10. Mel Won’t Be Happy About This #2
Kyle’s hands were everywhere—pulling me in, grounding me, undoing me—his mouth crashing into mine like he had been holding it back all night.
There was no buildup.
No hesitation.
Just raw, immediate, reckless heat.
I kissed him back just as hard, fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him closer like I hadn’t spent the last hour pretending I didn’t want this.
God! This was a mistake!
I repeated that line in my head. But it was no use.
I knew it the second his lips moved against mine—addictive in a way that made my whole body burn up.
Guilt flickered somewhere in the background… and annoyance too. But this time, it wasn’t at him. It was at myself, because I let this happen. I let him bring me here. I let myself follow.
Then Kyle pulled back just enough to look at me. His breath uneven. Eyes darker than before.
And then he guided me, slowly and deliberately, until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed.
I fell onto it, barely catching myself, my chest rising and falling as I looked up at him.
And for a second, I just watched.
Because there was something about him like this.
Unfiltered. Unapologetic.
Devilish.
I swallowed.
Then I reached for the waistband of my pants, pushing them down like I didn’t have the patience to do it properly, kicking them off somewhere across the room.
And when there was nothing left below me, I glared at Kyle and spread my legs for him to see all of my glory.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
That alone sent heat straight through me.
He followed, quick and careless, like whatever control he had left wasn’t worth holding onto anymore.
And when there’s nothing left below him, I stared at the cock that was once mine.
The cock that shamed all of the others.
The biggest cock I had ever taken.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath.
Then he slowly crawled up on me, hovering like a predator above his prey.
His hands braced on either side as his mouth found mine again.
Slower this time.
Deeper.
His lips moved down—jaw, neck—lingering just long enough to make me feel it everywhere.
My breath caught.
And before I could stop it—before I could remind myself why I shouldn’t be here—he straightened, scraping his tongue and then touched my inner thigh. Then slowly, he traced downward, until he found the spot where the glory of all power-bottoms lay.
I felt it.
“Holy fuck!” I said, my head tipping back, as his fingers play the rim of my being.
“Still sensitive,” he murmured, almost to himself.
I would’ve responded, but I already felt the scout’s salute penetrate deeper.
I had to grab his wrist to try and stop, but Kyle was an ocean wave: relentless.
Everything blurred after that. Time. Thoughts. Logic. It all dissolved into sensation of heat, pressure, rhythm, and the overwhelming familiarity of him.
I let him, because for that moment, I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to compare. I didn’t want to remember Victor, or the mistakes, or the lessons I was supposed to have learned.
I just wanted to feel something that made sense in my body, even if it didn’t make sense anywhere else.
And it did.
It felt good.
Too good, actually.
The kind of good that made you forget why you said no in the first place.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded in a breathy voice.
I obliged—tongue out. Because I knew what he meant during intimate moments like this.
And sure enough, his mouth formed and then spit onto my tongue.
That sent shockwaves of ecstasy throughout my body.
“You like that, babe?” he asked, still playing with me like I was a toy he’d long to own.
“Yes, daddy,” I responded.
Hygienic? Questionable.
Arousing? Hell yes.
“Wait,” he said.
For a second, I thought I did something wrong.
But then he reached over to the bedside table, sliding open the drawer.
The soft crinkle of the condom he pulled out from it filled the space between us.
He glanced back at me. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He grinned and tore the packaging open.
He put the condom on with practiced ease—and at that moment, all I thought about was how many others had tasted him between our breakup and now.
A silver of envy pricked my heart.
Then he picked up a lube from the drawer and wet his protected knob.
“You ready?” he asked.
I nodded slowly.
And then I felt it—the tip breaking enter my being.
My hands found his waist, gripping, slightly pushing, needing something to hold onto as Kyle pushed himself in.
A pained moan escaped my lips.
“Shh.” Kyle undid the button of my shirt, exposing my chest. Then suddenly, his head dived, and then I felt his tongue toying my nipple.
“Holy fuck!”
I took my hands off his waist and found the side of his face.
“Kyle.” My breath broke, feeling him slide fully into me.
As our bodies found their rhythm, a question surfaced in me: how did two people, once separated by circumstances, became one again?
At that moment, I found no answer.
I just let him break me again—but this time, it was my body, not my heart.
By the time my friends and I settled into Sunday brunch in Abacca, everything felt deceptively calm.
We were seated outside, tucked under wide umbrellas that softened the late morning sun.
The air felt warm on our skins, but not suffocating.
Plates were already spread across the table—Andi with her avocado toast topped with perfectly poached eggs, Honey picking through a croissant like she was judging it, Mel cutting into a stack of pancakes with unsettling precision, and Andre nursing his coffee like it was the only stable thing in his life.
Everyone had barely taken a bite when I said, “Kyle and I had sex.”
No warning.
No lube.
Just violence.
Andi gasped—sharp but delighted. “Oh my God!”
Honey followed, clutching her chest like she’d just witnessed a proposal. “What?”
Andre choked mid-sip, coughing into his cup as he quickly set it down. “Jesus, James!”
Mel didn’t react right away. She just froze with knife still in hand. Wide eyes locked on me. For a second, I genuinely thought she might launch herself across the table.
“And…” I added, like this was a casual follow-up and not a second explosion, “I don’t know… maybe we’re getting back together.”
That was the one that did it.
Mel stood.
No dramatic sigh. No speech. No eye contact.
She just grabbed her bag and walked away.
We all watched her go.
Silence.
Longer silence.
I blinked. “What’s up with her?”
No one answered right away.
Andi slowly took a bite of her toast, chewing like what I did was completely normal behavior.
Honey sipped her coffee. “She’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” I repeated, looking between them. “She walked out like I announced a death.”
“Basically,” Honey said lightly, “you might have.”
I frowned. “What does that even mean?”
Andre stayed quiet, staring down at his cup like there was something deeply philosophical written at the bottom of it.
That was new.
I pointed at all of them. “You’re all acting weird.”
“We’re not weird,” Andi said. “We’re processing.”
“Exactly,” Honey added.
Andi leaned forward slightly, eyes lighting up. “Okay, wait—details. Was it good?”
I gave her a look. “That’s not the point, Andi.”
“That means yes,” she said immediately.
Honey smirked. “The louder the denial, the better the sex.”
They high-fived.
“I hate both of you.”
“And yet,” Honey said, reaching for her coffee again, “we’re always right.”
I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m serious,” I said. “Why does it feel like I just did something illegal?”
“Because you said you wouldn’t,” Andre finally spoke, voice calm but quieter than usual.
I turned to him. “I say a lot of things.”
“And then do the opposite,” he added.
“That’s called being human, Andre,” I shot back.
He nodded once, but didn’t argue further.
That bothered me more than if he had.
Andi waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, but let’s not act like this is a bad thing. You had history. You had chemistry. You explored it again. Growth.”
“That’s not growth,” Andre muttered under his breath.
I caught it.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He looked up at me then, expression neutral—but not entirely.
“It means,” he said carefully, “just make sure you know what you’re walking back into.”
I hummed. “Weren’t you the one who invited Kyle to Beat in the first place? So we could ‘hang out again?’”
Andre exhaled and took a sip of his coffee.
“I know what I’m doing,” I replied.
Honey tilted her head. “Do you?”
I opened my mouth, but then stopped, because suddenly I wasn’t sure how I’d sound if I voice my thoughts.
Andi clapped her hands once, cutting through the tension. “Okay, but are you happy?”
That question landed differently.
I leaned back in my chair, staring down at my plate—at the eggs I had completely forgotten about.
“…I don’t know,” I admitted.
Admitting it out loud—about Kyle, about the sex, about maybe getting back together—didn’t feel bold anymore.
It felt uncertain.
Across the table, Andre picked up his coffee again, but he didn’t drink it.
He just held it there… watching me.