Chapter 60
Iwoke before Ansel, my head resting on his chest, the rise and fall of it a quiet rhythm beneath my ear.
The room was small and too warm, the faded curtains filtering soft morning light across the cramped space.
Our legs lay tangled, his arm draped possessively over my waist, pulling me impossibly close.
The mattress creaked under us whenever he shifted, reminding me how small the bed really was — but it only made me press into him harder, needing every inch of him against me.
I traced slow circles on his skin, fingers hesitant at first, then braver, sliding under the thin waistband of the boxers he’d tossed on last night. His breath hitched, and his hand tightened around my waist.
“June,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep, “you’re killing me with this.”
I smiled into his chest, words caught in my throat. Instead, I let my lips brush his skin, soft kisses that felt like promises.
He shifted again, carefully, trying not to wake his mom next door, but his fingers found my face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb stroked my cheek slowly, worshipful, like he was memorizing every detail.
“I could stay like this forever,” I whispered.
His laugh was soft and rough. “Me too.”
I pressed closer, needing to feel him, needing the quiet honesty in this small room where no one else existed but us.
I shifted against him, my hand still teasing under the waistband of his boxers. His breath stuttered, chest rising sharper beneath my cheek.
“Juniper…” His voice was low, warning and wanting all at once. “Fuck, you don’t—”
I lifted my head just enough to meet his gaze. His lashes were still heavy, his mouth soft, lips parted in that sleep-rough way that made my stomach twist. God, he looked wrecked and beautiful, like the boy I shouldn’t have touched and the man I couldn’t stop needing.
“I want to,” I whispered, hot against his skin. I pushed at the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down until his cock sprang free, flushed and heavy against his stomach, and the sight alone made my thighs press together.
His head thudded back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’ll say.” I replied, tongue already heavy in my mouth at the sight of him. With pre-cum already beginning to bead at the tip of his cock. My pulse raced as I sat there — staring.
I wrapped my hand around him, slow at first, just enough pressure to make him grunt into the crook of his arm. My lips brushed the tip, tasting the salt of him gently — teasingly.
“Fuck—fuck,” he choked, hips jerking before he caught himself, biting into his own fist to stay quiet.
The sound of it — half-growl, half-whimper — went straight through me.
“Juniper—” His voice was still rough with sleep, already frayed at the edges.
He half-sat up like he meant to stop me, but when my tongue dragged a wet stripe from base to tip, he fell back with a strangled groan.
The first pull of my mouth, wrapped around him, had him swearing, one hand clawing uselessly at the sheet. The second, when I took him deeper, wet and tight, had his hips twitching up, helpless, like he couldn’t control himself.
“Christ—fuck, you can’t—” His hand finally tangled in my hair, not pulling me away, just holding on like I was the only thing keeping him grounded. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling hard. “Baby, please, I can’t—oh, fuck—”
He bucked against my lips. “You’re—shit, you’re gonna kill me—” His voice was wrecked, breaking on a moan as I hollowed my cheeks and dragged my tongue along the underside of him. “June, I can’t—”
He tried to twist away, tried to spare me, but I pinned his hips with both hands, took him deeper, and the noise that ripped out of him was anything but quiet. He clamped a pillow over his face to muffle the cry, but I could feel every shudder, every hot, frantic twitch against my tongue.
“Sweetheart, stop—stop, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna lose it.” His voice cracked on the last word, and when I moaned around him, he choked out something that was almost a sob. His thighs trembled under my hands, muscles jerking with the effort of holding back.
His hips bucked, his head thrown back against the pillow as a hoarse, desperate moan tore out of him. He was begging now, incoherent, gasping my name between curses.
When he finally came, it was with a sound that shook me—half a groan, half a cry—as his whole body arched off the bed, shuddering. I swallowed it down, sucked him through it until he was twitching, until he yanked me off because he couldn’t take anymore.
I pulled back, lips swollen, the remnants of him smeared down my chin, and looked up at him.
And grinned.
He looked ruined. Chest heaving, hair damp with sweat, eyes glassy like he’d just barely survived.
“Juniper,” he rasped, voice raw, “you’re gonna kill me.” And then, even wrecked and trembling, he hauled me up and kissed me like he needed every last piece of me, groaning when he tasted himself on my tongue.
“You’re not real,” he whispered as he pulled me against him. With my cheek pressed to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm, there was a soft knock on the door.
“Juniper? Ansel?” His mom’s voice drifted in, warm and familiar. “I made breakfast. You two better get up before I start eating it all myself.”
Ansel sighed, eyes still closed but a smile tugging at his lips. “She’s got that ‘I’m your mother, not your maid’ tone going on.”
I chuckled, but my heart twisted a little. Mom’s voice. Reality creeping in.
“I guess we better,” I murmured, reluctantly pulling myself away from him. The too-small bed suddenly felt a little too empty.
Ansel sat up, stretching his arms over his head like a big, sleepy bear. “Come on, kid. Breakfast smells like it could start a war over who gets the last bite.”
As he tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, my heart panged a little. “Hey, cowboy?” My words came out a little rougher around the edges than I had anticipated.
“Juniper?” He stepped forward, hands gently clasping my shoulders.
“I know it won’t always be like this. Warm and safe and tucked away from the world but—” A snag.
“I’m not going anywhere, kid. You’re stuck with me.
I reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “Race you downstairs?”
And just like that, the bubble burst — but I didn’t mind. Because I had him, even the world outside this little guest room seemed softer somehow.
The smell of bacon and fresh coffee greeted us as we shuffled into the kitchen. The morning sun slipped through the curtains, painting everything gold. Ansel’s mom — Nadine — stood by the stove, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
“Well, well,” Nadine said, turning to face us with an eyebrow raised. “Looks like someone left the lights on last night.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she jabbed a spatula into a sizzling pan. “I rarely have to remind grown adults that the guest room walls are paper thin.”
Ansel’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and he shot me a sheepish grin.
“I think the entire house could have heard you two,” she continued, voice light but full of teasing judgment. “Luckily it was just the three of us — I would have had to charge for the show.”
I was stuck somewhere between mortified and somehow… oddly pleased. I tugged at the hem of my shirt, suddenly aware of every crease and fold.
“Mom,” Ansel groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not children.”
“Oh, believe me, I know,” Nadine shot back, smirking. “But I’m a mother, and mothers always know.” She moved to pour coffee into three mugs, setting one in front of each of us. “So, spill it — at what point did you two decide to turn this visit into a rom-com? Should I get popcorn for act two?”
Ansel laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m your mom. Impossible is my brand,” she winked. “Now eat up. And Juniper, honey, if you ever need a place to make a little noise again, you’re always welcome.” I caught Ansel’s eye, and we shared a grin — flushed and full of promise.
But I couldn’t meet her eyes. I could feel my heart pounding at the back of my throat. That age-old shame of finding joy or pleasure in something internally beating me up. Not just that, though — Ansel’s mom had heard us. Had heard me—
I could feel Nadine watching me over her coffee, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “So, Juniper — what keeps you going? What do you want if it’s not just Ansel?”
I hesitated. It felt like the kind of question no one had asked me in a long time, if ever.
“I… I want a space that feels like home. A bookstore maybe, but not just selling books. A place where people can come and find something... quiet. A community. I’ve never had that.
Not really.” My voice was soft, almost a whisper.
She nodded slowly, as if weighing every word. “That’s honest. I like that. You’re not here for the bright lights or the easy ride, huh?”
“No,” I said, feeling a flutter in my chest. “I’m scared, sure. Things haven’t been easy for me — or Ansel.” I took another deep breath. “You know I’m divorced. It was rough on me and—”
Ansel reached over and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“—I wasn’t unscathed. But Ansel helped, in his weird, terrible-at-flirting kind of way.
Nadine smiled then, softer, like she’d just seen something she was glad was true. “Good. Because I’m not handing him over to just anyone.”