20. Enya #2
The simple statement lands heavy. Because he means it. He's choosing this. Choosing us. Dinosaur facts and panic attacks and all.
My phone buzzes. A text from Mam.
How'd it go? He seem alright with the boy?
I type back.
Really well. Warren loved him. Asked him to read a bedtime story.
Her response comes quick.
Good. I liked him. Fierce eyes but soft hands with the boy. That's what matters.
Tears prick my eyes again, because Mam's approval means everything. And knowing she sees what I see in Devin makes it feel more real.
"Mam likes you," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Says you have fierce eyes but soft hands with Warren."
Devin's quiet for a moment. "She's not wrong. I'd do anything to keep you both safe. But I'll never hurt him. Or you. Ever."
"I know."
And I do. I really do.
We stay on the couch until late. Just talking. About nothing important. About everything.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. We move to my room. I change into sleep clothes while he strips to his boxers.
We climb into bed. Same routine as the last few nights. But it's different now. Because Warren’s down the hall. Because we’re not just hiding from danger anymore. We’re building something.
Devin pulls me close. I settle against him, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Human.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"For what?"
"For being so good with Warren. For being patient with me. For staying."
"Nothing to thank me for."
“There’s everything.”
His hand moves in slow circles on my back. Soothing. Grounding. I melt into it, into him. Into the heat of his skin. My breath slows, my eyes half-close.
I think about everything that’s happened. Everything we’ve been through. The fear and violence and the aftermath of it all. But also this, the quiet and safety, along with the possibility of something more.
I look up at him. He’s already watching me, eyes shadowed and open all at once.
"I don’t see a killer when I look at you,” I say quietly. “I see someone who protected me. Someone who chose me. Someone who’s building a life with me instead of just surviving.”
His throat works. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I reach up and touch his face. His beard scrapes my fingers, rough and comforting. “I see a future. With you. With Warren. With all of it.”
"I want that too," he says roughly. "More than I've wanted anything."
“Then we make it happen.”
"Together?"
"Together."
He kisses me. Soft. Gentle. Full of promise. But behind it—heat. I feel the shift in him. In me. My mouth parts. His tongue brushes mine. A slow tangle, thick with everything unsaid.
When we pull apart, I should settle back. I should let sleep tug me under like I have every other night. But I don’t.
I stay there, my hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart speed up under my palm.
He notices.
“You’re not sleepy,” he murmurs.
“No.”
“Why not?”
I press closer, the thin fabric of my top brushing his bare skin. I can feel his warmth everywhere. “Because I don’t want it to be quiet tonight.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “No?”
I shake my head.
His hand slides down, slow, until it finds the curve of my ass. It rests there, heavy, possessive. I shift against him, and I feel it. He’s already hard. A slow throb against my thigh.
That’s all the invitation I need.
I straddle his hips, the sheet sliding away as I move. His hands come to my waist instinctively, gripping me like he’s anchoring himself. I reach down between us, stroke him through his boxers, just once, firm, and he shudders.
“Enya,” he groans. A warning. A plea.
But I’ve wanted this. Needed this.
I tug his waistband down, freeing him, and his cock springs up thick and hot against my palm. My mouth waters. I lean down and kiss him again, this time with no restraint, open, deep, wet. His fingers flex hard into my hips.
“Let me,” I whisper into his mouth.
He nods, and I shift down, trailing my tongue along his chest, his ribs, over the line of muscle just above his cock. I wrap my fingers around the base and take the head into my mouth, slow and steady. His whole body arches. I feel his hands fist in the sheets.
“Fuck,” he rasps, voice tight.
I hollow my cheeks, work him deeper, let my tongue swirl around the thick ridge just beneath the crown. His breath is ragged now. I can hear the restraint in him, how badly he wants to thrust up, to fuck my mouth.
When I pull back, a string of saliva connects us. His cock twitches in the air, wet with my spit.
“Condom?” I murmur.
“Wallet.”
I grab one, tear it open, and slide it down his length. My hands are shaking—not from fear. From want.
I climb back over him, guiding him to my entrance. I’m already soaked. The head of his cock nudges me open, and I sink down slow, letting him fill me inch by inch.
“Ahhh, fuck,” I gasp. The stretch is intense, grounding. Perfect.
His hands grip my thighs. “Jesus, Enya...”
I ride him slow at first, savoring every inch. The feel of him inside me, the way he pulses deep. I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest, my hair falling in a curtain around our faces.
He thrusts up into me, sharp and deep. I cry out, and he does it again.
Slap, slap, slap.
The sound of skin on skin, wet and fast. His cock drags against every sweet spot inside me. I’m clenching around him, so close, too fast.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do.
His eyes are burning. Mine must be too.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says hoarsely. “You get that?”
I nod. “I know. I know.”
“Say it.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Again.”
“You’re mine,” I whisper. “And I’m yours.”
That breaks something in him. He flips us, thrusting hard now, relentless. I wrap my legs around his back, pull him deeper.
“Fuuuuck!” I cry out, clinging to him, nails digging into his shoulders. He groans into my neck, muffling the noise.
“I’m gonna come,” I pant. “Devin, I’m gonna, ahh, ahhh—!”
My orgasm crashes through me like a wave, hot and electric. My muscles lock around him, and he loses it. His rhythm breaks, hips jerking as he buries himself to the hilt.
He groans, low and guttural. “Fuck, Enya…Fuck!”
We cling to each other, breathing hard. His body on mine. Heavy. Real.
Eventually, he pulls back, cups my cheek, kisses me again, soft, slow.
I curl into his chest afterward, leg slung over his hip, his hand stroking my back again, slower now.
This is more than sex. This is choosing each other. In the dark. In the aftermath.
The fear may still live in me. Probably always will.
But so does this.
Devin lives in me too now. His steadiness. His protection. His love.
And for the first time in my life, I get to choose which one I listen to.
I choose him.
I choose us.
I choose the future.
And that's enough.