Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Seraphina
X Gon’ Give It To Ya – DMX
Freedom still feels foreign. Like stepping into a new skin and not quite knowing if it fits.
The door clicks shut behind us, sealing the world outside—the questions, the chaos, and for the first time in days, it’s quiet.
My heart races anyway. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still in my veins, or maybe it’s just him.
Everything is one long fever dream, and I am not ready to wake up.
Trey drops his keys into a small stone dish by the door. The sound of metal and guitar picks clinking together echoes through the open space—a sound that feels strangely intimate, like a life already in motion.
The house is all clean lines and soft shadows, a mix of glass and marble. Light spills through the tall windows, brushing over leather, steel, and framed photos that tell pieces of a life I’ve only just started to understand. It smells faintly of cedar, smoke, and him.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m not being watched.
Not being told what’s right or what’s wrong.
I didn’t whisper an apology before walking through the door, didn’t ask forgiveness for wanting something—someone—that makes me feel alive.
Maybe that’s okay. Maybe this is what free will feels like—terrifying and beautiful all at once.
When I look up, Trey’s watching me with that quiet kind of intensity that always makes my breath catch. His expression softens, lips quirking into the smallest smile before his hands find my waist.
Without a word, he lifts me—his grip firm, and my legs wrap around him as if they were always meant to.
A laugh slips from my throat, but it dies quickly, replaced by the sound of his low exhale against my neck.
He carries me deeper into the house, through a wash of sunlight and silence, until we reach the living room.
The sofa sinks beneath us as he sits, pulling me down with him until I’m sprawled across his chest. His skin is warm under my palms, his heartbeat steady.
“I just need a minute,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost vulnerable. “A minute to breathe.”
I trace the edge of his jaw with my fingers.
“Then breathe.”
That cocky half-smile quirks across his face, and he looks away, like he’s gathering the words carefully. “You keep my mind quiet,” he says.
“You have no idea how hard that is for me. Everything is always… loud. But when you touch me, it all just... stops.”
His words settle deep in my chest—a truth I can feel in my bones. Maybe it’s one soul recognizing another.
“Can I just hold you for a while?” he asks.
I nod, my forehead resting against his.
“For as long as you need.”
His arms tighten around me, the noise fades—not just in his head, but mine too. I feel protective of him. I want him to have his peace…and I want to be the one willing to fight for it. To fight for him.
My fingers draw lazy circles over his chest as his thumb traces slow paths down my spine.
Trey’s heartbeat is steady beneath my ear.
His arms wrap around me like a shield, heavy but safe.
I don’t know how long we’ve been like this, tangled on the sofa, the afternoon light spilling through the windows, warming the room.
I know it’s been long enough that my breathing has fallen in sync with his.
My fingers trace the dark lines of a tattoo across his chest. With a sigh, Trey releases me and heads to the fridge.
He comes back with a couple of bottles of water and flops onto the couch.
The second contact is broken, my thoughts are spinning as the world creeps back into motion.
I hesitate, wanting to clamp down on the words—but they slip out anyway, soft and trembling, barely a whisper.
“Why aren’t you repulsed by my touch?” My voice catches on the last word. My throat tightens.
Trey freezes, bottle still in hand, and a slow breath escapes him.
“Explain,” he murmurs, one eyebrow quirking up.
He cracks the seal and takes a long drink, and I can’t stop staring—his lips, the tiny glint of the piercing, the way they part and move, like they were made for words I’ll never forget.
Heat blooms low in my stomach, my chest tightens, and I’m painfully aware of every inch of him in front of me.
“Because…” I look away, so I can find my thoughts.
“Hey.” His hand comes up, warm and gentle beneath my chin. “You never have to be afraid to tell me what’s in your head, alright?”
I nod, but the words still tumble out. “It’s just…hard to understand. My father spent his whole life making me feel ashamed of everything I was. Like I was…unclean. Until these past few days, I don’t recall ever being held, let alone treated the way you have shown me.”
Trey’s arms come around me. He doesn’t say anything, and somehow that’s better.
“He said my mother was a whore,” I whisper.
“That I had to pay for her sins. He told me my red hair was proof the devil had touched me. Tried to claim me.” I laugh, but it comes out cracked, half mad.
“The older I got, the more I started to question things. But every question earned me punishment. I couldn’t understand it—why God would hurt the ones who were trying so hard to be good and forgive the ones who weren’t.
I almost resented him.” I point to the ceiling.
Trey follows my finger, frowning, then meets my gaze.
“Then I realized…it’s my father’s ego. His whole interpretation.”
He studies me for a long moment, green eyes soft but searching.
“Tell me something, baby.” His voice drops low, a rough whisper meant for only me. “When you look at me…when I touch you. Do you regret it?”
My heart stumbles. The question cuts straight through my chest. He swallows, eyes darkening. “Am I nothing but temptation, some fucked up embodiment of sin to you? Some kind of punishment sent to test your faith?”
I can’t look away. I think of my father’s voice, his sermons on purity, his warnings about desire, about devils disguised as beautiful men. Then I think of Trey. Flawed, fierce, good in ways my father could never understand.
“No,” I whisper. “You’re not a punishment.” My fingers trace the line of his jaw, the scar above his lip. “Your proof that not everything forbidden is wrong.”
He exhales, something breaking loose behind his eyes. I press my palm against his chest, right where his heart beats steady beneath my hand.
“You’re definitely temptation, but I believe you were brought to me. You have to have been. Even if you don’t fully believe it, you’re not the devil, nor an angel—you’re my salvation, Trey.” Trey goes very still.
For a second, the world holds its breath with him. His eyes, green, molten, impossible—burn through me like he’s seeing every piece of my soul I’ve ever tried to hide. Then, without a word, he moves.
In one fluid motion, he flips us, my back sinking into the sofa cushions as his body covers mine. His weight is solid, but the way he looks at me…it feels like worship. His hand slides up, fingers threading through my hair, the rough pad of his thumb brushing the tear that clings to my cheek.
“Careful, sweet girl,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, silk against my skin. “You say things like that, and I might start believing I was made for you.”
Before I can breathe, he’s kissing me. Until I’m drunk on his taste, his smell, and his warmth.
His teeth nip at my bottom lip, before he glides his tongue into my mouth with a hunger that leaves me dizzy.
A moan rips from me as he kisses me harder, biting and nipping in delicious, torturous intervals.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, molten.
His hand drifts down, tracing my jaw, sliding along my neck, thumb catching the pulse that races beneath his touch.
Every nerve is on fire, every inch of me aware of him—his chest pressed against mine, the warmth of him seeping into me, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against mine.
The front door slams. Panic surges, sharp and sudden. My body freezes caught and exposed, the thrill twisting with fear—like sneaking around after midnight mass to sketch in my room, when I thought no one could see me.
“Yo, Trey!” someone shouts. “You alive?”
Trey tenses above me. His voice is low. “Fuck me…they’re early.”
I blink against the soft light filtering through the windows, confusion giving way to quiet amusement. “The band?”
He sighs, the sound rumbling against my cheek. “Yeah. Welcome to the madhouse, baby.”
“Afternoon, lovebirds! Or should I say, snakes, for bailing like that.” Sam’s voice cuts through the quiet, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots. Trey groans above me, dropping his head to mine.
“Don’t move,” he mutters. “If we stay perfectly still, they might go away.”
“That’s not how it works,” I whisper back.
“Baker, if your cock is out, you better put it away real quick. Oh, holy shit! Were you two actually fucking—”
I glance up just as Chace rounds the doorway, a paper bag of takeout dangling from one hand. He stops next to Sam, eyes wide, eyebrows practically touching his hairline. Even Logan, pauses long enough to take in the scene.
Trey, above me, pinning me to the sofa with his body.
His hair’s a mess. His voice is a low growl when he finally acknowledges them.
“Does nobody knock anymore?”
Sam leans against the doorframe, grinning like a cat who’s found the cream.
“Knock-knock.” Sam beams.
“Besides… I thought you guys were ‘married,’ not…you know…married. Like, you were just her beard. Looks like we got here before you…well…wore her like one.” Chace snorts, tossing the bag onto the counter. “You look ravishing, Seraphina. I hope Trey has been treating you well?”
Logan smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting. “It sure does look like it.”