Chapter 42 – Alise
Chapter Forty-Two
Alise
His touch is everywhere—warm, steady, unrelenting—but it still doesn’t feel like enough.
It’s been too long since I’ve had him this close, since I’ve felt the weight of his hands on me and the heat of his body pinning me in place like the rest of the world doesn’t matter.
My skin drinks it in like I’ve been starving for him, because I have.
Every inch of me strains toward him, desperate to erase the space between us.
I press closer, my hips shifting against the solid line of his thigh, and the low, raw sound he makes punches through me.
It’s dizzying, the way his mouth finds mine over and over, each kiss hungrier than the last, like we’re both trying to make up for every second apart.
The quiet, wrecked way he keeps murmuring my name between kisses reminds me of how badly I’ve missed him.
I tug him closer until we’re nothing but heat and the ragged, uneven pull of our breathing.
I don’t want to think about the days he wasn’t here.
I don’t want to remember the nights I lay awake, wondering if he’d ever let me back in.
Right now, he’s here, and I can’t stop touching him, can’t stop proving to myself he’s real.
The letter slips from my hand, falling unnoticed to the floor, as his mouth leaves mine and trails down the side of my jaw.
His stubble scrapes over my skin, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
My gasp comes unbidden, tearing out of me before I can catch it, and he smiles against my neck.
It feels so intimate that it makes my chest ache, just before he presses a kiss there that says I missed you without the words.
“Beau…” My voice is shaky, caught somewhere between plea and warning, though we both know I don’t mean the latter.
His hand slides to my side, curling around my hip and pulling me flush against him.
The air between us snaps with tension and relief braided together so tightly they’re indistinguishable.
I can feel all of it in the way he holds me and the way his breath stutters against my skin like he’s afraid to let me go.
And then he stills, and I feel the absence of motion, his forehead resting against my shoulder, his breath hot and unsteady against my collarbone.
“God, I want you so bad I can’t think straight.” His fingers tighten, but they don’t roam. “But I don’t want this to be because we’re scared we almost lost it. I don’t want it to be rushed. Not with you.”
The ache in my chest blooms, sharp and sweet, because it’s not just desire in his voice, but care. It’s the choice to keep this from being an act of desperation, even when it’s the easiest thing in the world to fall into.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, sliding my hands down his arms until I’m holding his wrists, grounding him as much as he’s grounding me. “We have time.”
He lifts his head, and when our eyes meet, the look in his nearly undoes me.
They’re shining with the weight of everything we’ve been through to get here.
He kisses me again, deep and deliberate, like he’s not just claiming my mouth but the moment itself.
When we break apart, our foreheads rest together, breaths ragged and mingled.
The ache of missing him is still there, but it’s softer now, buried under the promise in the way he’s holding me.
“Stay tonight,” he murmurs, not a question or command, but a space he’s asking me to fill.
“Yes.”
The relief that flashes across his face is almost dizzying as his hand finds mine, our fingers tangling, and he tugs me deeper into the condo without breaking the kiss entirely.
We move as one, neither of us willing to let go long enough to reach the couch.
My free hand stays hooked at the back of his neck, keeping him close, drinking in every warm exhale against my lips.
The living room glows in soft lamplight, shadows spilling across the hardwood, the low hum of the music filling the silence between our kisses. He backs me toward the couch, but we don’t fall onto it. We just stand there for a moment, chests pressed together, foreheads touching.
His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, a steady, grounding rhythm against my racing pulse. I slide my other hand down his chest, over the steady thump of his heart, until it rests at his hip. Even through his denim, I can feel the tension in him, the restraint wound tight under the surface.
“We have time,” I remind him softly, even though my body is screaming for more.
His lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile before he dips his head, brushing his mouth over mine again.
We could tip over that edge right now, and we both know it.
But for tonight, we stay balanced on it, drawing it out until the wanting becomes its own kind of bliss.
The quiet between us feels safe, like we’ve carved out a pocket of time where nothing can touch us.
Where we can exist in the space between wanting and having.
Beau shifts closer, slow and certain, his hand brushing mine like a question he already knows the answer to.
The faint scent of cedar and soap wraps around me, familiar and grounding, while the warmth radiating from him makes the rest of the room fade away.
The world seems to narrow to nothing but him, and I can feel every unspoken thing sitting heavy between us.
His chest rises under my touch, a faint hitch in his breath as I curl my hands into the fabric and lift.
He lets me, arms raising, the cotton sliding over warm skin.
When the shirt falls away, I see all of him.
The ridges of muscle across his stomach, the wide planes of his chest, the faint scatter of freckles I’ve only traced in memory these past weeks.
My gaze catches on the thin white scar beneath his ribs, the faintest shadow of a bruise high on his side, and something in my chest pulls tight.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, because I need him to hear it.
His throat works as he swallows, eyes softening in a way that feels like I’m peeling back a layer no one else gets to see. “You make me feel like I am.”
I trail my fingertips over his chest, feeling the solid thump of his heart under my palm.
When my hands skim down his sides, his breath deepens, but his gaze never leaves mine.
I press a kiss to his collarbone, then another just above his heart, and the sound he makes settles low and deep inside me.
“I love you,” he says, the words slow and unshakable as he cups my cheeks in his hands like I’m something fragile and precious.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting his words settle in the hollow places inside me, filling them until it almost hurts. When I open them again, he’s still there, letting me see all of him in a way he never has before.
“I love you, too,” I breathe, the words trembling but certain. “More than I know how to explain.”
We’re still standing, but the energy between us changes, charged understanding that this isn’t just about wanting each other. It’s about giving ourselves over completely, just us, bare in every way that matters.
I reach for the button of his jeans, my fingers brushing the warm skin just above the waistband. His breath hitches, eyes darkening, but they stay soft in a way that steals mine. He doesn’t rush me, just stands there, letting me move at my own pace, trusting me with every inch.
Every movement is deliberate. The soft slide of denim over his hips, the fabric whispering against his skin before pooling at his feet.
The way my hands skim down his thighs, memorizing the shape of him as I trail my fingers back up with the same reverence.
He shivers under my touch, and I feel it echo inside my body.
A reminder that this unguarded, quiet reverence is something we’ve never done before.
When I straighten, our breathing is heavier, the air between us thick.
He cups the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that starts gently but deepens until I’m dizzy.
Beau’s hands find the hem of my sweatshirt, and he pauses, eyes locked on mine, and I nod.
He pushes it upward slowly, the material brushing over my stomach and ribs, baring me inch by inch.
The sweatshirt slides over my head and drops to the floor, leaving me in the thin cotton of my bra.
His gaze lingers, warm and unhurried, before he hooks a finger beneath one strap and eases it down my shoulder, then the other, unclasping it with practiced care.
The bra falls away, and he takes his time, palms skimming over my collarbones and down the swell of my breasts, tracing the lines of me as if he’s committing them to memory.
When he reaches for the waistband of my leggings, I feel his breath against my temple, working the fabric over my hips, his thumbs pressing lightly into my skin as he eases them down.
They cling to my thighs before sliding past my knees, pooling at my ankles.
He kneels briefly to free me from them completely.
His hands smooth up my calves, over my knees, and higher, until I’m bare before him.
By the time he straightens, his eyes have softened even more, but the unshakable heat is there, too, as he leans in for another deep, lingering kiss.
Only then does he take my hand, guiding me with him until we sink onto the couch, and his bare skin meets mine in a rush of heat that makes my stomach flip. The contact is everywhere, his hand curving around my waist like he’s anchoring me there.
“I’ve missed you every single day,” he murmurs.
“Then let’s not waste another one.”
Beau’s smile is small, almost shy, but there’s heat in his eyes now.
I shift closer, knees brushing his, and the subtle catch in his breath tells me he feels the pull between us, too.
His hand cups my cheek, tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper.
I melt into it, the slow drag of his mouth and the steady weight of his body pinning me in the now.
When his hand slides down over my hip, the warmth of his palm radiates through me. I press into him, fitting my body against his, and his quiet groan vibrates between us. He trails kisses along my jaw and down my throat, lingering over the flutter of my pulse.
“Alise…” My name is a rough whisper. “This isn’t just tonight for me.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging until his gaze lifts. “I know. It’s not for me either.”
The space between wanting and having dissolves.
He eases me back into the cushions, his knee sliding between mine.
His gaze drags down my body, unhurried, reverent.
He lowers himself until our chests brush, the heat of him sinking into me, his mouth finding the curve of my shoulder in a lingering kiss.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against my lips.
“I want all of you. No barriers.” I swallow, my voice steady even as my pulse stutters. “I’m on the pill. There has never been anyone else.”
“Clean. Tested after my last physical. I haven’t been with anyone but you since.” His thumb brushes my cheek, gaze searching mine. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I want to feel all of you.”
He kisses me again, deeper, his hands gliding over me, relearning every curve. My own hands wander over the ridges of his stomach, the cut of his hips, until I wrap my fingers around his length. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping to mine.
“Slow,” he murmurs, but his hips rock subtly into my touch.
I guide him lower, my legs falling open in silent invitation.
He settles between them, pressed exactly where I want him.
We stay there for a breath, foreheads touching, the moment stretched taut between us.
Then he pushes in slowly until I’m full of him, the stretch a sweet, aching heat that has my lips parting on a gasp.
He stills, eyes locked on mine, giving me time to adjust. My hands frame his face, and I nod. We move slowly at first, his thrusts deep and measured, each one winding the tension higher. His mouth finds mine again, kissing me like he’s afraid to break me, like I’m something precious.
My nails rake down his back as the pleasure coils low in my belly, tightening with every deep stroke. I wrap my legs around him, holding him where I need him most. His control slips, hips rolling harder, deeper, his forehead pressed to mine, and our hearts pounding in sync.
When I finally break apart, it’s with a shudder that rips through me, my nails digging into his shoulders as heat floods every inch of me. He follows soon after, a low groan in my ear, his body tightening before he spills into me, the last thrusts slow and lingering.
“I’m not letting you go again.”
“Then don’t.” I smile against his skin, my fingers threading through his hair.
He exhales as if he’s been holding the promise in his lungs for weeks, his hand splayed wide at my back, keeping me close. We stay like that, our bodies still joined, the world outside this room distant and unimportant.
Eventually, he shifts, guiding me to roll onto my side.
The couch creaks softly under us as he slides in behind me, fitting his body to mine like we were made to slot together.
His arm comes around my waist, pulling me back against the warm, solid length until there’s no space left between us.
I lace my fingers through his, holding his hand over my heart. The steady weight feels like an anchor.
“We’ll figure it out.” His fingertips trace slow circles at the small of my back. “The hard stuff, the good stuff… all of it.”
I turn my head just enough to catch his eyes over my shoulder. “Together?”
“Every day. Even the ones that scare us, especially those.”
“You’re going to get sick of me.”
“Not possible.” His lips brush against my forehead. “You’re it for me, Lisey. Always have been.”
I press his hand tighter to my chest, closing my eyes and letting the weight of his arm around me push away every doubt.
The world outside can wait. Right now, there’s only this.
With his warmth at my back, his heartbeat steady against me, and the quiet, certain promise that no matter what’s ahead, we’ll keep showing up.
Just like he promised.