin in that perfect way that makes me melt.
“You’re really good,” I whisper, speaking that truth again with a small smile curving my lips because I know he already knows.
His lips twitch, his touch remains impossibly gentle, and my heart stutters, sensing the danger.
His care might unravel me faster than any roughness ever could.
But I don’t balk as he continues to watch me like he’s trying to drink in every part of me or memorize every second of this moment between us.
And I gladly let him.
No walls. No hesitation. Just this. Us.
“Do you know my favorite thing about human physiology?”
“What?” I reach up to cover his hand with mine.
“How our eyes change when we look at someone we’re in love with,” he answers softly as his gaze roams over my face, tracing my features. “Our pupils dilate, like they do in the dark, trying to let in more light.”
Love. The word hovers between us, but it doesn’t send me into a panic. Instead, it settles over me like something inevitable, something true.
His gaze travels slowly up my face, then, like a soft stroke, our eyes lock. His pupils expand. I watch in fascination, my lips parting at the silent confession that’s written in the way he looks at me.
I hold my breath, frozen in the moment as my mind races.
Did my eyes do the same? Can he tell what I’m feeling?
Of course, he can. He always has.
His thumb trails a path to my bottom lip, lingering there, and the faintest shiver races up my spine, unfreezing my body. He clocks the change, something like approval in his gaze as he smiles softly at me.
One more ghost swipe of his thumb across my lips unlocks my body entirely, and I lift onto my knees and try to surge toward him, but he slows me gently with his hands on my face before I can get close enough for our lips to touch.
“And we blink less,” he murmurs. “Just to make the moment last longer…”
I swear time slows as his fingers curl against my jaw and tilt my face up just before he brushes his lips against mine in a tentative caress that feels like a question.
Yes. My mind, body, and soul agree. The only answer is yes. Yes, to all of it.
My hands slide to his shoulders, gripping him tightly. It must be answer enough because he slides one hand into my hair and deepens the kiss, his fingers threading through the strands and binding me to him.
He takes his time kissing me, savoring every second, every response my body displays.
My fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he obliges this time, his free hand finding my waist. He tastes like coffee and something sweeter, something that’s entirely him, and I think I could drown in it, in him.
So, I let myself drown.
I let myself sink.
When he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are still closed as he holds me to him, his hand still tangled in my hair.
“I meant it,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful. And crazy. Smart, skilled, sassy, and funny.” His eyes open and intently bore into mine. “And I’m a fucking fool for you.”
We hold each other’s gazes for several long moments, my heart aching with emotion as I toy with a piece of his hair. “You should’ve been a musician,” I murmur, still hearing his song. “Not a mentalist. You’re too good.”
His lips quirk into a soft smile, and his hand slips from my waist to rest on my knee. “I like what I do. But if it makes you look at me like that, maybe I’ll consider a career change.”
I laugh again, but it’s quieter this time, more breathless. My gaze drops to where his hand rests on my knee, its simple intimacy making my heart feel like it might burst.
I am so gone for him.
Koen is everything I never thought I’d crave, and yet, here he is, holding me like I’m something precious, and I’m letting him.
“I think I’m in trouble,” I whisper.
“Good,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to my forehead. “Because I’m already there with you.”
His lips wander to graze the tender spot beneath my ear, then trail down my neck. The heat of his breath sends a slow shiver through me, but it’s not nerves—it’s anticipation. Need. Want. Every place he touches feels like it belongs to him already.
I shiver involuntarily, my shoulders tilting toward him, desperate for more.
He plants a kiss right over the racing pulse at my throat. “You’re precious.”
“I’m not,” I breathe, the protest weak as it leaves my lips, more habit than belief.
Koen freezes. “Are you questioning my judgment now?”
“What? N-no. Why would I—” I stammer.
“Because you’re ignoring what I tell you and repeating the bullshit someone else fed you instead.” His tone isn’t angry, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something protective, fierce. He doesn’t just want me. He wants me to see myself the way he does.
He pulls back to fully look at me, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of Sylus’s shirt. His knuckles brush the bare skin of my stomach, and heat pools low in my belly.
“Have I not told you how smart you are, how skilled, how sassy and funny…” His fingers inch higher, dragging the shirt with them. His voice is softer now, but the conviction in it is unshakable. “Have I somehow failed at making you understand how utterly precious you are to me?”
It’s not just a compliment. It’s a demand. A plea. A truth he won’t let me ignore. The words punch through my defenses, exposing something raw and making me swallow hard. “Koen, honestly, I’m a foster girl who made it to a pickpocketing stripper. I’m not—”
His hands glide up my ribs, his thumbs tracing the curve of my waist as he lifts the shirt over my head, cutting me off.
It slips away, pooling beside us and leaving me bare from the waist up.
My skin pebbles with goose bumps, but it has nothing to do with the air and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me.
“It doesn’t matter who fed you those lies. What matters is that you believe them.”
One of his hands cups my face again, his thumb sweeping gently over my cheekbone, but the other trails lower.
His fingers ghost below the bandage on my arm, brushing the uninjured skin.
He gave me some painkillers before dinner so it’s not hurting right now, but the softness of his touch feels like an apology, even though he doesn’t say it.
I want to tell him it’s not his fault, and I don’t regret a damn thing that’s led me here to him. But I know Koen. He won’t believe me.
“I’m fine.” I lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, lingering there as if I can press the words into his skin.
He pulls back and searches my eyes, measuring the truth of my words.
“I hate that you were hurt.” His fingers slightly tighten on my waist, not possessively, just steadily, like he needs the physical connection, to feel that I’m not lying, and I’m really fine.
He slowly lifts his other hand to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone.
“Hate that I wasn’t there. Hate that I can’t go back and fix it. ”
I exhale softly, reaching up to cover his hand with mine. “I don’t need you to fix it. I just need you to be here.”
His lips slightly part like he’s going to say something, but then he stops. Instead, he exhales through his nose, like he’s letting something go, and presses his forehead to mine. His breath is warm against my lips, and for a second, we just exist in the space between us.
Then, just as softly, he tilts up my chin and kisses me.
And like before, it’s not a desperate kiss, not rushed or hungry. It’s deep and slow and weighted with something heavier than lust that settles into my bones.
“Little Thief…” He quietly sighs as he pulls away and meets my eyes. Then he does something I don’t expect—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing quirk of his lips. A real, soft, barely-there smile, like he just made peace with something inside himself.
His thumb traces a slow path along my jaw, then down my throat, watching me like he’s cataloging every tiny reaction I have to his touch and marveling at the fact that I’m letting him have this. Letting him have me.
And then, he surprises me again by asking, “Ever heard of the stoplight system?”
I blink. “What?”
His touch travels downward, his thumb blazing a path over my collarbone as he explains.
“When we’re intimate with each other, I want to know how you’re feeling.
I tend to rely too hard on your bodily cues since it’s what I do.
” His thumb continues its path down. “But maybe your body is on board with things your mind isn’t.
So I’m going to check in with you periodically and ask for your color. ”