Chapter 17 Kaia #4
Evie’s bedroom door is at the end of the hall. Her room is different from the one in my memory, but it’s still hers. Different bedspread. Different lamp. A stack of books on the floor like she tried to be organized and failed. An old corkboard with receipts and schedules and reminders pinned up.
But on the windowsill, there’s still that chipped little jar she used to fill with sea glass. And the curtains are still the same pale color. And the air still smells faintly of salt and soap.
Evie catches me looking. “What?”
“It just… looks like you.”
Evie’s throat works. She looks away first, then sits on the edge of the bed like she’s bracing for impact.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. Being in her room makes me want to just apologize all over again. "For everything. For—"
Evie’s eyes snap up. “Kaia.”
I stop mid-breath.
“Don’t,” she says, firm but not cruel. “Not right now.”
My mouth opens anyway, a reflex. “I just—”
“It’s okay,” she cuts in, softer. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s enough for tonight, at least.”
My chest aches with the relief of being allowed to stop trying to earn oxygen.
I nod once, throat tight. “Okay.”
The word is small. The word is huge.
I step closer slowly, giving her all the room in the world to tell me to stop.
Evie doesn’t.
She reaches for my hoodie and tugs me down until I’m standing between her knees, close enough to feel her breath. Evie grabs my shirt and kisses me again—messy, hungry, like the pier kiss broke the seal and now everything floods. Right there, in her room, with the door shut and the world held back.
I kiss her back with a desperation I’ve been starving on for years.
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make my breath catch. My hands settle at her waist and when she shivers, it sends a tremor through my whole body like my Spark is answering her touch.
We end up sitting on the bed together, knees brushing, close enough that every inhale feels shared.
Evie’s hands hover at the hem of my hoodie like she’s approaching a live wire. She looks up at me, jaw tight, eyes bright with the weight of asking.
“Is this okay?” she whispers.
My chest clenches. “Yes,” I say immediately. “Yes. Only if you want it.”
Evie swallows hard. “I do.”
The words hit me like permission and grief at the same time.
She tugs again, gentler this time, and I help her—slow, deliberate—peeling the hoodie up and over my head like we’re dismantling armor instead of clothing. I keep my movements careful, not because I’m scared of her, but because I’m scared of how precious this feels.
I don’t want to rush. I don’t want to spook her. I don’t want to blink and find myself alone again.
Evie does the same to me—careful, stubborn—like she refuses to let this be frantic. Like if we go too fast we’ll crash into the past and shatter.
The room is quiet except for breath and the soft creak of the mattress and the distant ocean hush through the window.
Evie’s mouth finds mine again. I meet her there, and it’s softer now—still hungry, still real, but steadier. She kisses like she’s choosing it on purpose instead of falling.
When we break, her forehead rests against mine.
“Tell me what you want?” I request, meeting her gaze.
Her eyes flick to my mouth. “You,” she says—furious and soft at once. “I want—” She swallows. “I want you to stop being careful like you’re going to disappear.”
Something in my chest breaks open—relief, guilt, love, all tangled.
I press my forehead to hers, breath shaking. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Evie exhales like that’s all she can handle, then nods once, small and certain. Her fingers hook into the hem of my shirt and tug me closer, impatient in a way that makes my stomach flip. My hands slide to her waist automatically.
Our shirts come off first, pulled over our heads in the kind of clumsy hurry that makes us both laugh under our breath. The air of the room feels cooler against my skin, but the space between us is warm enough to make up for it.
For a moment we just sit there.
Her bra is plain black—simple, practical, very Evie. Mine has lace along the edges, something I probably bought in a city halfway across the world without really thinking about it.
I reach for her again, tugging her closer until our bodies meet.
Her breasts brush mine through the thin layers of fabric.
The contact is light at first, almost accidental, but the second it happens we both go still. Then Evie exhales slowly.
The warmth between us deepens as I pull her flush against me. The lace of my bra grazes her chest; the soft cotton of hers presses back against mine. Our bodies fit together more naturally than they have any right to.
My hands rest at her waist, thumbs brushing the bare strip of skin where her shirt used to be.
I keep looking at her face. Her eyes. Her mouth. The way her shoulders move when she breathes. I’m checking without meaning to—making sure she’s still here with me in this moment. And to make sure that this is still okay.
Evie notices. Instead of pulling back, she slides her hands up my sides and pulls me closer again, closing the last inch between us like she’s answering the question without saying it out loud. Her forehead brushes mine.
“You always overthink everything,” she murmurs.
“Occupational hazard.”
Her mouth curves just a little.
But she doesn’t move away. Her fingers tighten, holding me there. The heat of her body seeps through the thin layers still between us, and I can feel the steady rhythm of her breathing against my chest.
It feels like something we’ve both been walking toward for years without quite admitting it.
Evie tilts her head slightly, her nose brushing mine, and for a second neither of us moves.
Then she closes the space again.
And this time there’s no hesitation left in the way she pulls me closer.
When her hands slip under my jaw and she whispers, “Kaia,” like it hurts, I almost break.
I kiss her harder instead. The bed creaks beneath us.
The room is too warm and not warm enough.
Evie’s mouth finds my throat and I gasp, fingers tightening in her hair, and she makes a small, wrecked sound like she hates how much she wants this too.
My pulse roars. The world narrows to skin and breath and the terrible, beautiful fact that we’re done pretending this is nothing.
Evie’s hands move over my ribs, my shoulders, steadying me the way she used to steady me in front of that rickety little stage years ago. But now her grip isn’t about grounding nerves before a show—it’s about holding on.
My hands slide up, palms hot against her bare skin. She shivers under the touch, breath hitching as my fingers trace upward along the lines of her back. We keep kissing—messy and hungry, mouths colliding again and again like we’re afraid to pause.
I find the clasp of her bra by feel and undo it.
The second the fabric loosens, I cup her breasts through the thin material, thumbs brushing over her nipples. They tighten instantly beneath my touch. Evie sucks in a sharp breath and her fingers clamp down on my shoulders.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Really look.
Her hair’s a mess. Her lips are swollen from kissing. There’s color high on her cheeks I don’t remember seeing before.
She suddenly goes very still under my gaze, and the blush deepens.
“You’ve probably been with so many people who look like models,” she mutters, voice rough with embarrassment.
I shake my head immediately, leaning in again, nuzzling her cheek before kissing slowly down her neck.
“No,” I murmur against her skin. “You’re the only one who ever knew me before I became… all of that. You’re the only one that’s ever mattered.”
She makes a soft noise when my mouth reaches her chest. I pull the bra down and close my lips around her nipple, sucking gently. Evie’s fingers tangle hard in my hair. Heat pools between my legs, little sparks of tension building low in my stomach, and God, I'm embarrassingly wet.
The mattress dips when I push her backward onto the bed. She lets out a surprised laugh that turns into a breathy sound when she lands against the pillows.
Her hands move quickly, tugging at my bra. I help her unhook it and shrug it off, letting it fall somewhere onto the floor. Evie’s eyes drop to my chest. My breasts are smaller than hers, but her hands come up immediately, palms warm as she touches me.
My eyes flutter closed.
God.
“I used to touch myself thinking about this,” I admit before I can stop myself.
The words land between us like a lit match.
Evie blinks up at me, stunned. “When?”
I laugh softly, a little breathless. “Always. Hotel rooms. Tour buses. Everywhere.”
I lean down and kiss her again before she can respond.
This kiss is different. Slower at first, then suddenly deeper when Evie bites down on my lower lip. I gasp at the sharp little jolt of pain, grabbing her hair and tilting her head so I can kiss her harder.
Her body presses into mine.
My underwear is soaked now. I can feel it when my hips roll instinctively against her.
Evie’s hands slide to my waist, tugging at my jeans. I kick them off, then we’re both scrambling, half-laughing, half-gasping as the last of our clothes disappear.
When I settle back on top of her, the first brush of bare skin against bare skin makes both of us make helpless sounds.
My thigh ends up between her legs without either of us really planning it. Evie rocks against it immediately.
“God,” I breathe, realizing what she’s doing as I slide my hand between us. My fingers brush her slick heat. “You’re so wet.”
She cries out softly when I touch her clit, hips bucking upward to chase the pressure.
I circle my thumb over it experimentally.
Evie grabs my wrist suddenly, guiding my hand.
“Like this,” she gasps, adjusting the angle. “Right there—”
I follow her lead, increasing the speed just enough. Her back arches off the bed. Her head presses into the pillow as a moan tears out of her, the sound raw and unfiltered. I keep going, watching the way her body tightens beneath me.