Chapter 18 – Cole-Present
Chapter Eighteen
LIPS LIKE PIZZA
COLE-PRESENT
The words still echo in my chest, “Kenna loves me” louder than my own heartbeat, shaking loose every wall I ever built. Now the truth is here, an undeniable heat pressed against me, kissing me back like the years didn’t break us. I can't stop myself from holding on.
Her lips part under mine, warm and sweet, and I nearly groan with relief. My hands tangle in the silky weight of her hair, pulling her closer, while her arms loop tight around my neck. We kiss until the air burns, but every break is only a frantic gasp before we find each other again.
She shifts in my lap, straddling me, and the hard friction of her crotch against my straining erection makes my body tremble.
Her breath hitches—a sharp, sweet sound—when she feels me beneath her, and that sound, that perfect fit, nearly undoes me.
My hands grip the soft curve of her hips, guiding her as she grinds down, and the intoxicating friction of denim on denim sharpens years of aching into this blinding moment.
I slide my hands beneath her shirt, past the rough cotton.
Her skin is warm and soft, and her body arches immediately into every touch.
When I brush my thumb across the delicate, hardening bud of her nipple, her sharp gasp breaks into a pained, breathless whimper that sinks straight into the deepest part of me.
I trace the outline again, slow and deliberate, watching her eyes darken as all her focus shifts to the sensation.
“God, I’ve missed you,” I whisper.
Her lips hover against mine, trembling. “Don’t stop. Please… don’t stop touching me.”
I lift her into my arms, her legs wrapping tight around my waist. She clings to me as though letting go would undo the last nine years of waiting. Each step up the stairs is heavy with longing, every frantic heartbeat a promise.
I lay her on the bed, hovering above her, and just stare before dragging her pants to her ankles.
She’s completely exposed, and the wet sheen between her legs is a silent breathtaking invitation.
Her hair spills across the pillow, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes shining with raw, liquid want.
I lean down and kiss her, adding two fingers to her wet pussy. She meets each thrust of my hand and I fucking love it. She freezes abruptly. Her head falls back, mouth open in a silent O.
Her pussy squeezes my fingers so hard I nearly come in my pants.
I trail kisses along her jaw, down her neck, and hear her quiet moans, feel her shiver under me, and it sends sparks through my chest. Every inch of her, every sound, every shudder—it’s overwhelming and beautiful.
I strip my shirt away, and her hands skim over the muscle of my chest with a fierce hunger. I fumble with the button of my jeans, my fingers clumsy, and she lifts her hips to help.
I rip her shirt over her head revealing her tiny pink nipples rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath.
When the last of our clothes are gone, there is nothing left, except for the need for one another. I lower myself onto her, chest pressed to chest, my erection pressed flat against her mound, and she rocks instinctively against me with a soft gasp.
“Tell me this is real,” I whisper, afraid the words will vanish.
“It’s real,” she says, her voice shaking, fingers threading into my hair. “You’re here. I’m here. Take me now.”
I pause for only a second, meeting her eyes, and then I push forward, sinking deep and slow into her warmth.
Her words ground me. My hand trails down her side, slow and reverent, until I settle myself between her legs. I pause, looking down into her eyes, drinking in the trust, and then I push forward, sinking deep and slow into her warmth.
Her sharp, stunned cry fills the room, and I hold still for a moment, letting the shocking, perfect fullness settle.
Her walls grip me tight—a desperate, familiar welcome.
I pull back an inch and thrust again, gentler this time, finding the rhythm that she remembers, the one that makes her gasp.
Her lips part, a low, constant moan escaping with every downward stroke.
I begin to move faster, charting the curve of her hips as they lift to meet my piston-like drive. I hear the wet, slick sound of our bodies uniting echoing in the quiet room. My lips trail down her neck, tasting the quick, frantic beat of her pulse, and she tilts her head back, offering me more.
She wraps her legs tight around my waist, urging me deeper, faster.
Her body trembles, hips bucking urgently, a whispered plea I can feel more than hear.
When the moment hits her, a harsh, raw cry tears from her throat.
Her back arches high off the bed, her nails digging into my shoulders, her whole body seizing as the climax washes over her.
The sight of her undone, shattering beneath me, drags me under too. Heat crashes through me, unstoppable, a white-hot wave of pleasure. I grab her hips, anchoring myself, and let go, a guttural yell lost in her ear as I empty myself into her.
I collapse beside her, dragging her into my arms before I can even catch my breath, my chest heaving.
She curls against me instantly, her head resting on my chest, her breathing shallow and uneven but slowly settling.
My hand strokes down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, an internal promise that I’m not going anywhere.
Silence stretches, warm and heavy, filled only with the ragged sound of our breathing and the frantic, slowing echo of our heartbeats. For the first time in nine years, it doesn’t feel empty.
“I thought I lost you forever,” I whisper.
She shifts against me, lifting her head just enough for her eyes to meet mine. They glisten in the low light, softer, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen them. “I thought the same. And it hurt every day.”
I brush her hair from her face, my thumb lingering on her cheek. “We don’t get to lose each other again.”
She closes her eyes, leaning into my hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Not this time.”
We lie there tangled together, skin sticky with sweat and sex, our hearts still racing.
The room is quiet, the air heavy with the intimate, spent smell of us, but all I notice is her warmth pressed into me.
Every small sigh, every brush of her fingers against my skin, feels like a piece of the past stitching itself back together.
I press a kiss to her forehead. This isn’t just a second chance at love. It’s a second chance at us, and I will not let go.
The night feels still, like the world has paused just for us.
It’s as if everything around us is waiting, holding its breath while Kenna lies beside me, her head tucked perfectly into the crook of my arm.
We’re tangled in the sheets. The soft rise and fall of her chest grounds me in a way I haven’t been in years.
The warmth of her body against mine is comforting, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder how it’s possible for me to feel so at home with her after everything we’ve been through.
But as the minutes stretch on, a quiet tension settles over us.
I can feel it in the way her body is pressed against me—she’s here, but she’s not here.
She’s distant in a way that isn’t usual, not like the playful, carefree energy we’d been sharing an hour ago.
I know her well enough to recognize the hitch in her breath, the way her muscles have just a fraction too much tension. It’s clear something’s bothering her.
I try not to let my concern show, but it’s hard not to feel it gnawing at me, tugging on the edges of my mind. We’ve talked about everything tonight—our past, the awkwardness between us, even our shared laughter and the quiet moments—but this…this silence is different.
I pull her a little closer, my fingers tracing circles on her arm. “Kenna,” I murmur softly, my voice just above a whisper. “You’ve gone quiet. Is everything okay?”
She doesn’t immediately respond, and my heart picks up its rhythm in my chest. The silence between us stretches longer, and I start to second-guess myself.
I could press her, but I know that won’t help.
Kenna’s not a pressure-valve kind of person.
She’s a slow-burn. If she’s not ready to open up, me asking won’t make it easier. It’ll just push her away.
“Kenna?” I repeat, a little more gently this time.
She shifts against me, her breathing steady, but there’s that unnatural stillness about her. She rolls onto her back, turning away just enough to avoid meeting my eyes. I feel a tightness in my chest, and I brace myself for the distance that’s creeping in.
“I’m fine, Cole,” she says, her voice soft but defensive, almost too quick to be believable. “Really, I’m just...tired.”
I want to believe her, I really do. But there’s a note of practiced evasion in her tone—like it’s an excuse, a wall she’s putting up.
She doesn’t want to share whatever it is that’s clearly bothering her.
And yeah, I get it. We all need to keep things to ourselves sometimes, but it doesn’t make it any easier to lie here, feeling like she’s slipping away from me in this small, almost imperceptible way.
“You sure?” I ask, leaning in slightly, my hand still resting on her shoulder. “Kenna, you’re not fooling me. Something’s going on. You know you can tell me anything.”
She pulls away just a little, sitting up in bed, and I feel the warm pressure of her body instantly gone.
The distance grows like a slow, deliberate shift.
I don’t push her to say anything, but it hurts in a way I can’t describe.
It’s like a knife twist, a subtle yet sharp sting that feels like she’s pulling away from everything we’ve worked so hard to rebuild tonight.
She doesn’t meet my gaze as she shifts to the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing,” she murmurs again, voice quieter this time. “Just...I don’t know. I’m scared of where this is going to go. Scared of getting hurt again.”