Chapter 28 Damien #2
I keep him close for a few minutes, just listening to our heartbeats even out, his soft breathing brushing my chest, my hand tracing up and down his spine. His hair is damp at the nape, clinging to his skin, and when I press another kiss there, he shivers, clinging tighter.
Eventually, though, the mess between us becomes impossible to ignore, sticky and cooling against our skin, and Noah makes a little embarrassed face that has me grinning.
“Come on,” I tip his chin up gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”
He mumbles something unintelligible but lets me roll out of bed first. I help him up, hands careful on his waist as he staggers to his feet, still a little dazed. The flush on his cheeks is high and soft, his eyes glassy with aftershocks, but he smiles at me.
I lace our fingers together, leading him to the en suite, flicking on the light.
The brightness is too much for a second, and both of us squint as we step in.
I pull him closer using the slip chain around his neck, the heart-shaped O-ring sliding tighter with the gentle tug until his breath catches.
His lashes flutter as he looks up at me, lips parting as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. He just watches.
“Hmm,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along the edge of the choker, right where the chain cinches against the base of his throat. “I can’t wait to fully use this on you, Babygirl.”
His cheeks flush, the color creeping high along his cheekbones, and his thighs press a little closer together, probably already imagining how that would feel, or how far I’d take it. My smirk tugs sharply at the corner of my mouth, but I don’t push him—not yet.
Tonight was about him being brave, about him showing up and offering himself without being asked. I don’t want to take that from him by rushing it, so I gently remove it from around his throat and place it on the bathroom counter.
I leave him standing in the middle of the room while I get the shower going, waiting until the temperature is perfect before I nudge him forward.
He hesitates, his eyes flicking to mine. “I’ve, uh… never done this with anyone before.”
My heart aches at how vulnerable he is with me. “Me neither,” I admit, stepping in first and holding out my hand. “Not counting the locker room. You trust me, Blue?”
Noah nods and takes my hand, stepping under the spray; his hair darkens instantly as the water slicks it down over his forehead. He tilts his head back, letting the warmth hit his face, his shoulders relaxing by degrees.
I shut the glass door behind us and just stand there a second, watching the water bead on his skin, the lines of his body soft and real in the steam.
I reach for the body wash and lather it, then carefully start to wash him off—shoulders, chest, arms, every inch I can reach, massaging away the remnants of our night.
He lets me, eyes fluttering closed, breath catching when my hands are gentle around the places that are most sensitive. The fact that Noah—who has a slight touch aversion—is letting me wash him has my heart fucking bursting at the seams.
“Turn, baby,” I murmur, and he does, trusting me completely. I press kisses between his shoulder blades as I run soapy hands down his back, over his hips, down his thighs. He shivers, leaning into me, and when I rinse him off, the smile he gives me is all soft edges and relief.
When it’s my turn, Noah takes the soap and returns the favor.
His hands are clumsy, a little unsure, but he tries anyway, fingers brushing over my skin in careful sweeps.
I let myself enjoy it, head tipping back under the spray, eyes closing as I just feel—his hands, his care, the quiet joy of being taken care of by the boy I’ve loved for so damn long.
Once we’re clean and pruney, I grab towels from the rack, wrapping one around Noah, ruffling his hair a little just to make him laugh. He shoves at me but doesn’t move away, clutching the towel to his chest, all shy grins and bright eyes.
“Go grab whatever you want from my drawer,” I tell him as I pull on clean sweats, waving toward my dresser. “Seriously. Anything.”
He pads over, opens the top drawer, and pulls out a pair of my boxers, looking at them like he’s not sure if he should. Then he glances at me, and I smile, nodding my encouragement. He steps into them and tugs them up his hips.
“A bit too big for me, but that’s alright,” he says, then grabs a t-shirt—one of my old practice shirts, faded black with the number 33 and MOORE in block white across the back.
He pulls it over his head, the hem nearly reaching his thighs, sleeves hanging loose on his arms. He looks ridiculous, and perfect, and so fucking mine it nearly knocks the air out of me.
Now I fucking get why Luca turns into a marshmallow whenever Sage wears his shit, especially when it’s his number stretched across Sage’s back.
“Jesus Christ, Blue…” I can’t help the way my voice roughens, or the hunger that spikes right back to life in my gut. “You trying to kill me again?”
He blushes, tugging at the hem but smiling. “It’s comfy and smells like you,” he says, ducking his head a little, and I cross the room to pull him in, arms sliding around his waist.
“Yeah?” I tug him close, nuzzling his hair, breathing him in. “Now I never want to see you in anything else when you sleep here. You hear me?”
He grins, a real, dazzling grin, and I slide my hands lower, over the curve of his ass in my boxers, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Possessive, much?”
“Always,” I shoot back, nipping his lower lip, hands tightening at his waist. “Especially when you look this fucking good.”
He looks up, and for the first time, there’s no fear—only the quiet certainty that this is real, that he’s safe, that I want every part of him, always.
Eventually, I lead him back to bed, both of us warm and loose, the covers soft and cool on our skin. I pull him in close, spooning him, one hand splayed over his stomach.
“You know you’re mine now, right?” I murmur into his hair.
He snuggles closer, tucking my arm more tightly around him. “I’ve been yours since I was fifteen,” he whispers.
For a second, I don’t quite register what he’s said. It sinks in slowly—quiet, but so fucking clear it slices through every leftover shadow I ever carried about us.
I’m a few months older than him, so… Wait—that was the summer with the heat waves and times at his dad’s beach house.
The year I moved in. The year I started finding him sitting on the back steps late at night, knees tucked to his chest, camera forgotten at his side.
The year I stopped riding my bike alone and started pretending I needed company just so I could have him with me.
“Since you were fifteen?” I repeat, just to hear it again. “You mean it?”
Noah lets out a breathy laugh, a little embarrassed but not backing down.
“I do. I was a mess back then. I thought it was a crush, you know? Some stupid thing I’d outgrow when I got older, but it didn’t go away.
Not after you left. Not after all the shit with our parents. It’s always been you, Mien.”
I’m quiet for a minute, letting that settle, letting myself actually believe it. I used to feel like a fucking creep when I realized I was in love with him. I knew it was wrong, but now… Now I know he felt the same way all this time.
I tuck my chin over his shoulder, burying my nose in his damp hair. My hand drifts over his belly, just under the hem of my shirt, grounding myself in the reality of him, here in my bed.
“You have no idea what that does to me, Blue,” I admit. “I thought… fuck, I thought I was protecting you by leaving, and all I did was ruin both of us for four years.”
He shakes his head, catching my hand and threading our fingers together over his stomach. “You did what you had to. I get that now. Doesn’t make it hurt less, but I get it.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just hold him tighter, brushing kisses along his hairline, down the shell of his ear, trailing lazy circles over the soft skin of his stomach until I feel him shiver.
“I can’t believe you’re mine now,” I repeat, just to hear it out loud, just to claim it, even if it makes me sound like an asshole. “Really fucking mine. No one’s gonna take you away from me again.”
Noah lets out a shaky breath, and then—because it’s Noah—he laughs, wriggling back against me. “You’re kind of dramatic for a jock, you know that?”
I grin, nipping his shoulder through the fabric of my shirt. “Shut up and let me be sappy. I just—” I hesitate, the words thick in my throat. “I never thought I’d get to be in your orbit again, much less have you be mine, so I’m gonna be annoying about it. Just warning you.”
He turns his head to look back at me, eyes soft. “You’re allowed. I don’t mind annoying, if it means you’re here.” He pauses, and his smile falters, a little uncertainty flickering there. “You’re not… freaked out? That it’s always been you for me? That I’ve never really wanted anyone else?”
I blink, taken aback. “Freaked out?” I let out a low laugh, then turn him onto his back so I can see his face, my palm framing his jaw.
“Noah, I love it. I fucking love that you said it. I’ve been walking around for years, thinking I was the only one hung up, feeling like a fucking creep for falling in love with my stepbrother.
And all that time, you felt the same way. ”
He nods, a flush high on his cheeks. “It’s always been you. I was just… scared I’d never get to tell you.”
The honesty in his voice nearly undoes me. I kiss him—soft, slow, open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that’s more a thank you than anything else. I rest my forehead against his, letting our breaths mingle, my thumb stroking over his cheek.
“You’re it for me,” I murmur. “You always were.”
He blinks fast, eyes shining, and I feel his whole body melt against me, loose and trusting, the tension of the last few weeks washing away. “I love you, Mien.”
I lean in, kissing the tip of his nose. “I love you too, Blue.”
I listen to his breathing even out, his body relaxing by degrees, the last of the tension melting away. When he’s almost asleep, I whisper into the soft shell of his ear, “I’m not going anywhere, Blue. Not ever again. You’ve got me.”
He hums, content and small. “I know.”
We sleep tangled together, limbs a mess, his head tucked beneath my chin. Every time I drift up from sleep, I find him still there, wrapped in my clothes, in my arms, and I don’t want to move—not for anything.
Not when I can fall asleep with my home wrapped up in my arms.