Chapter 31 - Blake
Movies are supposed to be an escape, but tonight the world beyond the screen feels closer than ever.
I sit on one end of the sectional, legs tucked under myself, as the glowing television plays something I’m not really watching.
Nash lounges on the other end, brimming with restless energy, fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie, fingers always in motion.
Raina rests between us, a blanket thrown over her bare legs that she’s sharing with both Nash and me.
She’s not watching either. Instead, she doodles little patterns on the back of my hand with her thumb—hypnotic, gentle. I think for us the TV is simply on to provide background noise while we remain in a bubble between us.
We don’t talk much anymore during these movie nights. There’s no need. Everything is a little electric, a little on edge, and it’s not because of the third-rate horror flick flashing on screen.
He sighs, raking his fingers through his hair. “I thought this one was supposed to be scary.” Nash leans in, chin propped on his knuckles, eyes on the television but voice aimed at Raina’s collarbone. “I’m not feeling it.”
“We can always watch something else,” Raina murmurs, not looking up. “You know I only watch these for you anyway.”
It’s true, she’s not a big fan of horror, but she’ll watch them for him, so I’m not surprised she’s taking the first opportunity to change it to something else.
I glance at her from the side, drinking in the way her features look in the blue light. There’s a new gravity to her, something that both scares and magnetizes me. I reach out and wrap both arms around her, and she snuggles into my chest.
“Good idea. You pick something this time,” Nash says, handing us the remote. “Popcorn run?” he announces, already on his feet before we can answer. “Don’t make out without me, or I’ll pout.”
He winks at Raina and then winks at me, too. It’s like he knows exactly what’s on my mind. Probably because he was thinking it too. The kitchen light clicks on down the hall.
“Hey,” I say, low, almost conspiratorial. “Think we can grab some alone time?”
Raina doesn’t hesitate. She turns, shifting so her knees point toward me, and her hand stays warm against my knuckles. “Always,” she quickly answers.
I fumble for a beat, then press on. “I miss us.” The words slip out so quietly I’m not sure I actually said them. “I mean, just…us. Alone. Not that I don’t love Nash, but sometimes I feel like you’re always sharing pieces of yourself, and I never get to be greedy.” My face goes hot.
She laughs, and it’s not mocking, but soft and delighted. “You want to be greedy?” She leans in, so close I can count her eyelashes.
“Yes?” It comes out as a question because I still can’t believe I get to ask for things like this. “I want a night that’s only for us. No band. No music. Not even Nash.”
Her gaze holds mine, steady and impossibly blue. “Then let’s go.” She stands, blanket falling to the floor, and holds out her hand. “He’ll survive.” A daring little smile flashes across her face, and my insides do a weird, traitorous backflip. I slip my fingers into hers and feel the world realign.
We’re halfway up the stairs before Nash pops his head out of the kitchen, bowl of popcorn in hand. “Where’s the fire?” He grins, but there’s something behind it—curiosity, or maybe hope.
Raina doesn’t miss a beat. “We’re going to make out,” she deadpans.
“Wait for me!” he yells after us, before quickly following. He’s impossible.
Raina giggles. “Sorry, Nashy. This is Blake time. I’ll cuddle you later,” she yells, tugging me along behind her as we run for her room.
The door clicks shut behind us, and the noise of the house drops away, replaced by our breath and the distant popping of corn.
I lean against the door, heart pounding, and Raina crosses the space between us until there’s only a breath between our bodies.
“Just us,” she says, and her voice is a promise.
My entire world narrows to that.
If I ever believed silence was empty, I was an idiot. In the hush of her room, every heartbeat is a loaded gun, and every brush of Raina’s fingertips is a match striking somewhere beneath my skin. She leans into me with her total weight, her body a warm, tense promise against my chest.
She looks up at me, lashes fanned out, and for a second I can’t breathe.
I’m not sure if I want to kiss her or fall to my knees and worship her, or both.
Raina’s hand cups the back of my neck, her thumb drawing lazy circles right below my hairline, and it’s the smallest, simplest contact, but it makes my brain misfire.
“You’re thinking too hard,” she whispers, and the warmth of her breath curls into my ear.
“My bad,” I whisper, my hands gliding from her hips, under her shirt, and to her waist.
Raina presses her forehead to mine, and her lips ghost over my mouth, a hover that’s more intimate than a kiss. “Let’s go slow,” she says, but she’s already reaching for the hem of my shirt, fingers sliding underneath. “If you want to.”
We’ve been here many times. Often with Nash joining, encouraging us along, sometimes coaching. Then there’re times when we’ve been alone, getting closer and closer to the line where my fears hold me back.
This is a familiar dance, and I’ll let her take the lead for now, but damn do I want her like nothing else.
I nod, afraid of what will come out if I try to speak.
She peels my shirt up and off, dropping it to the floor, then runs her hands over my chest, tracing the lines of muscle with an awe that makes me want to preen, to show off, to be worthy.
When she leans in again, her lips are soft and damp like she licked them a split second ago, and I melt, dissolving under her touch.
She makes a tiny sound—a whimper, maybe, or a sigh—when I thread my fingers into her hair. We topple together onto the bed, limbs tangled, and I can’t help but laugh, relief and arousal swirling into something heady. “You’re still thinking,” she accuses, eyes bright.
She’s kissing me again, swallowing all my thoughts, replacing them with her tongue, and her heat, and the grind of her hips against mine.
Somehow, Raina ends up straddling me, her thighs pinning my hips, her hands braced on my shoulders.
She grins, feral, and the sight obliterates every last vestige of self-control I have left.
I reach up, running my thumbs along the line of her jaw, and she sighs, a ragged exhale that makes me impossibly hard.
“Tell me what you want,” she says, voice barely audible.
“I want to touch you,” I rasp. “Everywhere.”
Her eyes flutter shut, and she nods, but then she leans down, her mouth hot and demanding on mine.
My hands roam over her back, her waist, the soft give of her ass beneath the fabric of her sleep shorts.
When I slip my fingers under her shirt, she arches into me, making a needy, desperate sound that vibrates straight through my bones.
“More,” she breathes, and I oblige, pushing her shirt up to expose the curve of her breasts, the line of her stomach. She’s not wearing a bra, and the sight is almost too much… perfect pale skin, the nipples drawn tight from anticipation or maybe the cold.
I lean up, mouth finding her breast, and Raina gasps, clutching my head with both hands. I lick and suck, gently at first but emboldened by the way she presses me closer, her thighs squeezing around my torso.
She’s so soft in all the right ways. I can’t help myself, I bite the flesh of her breast, making her suck in a sharp breath. “Again,” she begs.
So I do. I bite her on the other side, giving her matching teeth marks.
She wriggles, and suddenly my sweats are uncomfortably tight, my erection straining against the thin fabric. Raina grinds down, her eyes glazed with pleasure, and the heat of her passes through two layers of clothes. “You’re driving me insane,” I mutter, voice hoarse.
“Good,” she says, shifting to rub herself more deliberately against me. The friction makes her whimper, and she buries her face in my shoulder.
I let her set the pace, let her ride the pressure until she’s panting, breath shallow, hips rocking in a steady, desperate rhythm. I slip a hand between her thighs, press my palm to her core, and she shudders. “Please,” she whispers. “Please, Blake—touch me.”
Before I know it, her shirt is in my grasp, gliding it up and over her head, then I’m flipping her over. She’s barely settled on the mattress before I’m dragging her sleep shorts down her legs along with her panties. Stripping her bare for me.
For a split second, I appreciate how soaked both garments are before tossing them aside. Raina’s legs are already open, unabashed, and I nearly choke on how beautiful she is—how much she wants to be seen.
I kneel over her and run my hands up her thighs, thumbs stroking the insides until she shivers and squirms beneath me.
My mouth goes dry, and I realize I’m grinning like a lunatic.
She notices, because of course she does, and arches an eyebrow at me.
“What?” she teases, voice so light it barely covers the nervous shake in it.
“You’re just…” I can’t finish the sentence, so instead I lean in and kiss her, slow at first, then deeper, tasting the sweet salt of her skin as I trail my tongue down her body.
A part of me is still terrified of doing this wrong. Of not being enough for her. But I want her to know—no, to feel—how sacred this is. I let my tongue trace lazy patterns below her navel, then further, easing her thighs apart to make room for my shoulders.
She quivers when I breathe against her, and I slide my hands to her hips, pinning her down gently, and listen for the adjustment in her breath, the way her chest rises and falls in anticipation.
“God, Raina,” I groan, unable to stop myself. I stroke her, slow, and her whole body trembles.
“Want your fingers,” she murmurs. “Want them inside me.”