24. Lilith
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
I had officially ascended.
Call it post-orgasm nirvana or just a temporary death… But either way, I was pretty sure my soul had just left my body.
My limbs were useless.
My brain was soup.
My thighs were still trembling.
Holy shit.
I was wrecked and boneless. Reduced to nothing but heavy breathing and a slow realisation that I might never recover.
Which was why it took me a solid ten seconds to realise something was off.
The bed was colder.
The air was empty.
My fingers twitched against the sheets, reaching blindly into the space where he should be.
Nothing.
Then footsteps. Moving away.
What the fuck? Was he serious?
I was still sprawled out, thoroughly wrecked, still buzzing, still soaking wet. This man had just fucked me open with his fingers and then what? Left?
No. That would make zero sense.
It wasn’t like he’d even gotten anything out of it. Not like he’d just done a come-dump-and-run.
So what the hell was this?
The longer I lay there, blindfolded and abandoned, the more my skin heated with irritation.
Was this just… what he did? Is this what he meant by hurting me?
Absolutely the fuck not.
I kicked the wet blanket underneath me onto the floor. I’d deal with that later. Then I reached for the scarf, ready to rip the damn thing off, when—
Footsteps again. Coming back up.
“You can take it off now.”
The light hit me like a truck, and I groaned, immediately shielding my eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, voice still rough from all the breathy moaning.
There was a pause, a long one.
“What do you mean?”
I huffed, still blindly squinting behind my palm. “I mean,” I said slowly, “you finger-fuck someone into another dimension and then disappear? Real nice.”
“I thought you might want a snack and some water,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the whole world. “And I had to get my scarf.”
My brain stuttered.
Wait… what?
A shadow moved closer, blocking out some of the light. I blinked hard past the glare, still half-blinded, but the first thing I saw when my vision started to clear?
His hair. Thick, dark curls, wild and messy, haloed around his now, half-covered face. It was the first time I’d seen them.
My stomach dropped. Not in a bad way. In a holy-shit-what-the-fuck kind of way. It was so much worse. So much better.
I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as my vision cleared. My hand dropped slightly, and suddenly, I was sat there ogling him.
This gorgeous mystery of a man had given me the best orgasm of my entire life—without even getting himself off— and then , he’d gone and… brought me snacks?
The embarrassment hit me full force. I was a dickhead. I’d just told him off, and he was standing there like some dark haired, muscle bound, tattooed guardian angel, holding out an offering in the form of hydration and sodium.
“Shit. I’m so sorry, I just thought—” I started.
“Oh, fuck no, I’m sorry.” His voice cut through mine, rushed and panicked. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t leaving, sorry. I just wanted you to be relaxed, shit, sorry, I won’t do it again, or I’ll tell you next time—”
Oh my God. He was spiralling, tripping over his words because he thought he’d upset me.
My chest tightened and a funny, weird little feeling settled in my stomach, throwing me completely off balance.
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “No, stop. It’s okay. I overreacted.”
“No, you didn’t.” His voice was firm, like it was a fact .
“Seriously, I did,” I said, patting the spot next to me. “Come sit down.”
He passed me the chips and sat the water down on the nightstand before sitting down beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
“So,” I said, popping a chip into my mouth. “This is your whole thing, huh?”
He turned his head, those pretty brown eyes watching me.
My stomach did five flips in a row. Damn him.
“What thing?” he asked.
I gestured vaguely between us. “Stalking a girl, giving her a mind-blowing orgasm, and a post-coital snack service. Very mysterious. Very generous. Do you leave Yelp reviews open for feedback?”
He scoffed, shaking his head.
Awkward.
Not bad-awkward, just new-awkward.
What was the protocol here? ‘ Thanks for the orgasm, want a chip?’
I chewed, thinking it over. And that’s when I noticed it. His leg was bouncing. Just slightly. I bit my lip, fighting a grin. He was nervous. Big, brooding, follows-me-around-at-night guy was nervous after he’d just been knuckle deep inside me.
“You okay?” I asked, nudging my knee against his.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “Are you?”
“No,” I admitted, huffing out a small laugh. “This is weird.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, amusement flickering in those eyes. “It is a little bit.”
The silence stretched a little too long, hanging thick and heavy between us, something unspoken pressing down on my bones.
He exhaled. “Okay, enough’s enough.”
“Enough wha—”
Before I could finish the words, he was on his feet, ripping the blankets back. And I barely had a second to process that before—oh, oh, shit—
I yelped as he hauled me backwards, manhandling me like I weighed nothing, tossing me against the mattress with a confidence that should not have been as hot as it was.
And then— then— he climbed in next to me. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we did this all the time.
And right when I thought I’d reached my maximum holy-shit capacity, he grabbed the blankets and tugged them over both of us, tucking them around my body like some kind of overgrown, tattooed burrito artist.
What the fuck!?
To top it off, his arms then wrapped around me, pulling me in, pressing me against his chest, completely engulfing me in sage, sea salt and a wall of fabric covered muscle.
My brain was officially out of service .
It felt good. It felt way too good.
I swallowed, suppressing the full-body meltdown that was currently in progress, my cheek squished against his chest, hand resting against his hoodie. “Uh… You good there, Mr. Stalker?”
“Better now.”
I brushed my hand against his hoodie absently, and without really thinking, I slid my hand beneath it. The moment my palm pressed against bare skin, he sucked in a sharp breath, his muscles flexing instinctively under my touch.
A wicked little thrill crept down my spine. But I didn’t push. Didn’t trace too high or low. Just let my thumb move slowly, stroking the firm muscles, feeling the way his body reacted beneath my touch.
He didn’t move or speak for a moment. But then one hand came up, fingertips brushing over the top of my head in slow soothing strokes. The other ghosted up and down my arm, barely there but enough.
Enough to send something shivery and electric racing under my skin.
It wasn’t even sexual. Not really. It was just touch. Exploring. Mapping. Like we were learning something we hadn’t quite figured out yet. Like we were both trying to see what this was, without breaking it.
“Will you tell me your name yet?” I murmured against him.
“No.”
I sighed, not surprised. “Figures.”
Silence settled again.
“I was left-handed as a kid,” he said.
“What?”
He huffed, barely a laugh. “You wanted to know something about me.”
“That’s what you go with?” I asked, tilting my head up slightly, eyes meeting with his.
His shoulders lifted in the slightest shrug. “They made me switch when I was in school. Kept slapping my hand with a ruler every time I used the wrong one. So now, I write with my right.”
I frowned. “That’s messed up.”
“Catholic school.”
“Wait. You’re religious?”
He scoffed. “Not after that experience.”
“Ah,” I said, pressing my palm against his stomach.
It was something small, but it was something. Was he letting me in?
I buried myself into him, nestling against his warmth. “Tell me something else.”
“I can solve a Rubik’s cube in under a minute.”
I jerked my head back, staring up at him. “What? ”
He shrugged. “It’s not that hard.”
“It absolutely is. People dedicate their entire lives to that shit.”
“Maybe they’re just not trying hard enough.”
I scoffed. “Okay, show off.”
“Your turn.”
I scanned the recesses of my mind, digging for something, some little piece of myself I could toss out like a playing card. But nothing was fun. It was just a series of bad memories dressed as milestones. I swallowed hard, forcing all the flashing images down, locking them away as deep as I could.
Think. Something good from the last few years. Something… good.
No—before that. There had to be something before that, right?
My fingers absently trailed against his stomach, his warmth grounding me, keeping me here as my mind nudged at something slightly out of my reach.
A blur of time, foggy and shapeless, pressing against the edges of my brain.
Dig deeper.
For a second, there was nothing but static.
Then a flash of colour, the smell of sunblock, the hum of cicadas.
Not just a memory—a whole summer.
My fingers stilled as my mind cracked open, barely enough to let the past creep through.
It had been one of the only good summers I’d ever had.
Evelyn and Wayne had gone away, left me completely alone for a whole month.
I was twelve, and it should’ve been terrifying, but it had been freedom .
No yelling, no over-the-top rules, no stepping on eggshells around Wayne’s temper.
Just me, the whole house to myself, and Leah, a girl from my science class.
We spent the days down by the lake, eating popsicles until our tongues turned blue, making up elaborate lies to tell people for no reason other than the thrill of it. For once in my life, I hadn’t felt alone.
Funny how my brain had a constant, relentless need to remind me of all the shit. But this? This little pocket of happiness? It had been shoved somewhere deep, gathering dust like an old book on a forgotten shelf. Like my mind hadn’t deemed it important enough to keep within reach.
That stung, more than I wanted to admit.
I swallowed and cleared my throat, shifting slightly. “Alright, here’s one. When I was twelve, me and a girl from my class tried to build a raft and sail it across the lake near her house.”
He made a noise, somewhere between amused and curious. “And?”
“We got maybe ten feet in before it completely fell apart, and we both sank like bricks. Her dad had to fish us out while we screamed about dying like pirates. ”
His chest rumbled slightly beneath me. “Surprised you didn’t get banned from the lake after that,” he said.
“Oh, we absolutely did. Lifetime ban.”
“Impressive.”
“Thank you.”
He huffed a laugh, his fingers on my arm drifting up until they traced the bridge of my nose, and he pressed a fabric veiled kiss to the top of my head.
“Get some sleep,” he murmured.
I hummed, eyes already growing heavier, body sinking deeper into the warmth between us. “I will.”
The weight of exhaustion pulled at me, but I didn’t let it take me just yet. I sat with it. With the silence of him, the warmth of him beside me. My mind was circling, still trying to make sense of every single thing that had happened.
“I’m glad you didn’t really leave.” The words felt bigger than they should have, heavier, even as I murmured them into the quiet.
“So am I.”
Something in my chest unravelled ever so slightly.
“Goodnight, Lilith.”
For some unfathomable, completely insane reason, I didn’t even have the urge to call him Mr. Stalker.
Whiplash. That’s what this was—emotional, physical, mental whiplash—fear to fascination, resistance to something far more dangerous.
And I wanted it. Bad.
“Goodnight.”