Chapter 8 Lucy #2
"You're sure?" he asks, even though we've already done this. Even though we both know the answer.
I pull him down to me instead of answering, and when he slides inside me, we both freeze—adjusting, savoring. His forehead rests against mine. Our breathing syncs. For a moment, we're perfectly still, just feeling the connection. The weight of him. The fullness. The rightness of it.
"Okay?" he whispers.
"Perfect."
We find our rhythm slowly, each movement controlled and careful.
His hand tangles in my hair. Mine grips his shoulder.
We move together like we're learning a dance, stumbling at first, then finding the beat.
When pleasure builds too high, threatening to break my silence, he covers my mouth with his hand.
I taste salt on his palm. Feel his pulse hammering against my lips.
I do the same for him when his breathing hitches, when I feel him getting close. The intimacy of it—muffling each other's pleasure, protecting this secret together—makes it even more intense. We're partners in this. Conspirators. Two people choosing each other despite every reason not to.
When release finally crashes through me, I bite down on his palm to keep from crying out. He buries his face in my neck, his moan vibrating against my skin. We shatter together, clinging to each other like the world might end if we let go.
After, we lie tangled together, both trembling with spent adrenaline and suppressed sound.
"That was—" I start.
A door opens in the hallway.
We both freeze. Footsteps. The bathroom door closes.
Connor.
Ryder's arms tighten around me. We don't move. Don't breathe. Just listen to water running, toilet flushing, footsteps retreating. Door closing.
Silence.
We wait another full minute before either of us dares to exhale.
"That was close," I whisper.
"Too close." But he's grinning in the darkness.
"I should go back."
"Not yet." His arms tighten around me. "Just a few more minutes."
"Ryder—"
"Please. I'm not ready to let you go yet."
I should argue. Should insist on leaving now while it's safe. But his bed is warm and I'm boneless with satisfaction and the risk feels worth it.
"Ten minutes," I say.
"Deal."
But ten minutes turns to twenty, and twenty to thirty, and somewhere in the warmth of his arms, I drift off without meaning to.
***
Something wakes me. A sound. Movement.
I open my eyes to predawn gray. Ryder's arm is heavy across my waist. I'm still in his bed.
Panic flares. I slept through the night. I was supposed to go back.
Then I hear it again—footsteps in the hallway.
The door handle turns.
I have exactly two seconds to react. I roll off the far side of the bed, taking the blanket with me, and drop to the floor. The carpet muffles my landing, but barely. I press myself flat, heart hammering so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it.
The door cracks open.
"Ryder?" Connor's voice. "You awake?"
I hold my breath. Don't move. Don't even blink.
Ryder makes a groggy sound. "What?"
"Did you hear something?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. A thump. Thought it came from your room."
"Probably just the house settling. Go back to bed."
Silence. Connor's considering. I can practically hear him thinking.
Then: "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."
The door closes.
I stay frozen on the floor, blanket wrapped around my naked body, until Ryder's hand appears over the edge of the bed.
"Coast is clear," he whispers.
I take his hand and let him pull me up. We stare at each other in the dim light, both of us wide-eyed with panic and adrenaline.
Then we both start shaking with silent laughter.
"That was insane," I whisper.
"That was too close."
"I fell asleep. I wasn't supposed to fall asleep."
"I know." He pulls me down to sit on the edge of the bed. "But you're okay. We're okay."
"This time." I find my clothes scattered on the floor. Start dressing with shaking hands. "Next time we might not be so lucky."
"So we're more careful."
"Or we stop." I pull my shirt over my head. "Before we get caught. Before this blows up."
He catches my hand. "Do you want to stop?"
No. God, no. Every cell in my body screams no.
"I don't know what I want anymore," I say instead. "Except you. And that terrifies me."
He stands, cups my face. "It terrifies me too. But I'm not ready to stop. Not yet."
"Even though it's dangerous?"
"Especially because it's dangerous." He kisses me softly. "We just have to be smarter. More careful."
"Define careful."
"Not falling asleep in each other's beds."
"Good start."
"No more late-night visits when Connor's home."
"Also good."
"Finding other places to be alone." His mouth curves. "Like the shop. The truck. The cabin."
"Worth it."
I should argue. Should point out all the ways this can still go wrong. Instead, I kiss him once more and slip back to my room before the house wakes up.
In my own bed, I stare at the ceiling and try to calm my racing heart.
This is dangerous. Reckless. Unsustainable.
And I don't want to stop.
Sleep is impossible after that, so I lie there watching the sky lighten through my window. By the time I hear movement downstairs—Emma, always the early riser—I've rehearsed a dozen conversations about what we're doing and how to tell Connor.
None of them end well.
I force myself out of bed and downstairs. Emma's in the kitchen making coffee, still in her pajamas.
"Morning," I say, trying for normal.
She turns, takes one look at my face, and sets down her mug.
"So," she says casually, though her eyes are sharp. "How long has this been going on?"
I nearly drop my own mug. "What?"
"You and Ryder." She leans against the counter, eyebrows raised. "Don't insult my intelligence by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."
My face burns. "Emma—"
"Relax. I'm not judging." She sips her coffee. "I'm just saying, you two are about as subtle as a neon sign. The way you look at each other? Please."
"Does Connor know?"
"Connor couldn't find a clue if it hit him in the face." She smiles. "Your secret's safe. But Lucy, be careful. Not because I think it's wrong. Because Connor's going to lose his mind when he finds out."
"If he finds out."
"When." Emma's voice is gentle but firm. "These things always come out. And when they do, you better have a plan."
She leaves me standing there, coffee cooling in my hands, her warning ringing in my ears.
When, not if.
The clock is ticking. The question is whether we'll end this on our terms or let it explode in our faces.
I pull out my phone.
Me: "We need to be more careful."
Ryder: "Agreed. What changed?"
Me: "Emma knows."
Ryder: "Shit."
Me: "She won't tell. But she's right. We're being obvious."
Ryder: "So what do we do?"
I stare at the message, considering. We could stop. End it now before anyone else gets hurt. Before Connor finds out and everything goes to hell.
But I don't want to stop. Not yet. Not when we've only just started.
Me: "We get better at hiding. And we figure out what we're going to tell Connor before he figures it out himself."
It's not a solution. It's barely even a plan. But it's all we have.
And for now, it's enough.