Chapter Love and Intimacy
Love and Intimacy
Charlie
Keaton and I have been balancing precariously on the edge of a sexual cliff. One more sensual touch, one more heated breath, one more filthy groan from him, and I’m going to combust into a wanton mess.
In the six months since Rianna’s arrest, Keaton and I have been weaving the fragile beginnings of something new between us.
It’s strange how there’s still so much to discover about someone I’ve known nearly all of my life.
Every night, Keaton arrives with flowers, my favorite snack, and a smile that says I’m his whole world. He kisses me softly, calls me beautiful even when I’m a disaster, pours wine, and gathers me onto his lap. He listens, eyes drinking me in as if I might vanish if he looks away.
Keaton doesn’t just say he loves me. He proves it in every gentle gesture, every thoughtful act.
When the world feels too heavy, he anchors me. If I need to hide, Keaton burrows under the covers and holds me close. On his hard days, he lets me in instead of pretending everything’s fine.
Two weeks ago, I asked him to move in. It felt like leaping off a cliff. I agonized for months, talking it through with my therapist and Amelia. One clinical, one emotional, both unexpectedly supportive.
I think back on my conversation with Amelia.
“He’s changed, babe. More than I ever expected he would.
Sometimes, when he doesn’t realize it, I watch him with you.
I wait for any hint that he’s playing you.
That he’s not actually remorseful for what he did.
I wait for any sign that he’ll do it again.
But I never find it, Charlie. You know what I find?
A man drowning in remorse. One willing to do anything to make up for the hurt he caused.
He watches you like you’re the fucking air he breathes, babe.
It’s like he’d suffocate without you. I see a man so fucking in love with a woman that he’d break himself first before ever harming her again.
I think this is a good move for you both.
Last time, you were the one who had to start over from scratch.
Moving him into your place gives you the security—the control of knowing that if something ever happens again, you won’t be the one who has to start over.
You once told me that Keaton cheating on you made you feel out of control. How do you feel now?”
“As if I finally have control over my life and my relationship with Keaton.”
“Do you love him?”
“More than I ever have. It’s as if this version of Keaton is…” I pause, trying to think of how to describe him now. “It’s as if he’s more than who he was. Does that make sense?”
“And do you feel this is the right move for you?”
I take the time to think about her answer before nodding slowly. “I do. I’m ready to take this step.”
“Then you have your answer, babe. Move forward and be happy.”
Keaton’s shock was almost comical when I asked. He hadn’t expected me to be ready, but he’d wanted this for ages. With Brock, Bear, Rune, and Alek, we moved him out of his studio above the tattoo shop and into my world in just two days.
Having Keaton back in my space is a wild, beautiful chaos I never knew I missed.
Catching him fresh from the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel, Goddess help me. Every drop of water on his chest tempts me to follow it with my tongue. He knows exactly what he’s doing, that wicked glint and sinful smirk giving him away.
Not that I’m complaining. A nearly naked Keaton is living art. Every tattoo begs to be traced and tasted.
A shiver curls up my spine just thinking about it.
But my man is taking his time, and the ache building inside me is almost unbearable.
I get why he hesitates, even if it drives me wild.
We’re healing—sometimes together, sometimes on our own—growing into people we barely recognize.
Perfection isn’t in our vocabulary. We’re just us. Flawed, messy, and perfectly imperfect.
We make the wrong choices.
We hurt people we love.
If we keep owning our flaws and striving to outgrow yesterday’s selves, then we’re winning, not failing.
No matter how far we’ve come since Keaton’s betrayal, the road ahead still stretches long and uncertain.
It’s not always at the forefront, but some nights, the memory of that pool house slips into my dreams. On those nights, doubt creeps in, and I wonder if forgiving him was right. Sometimes, I think a small part of me still hates him for it.
Amelia always likes to point out that there’s a fine line between love and hate. When I feel indifferent to him and what he’s done, that's when I need to walk away for good. Because that means there’s nothing left to fight for.
So I refuse to let hate take root. On the hard days, I open the door to love instead.
As long as we keep choosing love, day after day, I believe we’ll find our way back to each other.
I stand before the mirror, smoothing my hand over a short, silky black dress that clings to every curve, leaving no doubt I’m wearing nothing beneath. The thin straps grip my shoulders, holding the bodice just so, my bare skin pressed against the fabric.
With a sly smirk, I squat, admiring the way the dress barely covers me. The hem teases the curve of my ass, hinting at everything I plan to reveal.
Which I plan to do.
If this dress doesn’t scream that I’m ready for more than innocent touches, I’ll just have to spell it out and hope he shoves his face between my legs.
He sent me a text ten minutes ago that he’ll be home shortly.
Pizza is timed to arrive with him, a movie waits on the TV, and LED candles flicker on the coffee table. Paper plates, napkins, and a bucket of ice with bottled water are ready. I’ve built a cozy love nest of pillows and comforters on the floor.
The only thing missing is us.
When the front door opens, I give myself one last once-over, inhale deeply, and square my shoulders.
It’s time to take another leap forward.
“Butterfly?” Keaton calls.
“Coming, dragon boy.”
Keaton’s smile is molten when I enter, his gaze devouring me.
He sets the pizza down, but his attention never wavers.
“You look…” His fists clench, voice thick.
“So fucking beautiful.” His lips part, tongue flicking over them, a groan escaping as his hand drops to the bulge in his jeans.
“And hot. So goddamn hot. You’re trying to kill me. ”
I let my hips sway, closing the space between us in a slow, sensual dance.
My heart thuds, warmth blooming inside me.
Standing before him, I trail my hand down his chest to where he’s gripping himself, curling my fingers over his.
My movements are slow, deliberate, and I watch the heat in his eyes burn brighter.
“I’m doing no such thing. You wouldn’t be much use to me if I did that.
I’m all for trying new things, baby, but necrophilia isn’t on the menu,” I purr, rising to lick his neck.
He shivers with another deep groan, his cock growing bigger under our palms. “What are you doing, beautiful?”
God, I love when he calls me that as if it’s my name.
“Nothing,” I say as innocently as possible, placing a kiss on his jawline and stepping away. “Having a date with you in the living room.”
Keaton drops his hand, straightening as he rakes his fingers through his messy hair. A flush blooms high on his cheeks as he wrestles his desire back under control.
Yum.
I take his hand and tug him to our makeshift nest. “Sit. Get comfortable. I’ll handle the food.”
He sucks in a sharp breath as I bend to open the pizza box, giving him an unmissable view.
The air between us turns blistering.
His warm fingers curl around my ankle, and I bite my lip to hide a victorious smile.
“Charlie,” Keaton croaks, arousal thickening his voice.
I peer over my shoulder at him with hooded eyes. “Yes?”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “Wha—” He clears his throat. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you something to eat.”
He lifts a brow. “What if I told you pizza isn’t what I’m hungry for?”
I slide the pizza box aside and perch on the coffee table, his gaze instantly drawn to the space between my thighs.
Leaning back on my palms, I smirk. “Then I’d ask what you are hungry for.”
Keaton doesn’t remove his eyes from me as he takes off his socks and shoes. His hand reaches behind him, grasps his shirt, and pulls it over his head before tossing it aside.
So. Hot.
I drink him in, licking my lips at the sight of every vivid tattoo and glinting piercing he’s revealed.
Fuck, he’s sexy.
The butterflies inked across his skin, and the metal bars through his nipples set my pulse racing.
On his lower abdomen, a dragon lies on its belly, one wing broken, a single tear slipping from smoky gray eyes that match my own.
Beside it, a heart split down the middle.
A permanent reminder of us and everything we’ve survived.
Poignant.
Keaton rises to his knees, hands gliding up my legs to my thighs. His fingers tighten, gently urging me open, his gaze never leaving mine. In his eyes, I see everything he feels—raw, unguarded.
The heat.
The want.
The longing.
The love.
He lets me see him, unfiltered, and that vulnerability is the biggest turn-on of all.
Keaton yanks me to the edge of the table so quickly that my dress bunches at my waist, leaving me bare and quivering under his heated gaze. He lifts one of his hands from my thigh and runs a finger through my slit. My head drops back with a moan.
Then a sharp smack to my pussy has my head jerking up with pleasure.
“Keep your eyes on me so you can see exactly what I’m hungry for,” he orders in a voice so sinful I nearly orgasm from the sound.
When I nod, a pleased sound comes from his chest. “Good girl.”
I quiver and grow hungrier at his praise.
Agile fingers spread me open, and his tongue laps at the arousal that’s already leaked from me. He groans, the fingers still wrapped around my thigh, tightening. His tongue feathers against my clit a few times before he sucks it into his mouth.