Chapter Twenty-Five
THE SITUATION
Andi
The movie has ended, and the storm has died down, but we’re still cuddled together on the couch.
I’m curled against him, one leg draped lazily over his, my head resting on his chest.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear, his warmth seeping into my skin, and everything feels.
.. safe. Too safe. Safe enough that my mind wanders, my body restless, making it really, really hard to pretend I’m not thinking about how good he smells, how close his mouth is, or how badly I want to taste it.
His fingers play with my hair—slow, absently, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He twirls a strand of lavender between his fingers, as if touching me is second nature.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and lazy. “What’s your real hair color?”
I blink, pulling back just enough to glance up at him. “What?”
He grins, still playing with my hair. “Your real color. Before the purple.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch. “Dark blonde. Boring.”
“I like it like this,” he says, without hesitation. “It suits you.”
“Messy?”
“Wild.” His smile softens, his thumb brushing lightly against my temple. “Different.”
I don’t know what makes me do it.
Maybe it’s the storm, the darkness, or the flickering candlelight.
Maybe it’s the way he looks at me like I’m not something to be fixed or figured out.
I tilt my chin up and kiss him.
No warning, no hesitation. I just lift my face and press my mouth to his like it’s the most obvious next step.
And he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t miss a beat. Our lips meet, slow and tentative. Warmth and pleasure zing through me.
His hand slides to the back of my head, pulling me closer, deeper, and suddenly I’m not just halfway in his lap—I’m fully there, straddling him, his hands on my waist, my knees bracketing his hips. The kiss turns hot, fast, like we’ve been waiting for this all night.
He groans, low in his throat, and it vibrates through me. I fist my hands in his shirt, needing more, needing him.
Then he moves.
In one fluid motion, he stands, lifting me like I weigh nothing, and I gasp, my arms wrapping around his shoulders.
“Cole—”
But he’s already walking, carrying me through the dim hallway, straight into his bedroom.
And whatever I was about to say?
Gone.
Just like me.
Once we reach his room, he lowers me to my feet.
His mouth is on mine, and I don’t know how we got here—but I don’t care.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. All that exists is the way his hands grip me, the way his mouth moves over mine, the way every nerve ending screams for more.
But he slows. Pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against mine.
“You good?” His voice is low, rough, steady, and calming.
I nod, fighting to catch my breath. “Yeah.”
His thumb brushes my cheek, tracing a slow line to my jaw. Something shifts in his eyes.
“Okay,” he murmurs, kissing me again—deeper now, but still controlled. Measured. Like he’s savoring every second.
I kind of love it.
I slide my hands under his shirt, feel the heat of his skin, the tension in his muscles. Need coils tight inside me.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I murmur against his lips.
He grins and peels his shirt off over his head. I stare, shameless. His chest is solid, defined, and unfairly hot. My hands roam, greedy, hungry.
Then it’s a blur—my sweatshirt on the floor, his jeans halfway undone—until—
“Beef!” I yelp as one hundred and forty pounds of fluff cannonballs onto the bed, tail wagging like we’re all just here for a group hangout.
Cole’s laughing, shoulders shaking as he tries to regain control of the situation. “Guess he’s not a fan of foreplay.”
“I swear to—” I start, but I’m laughing too, burying my face in my hands as Beef noses his way between us, clueless and delighted.
Cole, slightly breathless and still grinning, gently pushes Beef off the bed. “Sorry, bud. Not tonight.”
Beef huffs dramatically but trots out, and Cole closes the door behind him.
When he turns back, his eyes are darker, his grin softer. “Still good?”
I nod.
Then he’s lifting my chin, his lips finding mine like he never left. His hands trace over my skin, slow, reverent, like he’s memorizing me. He pushes my leggings down over my hips, and I shimmy out of them.
His jeans and boxers are next. My gaze lowers.
“Andi?” he sounds breathless, but I can’t focus.
Not at all.
Seeing him naked for the first time? Overwhelming. They should’ve issued a warning. Or a helmet. Or both.
So, fun fact—he’s gargantuan. I’ve seen skyscrapers smaller than this man.
He guides us to the bed, and I follow, my brain still buffering—because naked Cole is... a lot. In the best, most holy-shit kind of way possible.
“Talk to me. You okay?”
I manage a shaky laugh, my eyes still locked on the situation.
That’s what I’m calling it now. The Situation. Capital T. Capital S.
“I’m fine. Just... recalibrating.”
His mouth curves into a lazy grin, but he waits. His thumb brushes my cheek, gentle and patient, like he has all the time in the world for me to catch up. “Recalibrating?”
“Yeah, I just need a second to adjust to... all of that.” I wave my hand in its general vicinity.
He chuckles, moving us closer on the bed.
“Does it come with a manual, or what are we talking here?”
His mouth lowers, and he kisses me around a smile. Then I feel his hand take mine, placing it around The Situation.
Oh.
Ohh.
Okay.
Warm. Smooth. Hard enough to make my thighs clench.
I can work with this.
A rough breath punches out of him when my hand moves.
We kiss for a long time—hot and unhurried—until I’m aching. Restless. His tongue slides against mine, and I swear I forget my own name.
Then he fumbles briefly in the drawer, comes back with protection, and I feel my pulse race.
He doesn’t rush.
Doesn’t push.
He just... waits.
I reach for him, pulling him back onto me. “Put that on,” I murmur between kisses.
“Yes ma’am,” he groans. Once he’s suited up, he shifts, sitting back and pulling me with him.
“Here,” he says, his voice low, hands steady on my hips. “I want to see you. Want to watch you take me.”
My breath catches as I straddle him, his hands running up my sides, his mouth brushing over my collarbone.
“You’re beautiful, Andi.”
I can’t respond—not with words.
So I move.
And he follows.
The first inch steals the air from my lungs. His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as I sink down.
“That’s it,” he breathes, eyes locked on mine. “Take your time. I’ve got you.”
It’s slow at first. Careful. Like he’s stitching pieces of me back together. Like this moment means something to him.
His hands on my back, his lips at my neck, the way he looks at me—like I’m everything—it’s too much.
And not enough.
I move faster, deeper, chasing that edge. The pressure builds, coiling tight in my core.
“Not gonna last if you keep moving like that,” he groans, gripping me tighter, meeting me every time.
It’s perfect.
His thumb finds where we’re joined, circling. “You feel—damn, Andi. You feel perfect.” His breath hitches, and I feel him pulse inside me.
Soon I’m right on the edge.
My name falls from his lips like a prayer, and I’m lost.
Gone.
Shattered into a thousand pieces that only he can put back together.
But not alone.
Because he’s right there, holding me through it.
Steady. Sure. Never letting me go.
And when we collapse together, tangled and breathless, he kisses my temple. “Damn, Andi.”
My mouth lifts in a smile, and something in my chest grows tight.
I lie draped across his chest, breath still uneven, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear—a quiet rhythm that grounds me as he traces lazy circles on my skin. He feels unshakable, like if the world fell apart, I could still hold on here.
Like a rock to cling to in a storm.
I’m so used to fighting to stay afloat, I almost forgot what it felt like to be held steady.