Chapter 6
KACEN
Condom….
That's when I remember the one Kingston put in my wallet as a joke when I got to Mustang Mountain. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see it.
Reaching for my wallet in my discarded jeans, I pull out the foil packet i just replaced in my wallet.
When I look up, she's completely bare before me, having shed her underwear while I wasn't looking.
The sight of her steals my breath—all smooth skin and soft curves in the dim light of her living room.
"You're beautiful," I say, because it's true and because I can't think of anything else.
She smiles, a small, private thing. "So are you."
I tear open the packet, rolling the condom on as she watches with unabashed interest. Then she's moving toward me, pushing me back onto the couch.
She's in my lap again, but this time there's nothing between us. Just skin against skin as she positions herself above me. Her eyes lock with mine, a question in them that I answer by gripping her hips, steadying her.
Then she's sinking onto me, taking me inch by inch. It’s almost too much. I close my eyes for a moment, overwhelmed—by her, by this, by everything we’re becoming.
She's tight and hot and perfection around me. When I open my eyes again, her head is thrown back, her throat exposed, her lips parted in a silent gasp.
"Fuck," I whisper, unable to form any other coherent thought.
She moves, slowly at first, finding a rhythm that has both of us breathing harder. Her hands are on my shoulders, using me for leverage as she rises and falls. I grip her hips tighter, guiding her movements, helping her take me deeper.
"God," she moans, and the sound travels straight through me with a bolt of electricity.
I can't stop watching her—the way her body moves above mine, the flush spreading across her chest, the slight furrow between her brows as she concentrates on chasing that feeling again.
My hands slide up from her hips to her waist, then higher, cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers.
She gasps, her rhythm faltering for a moment before she finds it again, more desperate now. I thrust up to meet her, and she lets out a broken sound that I want to hear again and again.
"You feel so good," I tell her, my voice rough with need. "So fucking perfect."
Her eyes flutter open, finding mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache. There's something raw and honest in her gaze. Something I've never seen from her before. It's not just desire. It's vulnerability and trust.
Leaning forward, I capture her mouth with mine as we move together. The kiss is messy, all tongue and teeth and shared breath. I can feel her tightening around me, her movements becoming erratic as she gets closer.
"I need..." she pants. "I need..." she pants against my lips, her movements growing frantic.
"Tell me," I urge, sliding one hand between us where our bodies meet. My fingers find her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her gasp.
"That," she breathes. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I don't. I keep my fingers moving against her, matching the rhythm of our bodies as she rides me harder. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and her breath comes in short, sharp pants. With the way she tightens around me, and the trembling in her thighs, I can feel her getting close again.
"Look at me," I whisper, and when she does, her eyes are dark and wild. "I want to see you."
The raw honesty in my words pushes her over the edge. She comes with a broken cry, her body clenching around me so tight it nearly ends me right there. I hold her gaze as she shudders through it, her lips parted, her expression somewhere between pleasure and surprise.
"God, you're beautiful," I breathe, unable to look away as she falls apart in my arms.
The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her pulsing around me is too much. The tension that's been building low in my spine suddenly snaps. I grip her hips hard enough to leave marks as I thrust up one final time.
"Natalie," I groan, my voice breaking as I come.
My entire body shudders with the force of it, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I empty myself inside her.
For a moment, the world narrows to just this—her skin against mine, her weight on my lap, the incredible pulsing heat where we're joined.
She collapses against my chest, both of us breathing hard. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as the aftershocks ripple through me. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I'm sure she can feel it.
"Holy shit," I whisper into her hair, unable to form a more coherent thought.
She laughs softly against my neck, the vibration sending a pleasant shiver through my oversensitive body. "Yeah," she agrees, her voice muffled against my skin. "That was..."
"Incredible," I finish for her.
We stay like that for a few moments, her weight against my chest, our breathing gradually slowing. I trace lazy patterns on her back, not wanting to break the spell between us.
"We should probably clean up," she murmurs finally, pressing a kiss to my neck before carefully lifting herself off me.
I nod, feeling the loss of her warmth immediately. "Yeah, probably should."
She stands completely unselfconscious in her nakedness, and extends her hand to me. I take it, letting her pull me up from the couch.
"Bathroom is down the hall," she says, leading me through her house. Her hand feels small in mine, her fingers laced through my own like they belong there.
The bathroom is neat and simple, as is the rest of her place. She turns on the shower, steam quickly filling the small space. While we wait for the water to warm, I carefully remove the condom, wrapping it in tissue before tossing it in the bin.
When we step under the spray together, it feels strangely intimate. Even more so than what we just did on her couch. She tilts her head back, letting the water run through her hair, and I'm transfixed by the curve of her throat, the way rivulets trace paths down her skin.
I step closer, drawn to her like gravity. My hands find her waist, and she opens her eyes, offering a small smile that hits me somewhere deep.
"Hi," she says, like we're meeting for the first time.
"Hi yourself," I reply, my voice rough around the edges.
She reaches for the shampoo, but I take it from her hands. "Let me?"
She nods, turning her back to me. I pour the shampoo into my palm—something floral and clean—and work it gently through her hair. My fingers massage her scalp, and she leans into my touch, a soft sound escaping her lips.
"That feels wonderful," she murmurs.
"Good," I say, taking my time, enjoying the simple intimacy of washing her hair.
When she's done rinsing, I take the conditioner and work it through her hair, my fingers trailing down her neck, across her shoulders.
The intimacy of this moment hits me harder than anything we've done before. This isn't just about sex. This isn’t just passion. It’s about her, in a way that reaches past this moment and everything underneath it. .
After we've both washed, I reluctantly turn off the water. The air feels cool against our wet skin as I reach for a towel from the rack. Instead of handing it to her, I wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"Let me," I murmur, and begin gently drying her skin.
She watches me with those eyes that see too much, standing perfectly still as I pat the towel along her arms, her stomach, down her legs. I kneel to dry her calves, her feet, taking my time with each inch of her. When I stand again, she takes the towel from my hands.
"My turn," she says, her voice soft in the steamy bathroom.
She dries me with the same care, her touch gentle but sure. There's nothing hurried about it, nothing demanding. Just her hands through the soft cotton, absorbing the water from my skin.
When she finishes, she drops the towel in the hamper and takes my hand, leading me out of the bathroom and down the hall. The floorboards creak beneath our bare feet, and I feel anticipation building in my chest with each step closer to her bedroom.
She pushes the door open, and I follow her inside. Her room is exactly what I would have expected. Simple, with clean lines, a bookshelf packed with paperbacks, and a small desk in the corner. The bed dominates the space, a queen with a navy-blue comforter that looks impossibly soft.
"Stay with me tonight," she says, not a question but not quite a demand either.
"I'd like that," I reply, my voice lower than I intended.
She pulls back the covers and slides in, her body still slightly damp from the shower.
I follow her lead, slipping between the sheets.
The mattress dips beneath our combined weight, and for a moment, we lie there, facing each other in the dim light filtering through her curtains as she snuggles up to me.
For a while, we lie tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy circles on her arm.
“I used to dream about this,” I admit quietly. “About what it would be like if I hadn’t ruined everything.”
She doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she snuggles closer.
“Maybe we can’t erase the past,” she says finally. “But maybe we don’t have to let it write the rest of the story.”
I kiss the top of her head. “I’d like that.”
We fall asleep like that. No promises. No declarations. Just two people who hurt each other once, trying to figure out how to start again.
And for the first time in a long time, I think maybe we can.