Chapter 2 #2
"Are you sure?" he asks, and for a moment, the teenage boy I once knew shines through—uncertain, hopeful.
"Yes," I whisper, and it feels like the truest thing I've said all night. "I'm sure."
He studies my face for a moment longer, as if memorizing it, then lowers his mouth to mine again. This kiss is different—slower, deeper, filled with purpose. His hands slide up my sides, taking the fabric of my costume dress with them.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin. "Always have been."
I should tell him to stop talking. That I don't want to hear sweet words from the mouth that once cut me down. But something in his voice—raw honesty, maybe—makes me believe him.
I tug at his shirt until he pulls it over his head, revealing a chest more defined than I'd imagined. My fingers trace the dark ink that curls around his shoulder and down his arm. A design I can't quite make out in the dim light.
"When did you get this?" I ask, following the pattern with my fingertips.
"After I left," he says, his breath catching when my nails graze his skin. "Needed something permanent when everything else felt temporary."
I want to ask more, but then his mouth is on my collarbone, trailing kisses down to the swell of my breast. I arch against him, a soft moan escaping my lips. His hands slide beneath me, finding the zipper of my dress and drawing it down with agonizing slowness.
"I've been thinking about this since I saw you tonight," he confesses, his voice rough against my skin. "Since before that, if I'm honest."
I should tell him I don't care about his honesty right now. That this is just physical—a decade of tension finally breaking. But the words won't come as he peels the dress from my body, leaving me in my underwear.
I reach for his belt, needing to level the playing field. "Your turn," I whisper.
He stands, unbuckling his belt while I watch, my breath shallow. When he's down to his boxers, he returns to me, his body hovering over mine, the heat between us palpable.
"Last chance to run," he says, brushing hair from my face with surprising tenderness.
I answer by pulling him down to me, skin against skin, the weight of him both familiar and foreign. His hand slides between us, finding the lace of my underwear, teasing me through the fabric until I'm writhing beneath him.
"Kacen," I gasp, arching into his touch. "Please."
He smiles against my neck, that cocky smile I remember from high school, but there's something different about it now—something hungrier, more desperate. "Please, what?"
I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. "Don't tease me. Not now."
Something flashes in his eyes—understanding, maybe even remorse—and then his hand slips beneath the fabric, finding me wet and ready. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as his fingers stroke me, working me into a frenzy.
"I want to hear you," he whispers, his voice rough. "Don't hold back."
I shake my head, still too proud to give him everything, even as my body betrays me, responding to his touch as if he's the only one who knows how to play me.
He lowers his head, trailing kisses down my stomach until he reaches the edge of my underwear. His eyes meet mine, asking permission.
I stop him. “No, come here,” I say, pulling him back up to me because that act is too intimate.
His eyes search my face, filled with questions, but he doesn't push. Instead, he moves back up my body, his chest pressing against mine. I feel his hardness against my thigh, and my breath catches.
"I want you," I admit, voice barely above a whisper. "But this means nothing."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but it's safer than the truth.
He nods, but something flickers across his face—disappointment, maybe. "Whatever you need this to be."
I reach between us, pushing his boxers down his hips and my panties down mine. He kicks them off and reaches for his jeans on the floor, pulling out his wallet. The foil packet catches the dim light as he tears it open.
"Let me," I say, taking the condom from his fingers.
Our eyes lock as I roll it onto him. His breathing grows ragged, muscles tensing beneath my touch. When I'm done, he settles between my thighs.
"Are you sure?" he asks again, hesitating at my entrance.
I answer by wrapping my legs around him and pulling him closer. He groans as he pushes inside me, filling me. For a moment, we're both still, adjusting to the sensation, our foreheads pressed together.
"Move," I command, digging my nails into his shoulders.
He does, setting a rhythm that has me gasping. Each thrust builds the tension coiling inside me. I cling to him, trying to keep my emotions separate from the physical pleasure, but it's harder than I expected.
His lips find mine again, and the kiss is almost too tender for what this is supposed to be. I turn my face away, focusing on the ceiling, on the physical sensation rather than the way his eyes are trying to see into me.
"Look at me," he whispers, his pace slowing deliberately.
"Don't," I warn, but he cradles my face with one hand, turning me back to him.
"Please."
Something in his voice breaks through my defenses. I meet his gaze, and the intensity there steals my breath. He moves again, slower now, more deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine.
It's too much—too intimate, too real. I close my eyes again, but the damage is done. This isn't just sex anymore. Maybe it never was.
I feel my walls crumbling as he moves inside me, each thrust deliberate and deep. The tension builds, my body arching into his. His name falls from my lips like a prayer, and I hate how right it feels.
"Let go," he whispers against my ear. "I've got you."
And I do. The pleasure crashes over me in waves, stealing my breath and my pride. He follows seconds later, his body tensing above mine as he buries his face in my neck.
For a moment, we just breathe together, our hearts racing in tandem. His weight should feel suffocating, but instead, it anchors me to reality when I want nothing more than to float away from what I've just done.
"That was..." he starts.
"Don't," I cut him off, suddenly needing space.
"I should go," I whisper, but make no move to leave.
His arm tightens around my waist. "Stay. Just for a little while."
I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But I find myself nodding, letting him pull the covers over us. The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken questions.
"You still haven't told me why you're really back," I say finally.
“The short of it is my brother saved my life. Now he asked for my help, and it’s time I paid it back.”
Watching his face in the dim light, I try to read the truth there. "Saved your life how?"
“That’s a story for another time,” he says, running his thumb up and down over my stomach.
Even though I should get up and leave, I’m so comfortable that sleep takes me before I can move.
* * *
The morning light is too bright.
I blink against it, pulling the covers tighter around me even though I already know I’m alone in the bed. The other side is rumpled, but empty. My dress is folded neatly on the chair. My wings from the costume are leaning against the wall, drooping like they knew better too.
Closing my eyes, I try to pretend this didn’t happen.
But it did.
And I can’t take it back.
Sitting up slowly, my body is sore in ways that have nothing to do with sleep. My heart feels heavier than it should. I find the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and stare at the mirror until I recognize the woman looking back.
I whisper the words before I let myself believe them.
It was a mistake.
He’s standing in the kitchen when I come out, coffee in hand, wearing the same flannel from last night. He looks like a man trying not to hope.
But I don’t give him the chance.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I say with determination.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just sets his mug down and leans back against the counter. “It felt like it did.”
I shake my head. “It was one night. One mistake. We don’t get to rewrite history just because we got caught in a moment.”
“Natalie.”
“No,” I say, firmer this time. “You don’t get to walk back into town and fix everything with an apology and sex. Life doesn’t work like that.”
His face tightens. “I wasn’t trying to fix anything. I just…”
“What?”
“I wanted to be close to you again.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Well, you were.”
And then I walk out.
I don’t wait for him to follow.
Don’t give him a chance to change my mind.
Back home, my phone is already lighting up with messages. Texts from friends. From Ruby. Group chats are exploding with details about Doug’s arrest. Apparently, Hades growled the second Doug stepped inside, and the feds were already outside waiting.
No one’s talking about me.
No one’s talking about Kacen.
The town’s too busy with the drama of the year.
And maybe that’s a blessing.
I scroll through the messages until one from Ruby pops up.
Ruby: You okay?
I stare at the screen for a second before replying.
Me: I will be.