Chapter 8
Roque
I t was that night that everything changed.
Sayla had fallen asleep before me for once, which never happened. She was usually the one tossing and turning, muttering to herself, or scrolling through her phone until her eyes finally gave out. But tonight, she’d passed out early—head half on my chest, one leg thrown over mine, like she needed the contact. She didn’t trust me entirely but didn’t want to sleep alone either.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the look she gave me before she drifted off. Not angry, exactly, not even suspicious. Just unsettled and wary. That soft frown she tried to hide when she’d asked about Ailee—her old neighbor, the woman she used to grab coffee with and now barely mentioned. The woman who was helping me behind her back.
The woman I couldn’t tell Sayla about.
Not because I didn’t want to. I wanted to come clean so badly it hurt, but she was too close to this case, and Sayla was too smart and capable. If I gave her even a sliver of truth, she’d unravel the whole thing. And then she’d be in danger. Real danger. The kind you don’t walk away from.
So I said nothing. Again.
I lay there beside her in the dark, the guilt chewing through me while her breath rose and fell, slow and even. I should have felt comforted by her warmth and her body curved against mine, skin brushing mine with every breath. Instead, I felt like a liar, like I didn’t deserve this closeness.
Then she moved.
It was subtle at first, a shift in her breathing, a murmur against my collarbone. She rolled over in her sleep, sighing quietly as her arm slung across my torso, and she tucked herself closer into my side. That part wasn’t new, Sayla sleep-clung when she let herself drop her guard.
But where her hand landed was new, right on my dick.
I froze.
Her fingers were relaxed, but her palm pressed firmly against me, right through my sweats. There was no mistaking it—she was cupping me. My cock, already twitchy from the weight of her body and the scent of her hair, responded immediately. Like it had been waiting for this moment. Like it didn’t care one bit about the moral implications.
And neither, apparently, did she. Sayla moaned softly in her sleep, the sound low and intimate, and shifted a little more. Her hand tightened—barely, but enough. Regardless, it was enough to light my nerves on fire.
My breath caught, and I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to stay still and not move a muscle. But my heart was hammering. My cock was growing harder by the second beneath her touch, the thin cotton of my sweats doing absolutely nothing to hide it.
This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t some cruel joke. Sayla was there, warm and soft and unknowingly wrapped around me in the most intimate way imaginable, and I was losing my mind.
It was dangerous, how badly I wanted her. Not just her body, even though I wanted that too. It was the way she trusted me enough to fall asleep next to me, even if her gut was telling her something was off. The way she chose to believe in me, even when I didn’t deserve it.
Her fingers twitched again, a lazy squeeze, and I nearly groaned. Every ounce of restraint I had was screaming to get up, to move her hand, to break the spell before I crossed a line we couldn’t come back from.
But I didn’t.
I stayed, frozen and on fire, listening to her breathe, feeling her hand against me, caught between guilt and the kind of hunger that keeps you up at night. And the worst part was that I didn’t want her to let go.
I felt like shit because Sayla had no idea what she was doing. Not really. She was asleep when her hand landed on me, when her fingers curled slightly and sent a jolt of heat straight through me. And I could have—should have—removed her hand the second it happened.
But I didn’t. Instead, I lay there, pulse hammering, taking in every single sensation as I hardened beneath her touch.
It wasn’t just that it felt good—it was that it was her. The warmth of her hand, the easy way she curled into me in her sleep, the unconscious trust in her movements. My stomach twisted with guilt. Would she be embarrassed if she woke up and realized what she’d been doing? Would she think I’d taken advantage of her? Or worse—what if she thought I was rejecting her if I pulled away?
Seriously, why did life hate me?
Decision made, I let out a slow, unsteady breath and reached down to lift her hand away carefully. But before I could, her fingers flexed, and her eyes fluttered open sleepily heavy-lidded. Dark with something that made my body tighten all over again.
A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips as she glanced down at her hand, still wrapped around me.
“I’d apologize for what I appear to be doing to you,” she rasped, voice thick with sleep, “but you’re not objecting.” Her fingers squeezed, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through me. “And you appear to be enjoying it.”
A broken sound escaped my throat. “I am enjoying it.” My voice came out rough, almost desperate, and I licked my dry lips before managing, “But are you?”
Sayla didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she shifted, moving with slow, deliberate ease until she was draped over me, the press of her body warm and soft against mine. Her eyes never left mine, like she was studying me, reading every inch of my reaction.
Then, finally, she dipped her head and kissed me. Soft at first, just the brush of her lips, teasing, testing. A question.
I didn’t hesitate to answer.
I reached up, cupping the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair, and pulled her down into me, deepening the kiss. She moaned softly against my mouth, the sound vibrating straight through me and any remnants of restraint I had shattered.
I rolled her fully on top of me, pressing her against my chest, the heat of her searing through my sweater. Her nails scraped lightly over my skin, her body molding to mine, and my hands roamed, exploring the curve of her hips, the delicate dip of her lower back, the soft skin just above the waistband of her leggings.
She pulled back slightly, her lips barely an inch from mine, her breathing uneven. “I don’t know why this keeps happening,” she whispered.
I ran my thumb along the side of her jaw, holding her there, keeping her close. “Because we create our own storm when we’re together,” I murmured, watching her eyes darken. “But instead of havoc and destruction like the one outside,” I slid my fingers through her hair, tilting her face up so she could see exactly what she did to me. “It creates something beautiful.”
Sayla swallowed, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but instead, she leaned in again, claiming my mouth in a kiss that burned through every doubt, every hesitation.
And just like that, I was lost in the storm all over again. Only this time, the storm outside wasn’t the problem—it was the goddamn layers between us.
As I tried to feel her through the thick, fleece-lined armor she’d chosen to wear to bed, I groaned under my breath. Hoodie, leggings, and socks. It was like trying to seduce a heavily bundled pillow. My hands slid along her waist and up her back, searching for skin, for warmth, for her —and finding cotton. So much fucking cotton.
Granted, we’d never worn much in bed together before because we’d been doing other things, so I wasn’t used to not being able to touch and feel her, but this was a whole new realm of bullshit and hell that it was causing me. Thanks to the storm raging outside, Sayla had dressed for war against winter, and I was the one paying for it.
She shifted above me, and I must’ve made a frustrated noise because she laughed softly, the sound sultry and amused.
“What’s wrong?” she teased, voice low and wicked. “Not finding what you’re looking for?”
Before I could answer, she sat on my lap and reached for the hem of her hoodie. My breath hitched. The air between us practically crackled with anticipation as she peeled it over her head with that slow, deliberate confidence that made my pulse trip.
Except beneath the hoodie, she wore a T-shirt, or maybe it was a tank top. Either way, it was not the naked skin I’d hoped for.
She caught my deadpan stare and grinned as if she’d been expecting it. “Patience,” she murmured, clamping her arms around the bundled hoodie beneath her arms and working her fingers beneath the next layer.
Both shirts started to rise, inch by torturous inch, baring the flesh I wanted so desperately. First, her stomach, smooth, toned, soft. Then, the curve beneath her breasts. A sliver of underboob. Then, Jesus, a nipple peeked out, flushed and tight from the chill in the room, and I forgot how to breathe.
And then she stopped. Her hands froze, the fabric bunched just beneath her chest, and she looked down at me, biting her lip. Not in that teasing way she usually did, but uncertain. Almost hesitant.
The air shifted.
I swallowed hard, dread and desire warring inside me. “What?”
Sayla’s eyes darted around the room like she was suddenly too aware of everything—the cold, the dark, me. She looked back down, face tight, like she was fighting herself. “Well… it’s just that…” Her voice broke a little, and she bit her lip harder like it might hold back whatever was building inside.
My heart clenched. “Baby,” I said gently, “what is it?”
She hesitated a second longer, then sighed and let the shirts fall. They slid down over her body like a curtain dropping between us, and with it came this sense of loss I couldn’t shake.
So near. So goddamn far.
Still straddling me, she didn’t meet my eyes or say anything. I ran my hands over her thighs, soft and steady, grounding her. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just about the clothes. I softened my expression and made sure she saw no pressure in my touch. “Sayla, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
She looked at me like I was the idiot of the century. “It’s freezing , Roque.” Her voice snapped, but it wasn’t mean—it was full of frustration. “I thought I could do it. I wanted to. But the second the cold hit my skin, I panicked.”
I blinked, then let out a breathless laugh. “You’re cold?”
“No, I’m fucking frozen, ” she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I was trying to be sexy, but my nipples almost iced off halfway through, and I panicked.”
My brows shot up, but the laughter bubbled out anyway. I rolled up my sleeve, stuck my arm into the air above us, and winced. Yeah. The chill was worse than I’d realized.
“It’s colder than it should be,” I said, frowning. “I wond?—”
And right then, the world decided to prove its point. Every bit of ambient light—the clock, the nightlight, the faint glow from outside—snapped off, plunging the room into sudden, complete darkness.
Sayla went still on top of me. “Oh… that’s not good,” she whispered, her voice echoing slightly in the void around us. I saw her silhouette shift as her head turned toward the windows. “What do we do?”
I exhaled slowly and reached up to touch her waist. “Absolutely nothing.”
It was reckless—maybe stupid. The power had gone out, the generator wasn’t humming, and it was getting colder by the minute. But all of that could wait. Right now, Sayla was here. Her body was warm against mine, her breath feathering against my neck, her heartbeat thudding right in sync with my own.
Whatever the storm outside had in store for us—it could wait.
I pushed up from the mattress and wrapped my arms around her, locking Sayla in place as I rolled us over, reversing our positions in one smooth, sudden move. She gasped, surprised, and her fingers clutched at my shoulders, breath hitching as I settled over her, my weight pressing her into the bed.
Then, without giving her—or myself—any time to think, I leaned down, aiming for her mouth.
I missed. Instead of lips, I face-planted into the damn pillow, my chin bumping awkwardly against her collarbone.
“Fuck my luck,” I muttered into the bedding, my voice muffled and annoyed.
Sayla burst out laughing—soft, breathy, and beautiful. Her hands found my face in the dark, fingertips warm and searching. When she located my mouth, she guided me in with a quiet urgency, pulling me down until our lips finally met.
There was nothing tentative about her kiss.
It was needy. Hot. A little wild.
The kind of kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen for far too long.
She kissed me like she was trying to burn the doubt out of us, and I met her with everything I had. My hand fisted in the sheets beside her head as her legs suddenly wrapped around my waist—tight, holding me there, as if she thought I might pull away.
Not a fucking chance in hell.
Bracing myself on one elbow, I let my other hand slip between us. This time, I gripped the hem of her hoodie—both layers this time, determined not to repeat the earlier disappointment—and began sliding them upward. Inch by inch, the fabric gave way beneath my fingers until I felt the soft brush of her skin.
My knuckles skimmed the swell of her breast, and then?—
There. Her nipple dragged against the top of my hand, and I felt her entire body shiver beneath me.
I broke the kiss with effort, panting against her lips as I trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck. Her breath came faster, catching when I licked the hollow of her throat, tasting the faint trace of soap and the sharp edge of anticipation on her skin.
But then I hit resistance again. A soft wall of bunched fabric pressed between us like a goddamn insult.
“Fucking storm,” I muttered under my breath.
Sayla chuckled, breathless, but the sound died off in a sharp gasp the moment I found her nipple through the gap in the clothes and closed my mouth around it.
I sucked it into the heat of my mouth, my tongue circling and teasing as my hand slipped up to support her other breast. She arched beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair, her hips grinding up ever so slightly, searching for friction, for contact, for more.
And I was ready to give her everything.
My hand slid down her side, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of her until my fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her thick leggings. The fabric was warm from her body, but I still cursed it—and the damn storm that had her dressing like we were camping on an ice field.
I expected to find the barrier of underwear next, but instead, I got bare skin. Warm, soft, smooth.
I stilled, breath catching in my throat, my fingertips grazing over the curve of her hipbone. Sayla didn’t flinch. She just parted her legs a little wider, granting me access with the kind of silent confidence that had blood rushing straight to my cock.
I released her nipple from my mouth with a wet pop and trailed the tip of my tongue down the slope of her stomach, slow and teasing, my other hand joining the first to help peel away her clothes.
Apparently, I wasn’t moving fast enough.
Sayla let out a huff, then beat me to it—hooking her fingers under the waistband and shoving the leggings down, lifting her hips off the bed, and nearly taking me with her in the process. I caught myself on my hands as she wriggled beneath me, determined to get free.
“Fucking stupid storm,” she hissed, half to herself, half to me. “I love it for snowing us in together, but these clothes are a nightmare. It shouldn’t take this much effort to get you inside me.”
The raw frustration in her voice made me pause. Wasn’t Isupposed to be the one saying that?
She managed to shove the leggings down to where I was hovering, and then I saw her hand move through the darkness. She gave me a sharp little wave as if I was taking too long. The gesture alone had me biting back a grin.
I did something then I never expected in a moment like this—I chuckled because I could picture her expression shifting from sultry to savage.
“I’m not sure what’s funny,” she growled through clenched teeth, “but I do know that if you don’t help me get these damn things off in the next two seconds, I’m going to put my hand between my legs and finish the job myself.”
My eyes widened, and I stilled all movement stupidly.
She didn’t give me a chance to test her. “One Mississip?—”
I was already moving, fists clenched on the waistband, yanking the leggings down with zero ceremony. Her legs kicked free of the fabric, and I tossed it aside like it had personally offended me.
Then I dropped back down—this time landing exactly where I wanted: the soft skin of her lower abdomen, just above her pussy.
She barely had time to adjust before I was between her thighs, mouth trailing kisses across her hips as I reached down and used my thumbs to spread her open.
Fuck.
I could just picture her in my mind—wet, swollen, glistening—and it made me groan against her skin. And the way she shivered when the cooler air hit her nearly undid me.
I dragged my thumbs gently along her folds, feeling just how slick she was.
“God, baby,” I murmured, breath warm against her. “You’ve missed this too, haven’t you?”
Her only answer was a desperate little noise in her throat—a needy, aching sound that had my mouth moving before my brain caught up.
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
With a groan I didn’t bother to muffle, I leaned in and swiped my tongue through her slick folds, my body reacting instantly to the taste of her—warm, wet, a little sweet, and entirely addicting. I dragged the flat of my tongue up to her clit and then sucked it between my lips, rolling it gently before pulling hard enough to make her jolt.
“Roque,” she gasped, her voice cracking around my name as her fingers dove into my hair and fisted hard. “I need more now.”
Typical Sayla. Always wanting to speed through this like she’d die if she weren’t filled fast enough. And maybe she would. But tonight, I was going to take my damn time. She could beg, she could curse—but I was going to enjoy every second of her.
Still, I wasn’t cruel, I’d give her some of what she wanted.
I flicked my tongue over her clit again, circling it, teasing, and then sucked hard while sliding a finger inside her. She clenched around me immediately, her heat wrapping tight and wet around my finger, making me groan against her.
Jesus. She felt like sin wrapped in silk.
Sayla moved restlessly beneath me, hips tilting, seeking more friction—always so responsive, so easy to read even when she didn’t say a word. One leg pressed up against the side of my head, the other lifting to hook over my shoulder, spreading her wider and angling her hips just right—a perfect invitation.
I slid another finger into her, slowly, carefully, and her body responded in kind, tightening, pulsing. I curled them both forward, rubbing along the front wall until I found the spongy, swollen spot that made her breath stutter and her back arch sharply off the mattress.
“There,” I murmured, mostly to myself, voice thick with heat.
“I’m close,” she warned, her voice breathy and high.
And then—just as the words left her—her body locked up. A soft cry burst from her lips, and her hips jerked against my mouth as her pussy clamped down around my fingers in a relentless, rhythmic grip. I slowed my strokes but didn’t stop, letting her ride it out, watching her fall apart.
God, I loved this.
The way her body froze except for the wild, uncontrollable movement of her pelvis. The way she tightened around me like she never wanted to let go. And the sounds she made—quiet, almost breathless, but full of pleasure. There was no mistaking what I did to her. How good it felt. How much she wanted it.
As soon as I felt her start to come down, her body softening just a little, I pulled away and sat back on my knees, still catching my breath. My hand shot out, searching the drawer beside my bed. I didn’t even look—I just reached blindly for what I needed while I shoved my sweats down with my other hand. They didn’t make it far, stopping just above my knees, but I didn’t care. My cock sprang free, stiff and aching, the cool air teasing against the wetness left on my lips.
My fingers brushed over the telltale foil square, and I snatched it, ripped it open in one fluid move, and rolled the condom down my length with a sharp breath.
That’s when Sayla’s hand slipped between us, fingers wrapping around my balls. She rolled them slowly and deliberately, and I almost forgot how to function.
“Shit,” I hissed, my whole body locking up as I stared down at her. Through the dim light coming in from the windows, she looked half-wrecked, and I just knew she’d be flushed and glowing. But the wicked glint I could just see in her eyes told me she wasn’t done. Not even close.
My brain threatened to flatline, but one thing was clear: she wanted more. And I was about to give it to her.
I knocked her hand away, gently but firmly, and dropped down onto one arm above her, caging her in with my body. My other hand moved between us, fingers wrapping around the base of my cock to guide myself into her—slowly, deliberately.
Sayla instantly wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me in, trying to force more of me inside faster than I was ready to give. Her heels dug into my back, urging me and chasing that connection.
But I wasn’t letting her rush this. I held steady, resisting the instinct to give in, and gripped her chin gently but firmly between my fingers, forcing her to look at me. “Slowly,” I warned, voice low and rough. “I’m not risking hurting you.”
Her breath hitched at the authority in my tone, but I didn’t wait for a reply.
To make sure she understood, I pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the tip inside, then pressed back in with a slow, controlled thrust that had both of us groaning. Again and again. Each time I sank deeper, her body adjusted, welcomed me, and stretched around me with exquisite tightness.
The urgency in her legs shifted. Now, instead of pulling, she clung. Her nails scraped lightly down my back, anchoring herself to me, hips rising to meet mine in subtle movements. And those sounds—those soft, breathy moans and gasps—poured from her lips like she couldn’t help herself, testing every bit of my restraint.
But it was the way her body started to pulse around me—tightening, drawing me in even deeper—that broke whatever resolve I had left.
I gritted my teeth, pulled out until just the head remained, and then drove back in with a sharp, deep thrust, burying my entire length inside her.
She cried out, arching beneath me, and I growled low in my throat, the sound ripped straight from my chest. She felt like a tight, wet fist around me, gripping me like she never wanted me to leave.
“Fucking hell,” I hissed, hips rolling instinctively. I swiveled against her, pressing the base of my length against her clit, grinding just enough to make her jolt and clench around me again.
She gasped, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted, completely undone beneath me.
And I wasn’t stopping now. Apparently, neither was she.
Sayla wrapped her legs tighter around my ribs, locking me to her like she never wanted to let go. The shift in angle was perfect—her pelvis tilted up, guiding my cock right where she needed it most with every thrust. Each time I sank into her, she gripped me like velvet heat, drawing me deeper, tighter.
Christ, she always felt so damn good.
Then she did it, the one thing that shattered the last scrap of control I was holding on to. Her hand slid between us, fingers brushing against where we were joined. She started rubbing tight, determined circles over her clit, the pressure just right, and I could feel the movement, feel the friction of her fingertips against me every time I drove into her.
I couldn’t see it—could barely make out more than the shadows of her face in the storm-dark room—but I felt it. And God, that was somehow even more intense. The thought of her touching herself while I was inside her, using my body to get herself off, nearly undid me on the spot.
I had just pulled back to the tip, muscles tensed, ready to thrust again, and then her fingers slid down my cock.
“ Sayla! ” I choked out, voice rough with shock and lust and everything else spiraling out of control.
She cried out my name in return, hips jerking beneath me as she came hard, her body convulsing around mine. Her pussy clamped down in tight, rhythmic pulses, making it damn near impossible to move—but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back anymore.
The first tingle hit low in my spine, then shot like lightning down to my cock, and the orgasm ripped through me like a freight train with no brakes.
I dropped forward, catching myself just enough to keep from collapsing entirely, and somehow— thankfully —found her mouth on the first try. I kissed her deeply, hungrily, moaning into her mouth as the last waves of pleasure surged through me. Her hand moved to grasp my cock again as I stroked into her in lazy, slow thrusts, riding out every second of it for both of us.
And when it was over, when the storm inside me finally stilled, I stayed right where I was, breathing hard against her mouth, feeling the slick heat between our bodies, the sheen of sweat that had gathered on both of us despite the cold air outside.
I braced for whatever she'd say next—some joke, maybe something tender. But I wasn't prepared for what she actually whispered against my cheek.
“Why didn’t we keep warm like this before?”
I huffed out a breath, equal parts laugh and groan. Sure enough, my skin was damp, flushed with heat, and hers was the same—slick, glowing, beautiful. The storm outside might’ve killed the power, but in here, wrapped in her, I felt like we could’ve melted the whole damn blizzard.
I kissed her again, slower this time. Less heat, more meaning.
I didn’t want to pull out. I wanted to stay like this, locked together, her body wrapped around mine, her breath brushing my jaw. Eventually, I knew I’d have to move. The sweat would cool, and reality would sneak its way back in. But for now, I let myself stay, my body softening only when it was ready to.
We had things to figure out and conversations to have. Truths were still buried beneath our skin, and feelings were bottled up that neither of us had dared name.
But right now, with her heart beating under mine and the storm howling beyond the window, I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted to exist with her in this moment and hoped to hell it would lead to something more.