Chapter 21 #2
Then we stepped closer. The awareness of what we were about to do sent a jolt through me—nervous, thrilling and terrifying all at once. I could feel her hesitation, the way she almost pulled back, and then didn’t.
Our lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, barely more than a brush. But it lingered. Deepened. Her mouth moved against mine, shy at first, then surer, and something warm and precious blossomed in my chest. I remember thinking, even then, that there was no going back from this.
“Are you all close now?” she asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“We all meet every so often. We all work in the same offices, and they live in an apartment block and we live in another.”
“Your dad didn’t put you all up in the same block?”
“No.” Something gnaws under my skin, like an itch I can’t scratch away.
Jett used to say it’s because dad wanted to divide and conquer us.
I didn’t dwell too much on that, but now, I’m starting to wonder why.
Maya watches me in silence, and gives me what looks like a sad smile, almost like she feels sorry for me.
“It’s complicated, and chaotic, being a Knight,” I confess.
“I can imagine. You seemed to have a hard time dealing with things back then.”
“Having you around helped.”
“Did it?” She sounds curious rather than doubtful.
“It did,” I say quietly. “You didn’t ask for anything.
You didn’t treat me differently. You just showed up one day, and you were …
just there, you made everything brighter.
” I stop, not wanting to get too heavy but she absorbs that, really listens to it.
Her expression softens and her curiosity feels genuine, not opportunistic. It always did.
“I didn’t know how else to be,” she says. “You were just… you. And you looked like you needed someone who wasn’t impressed.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. “You were never impressed.”
“No,” she agrees, a small smile there now. “But I cared.”
She did. She really did. As I did about her.
The word settles between us, tethering us back to our youth.
Jesus. I have missed her so much. It took her showing up in my life again for me to fully acknowledge that.
And I do, in this very moment, I see it with such clarity, it shakes me.
“It’s messy, and not always pleasant, not knowing who you can trust, who’s with you for you, and not because of your family name.
” I find myself opening up to her again.
Letting her into my thoughts, showing her who I am.
“Does that bother you?”
“It used to, but lately, I find myself wondering if what I had in the past mattered, and I don’t think it did.” I pause, scared that I’ve said too much. Scared that I’m referring to my past relationships, because I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with her.
“You still reflect a lot?” Maya’s questions are often thoughtful. She delves deep, wanting to know the answer to questions that make me pause and think, and in turn, I find myself wanting to ask her things. About her mother. About how she’s really doing.
But I don’t. I stop myself, every single time, because this is supposed to be professional, but sitting here at the kitchen island, on bar stools, the marble cool beneath my palms, her knee so close to mine that I can feel the heat of her through the thin space between us, I feel the line between us blurring, and I’ve promised myself never to cross it.
We’ve both finished eating now. She sets her empty carton down and studies me for a second.
I’m scared that she’ll look deeper and decipher my thoughts in an instant.
I wear my heart on my sleeve most of the time, because I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings.
That’s why I need to get the hell out of here, especially when the quiet stretches out between us, heavy and intimate, all the things we can’t be.
I shift back on the stool, meaning to put distance between us, but instead my hand slides along the island and her fingers brush mine. The touch is accidental, at least, that’s the lie I tell myself, but neither of us pulls away. Her breath catches, soft but audible. It’s like a spark to my senses.
My gaze drops to her mouth, then snaps back to her eyes, but it’s too late.
She’s caught me staring. And then she surprises me.
She makes the first move. Her fingers lift to my jaw, brushing lightly against my skin.
Her thumb grazes my lower lip, then she waits and watches, unsure of what to do next. Maybe waiting to see what I’ll do.
I suck in a breath, because my body’s doing it again, responding to her before my mind can stop it. “Maya—”
She doesn’t let me finish. She stands up, moves between my legs.
Fuck. A few inches closer and she’ll—
Too late.
The way her eyes widen, I know my cock has poked her stomach.
“Oooh.” A surprised murmur falls from her lips, but her hand tightens on my jaw and she leans in, smelling fresh and lovely, her hands soft around my neck, as she presses her mouth against mine.
The final thread holding us back snaps.
I let her kiss me for a second or two, soft and hesitant, before my restraint snaps. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, not gentle or explorative, but hungry and desperate.
Fourteen years of unfinished want and frustration unleash.
My hand fists in the fabric of her blouse, knuckles tight, while the other slides to her waist, pulling her hard against me. Her soft, yielding body presses against me, fitting perfectly. The feel of her sends heat rushing through me. Thick, hot and needy.
“Zee,” she breathes, my name trembling on her lips. Her hands clutch at me, fingers curling, her mouth still open beneath mine, her breath uneven as she leans into the kiss instead of away.
I pull back just enough to see her face, to ground myself before I lose it completely.
Her eyes are closed, lashes dark against flushed skin, lips moist, swollen and parted like she’s waiting for more.
The sight of her like this, eager and responsive, makes my cock twitch like it needs immediate release.
Jesus.
She opens her eyes, glassy and dark. “Kiss me—”
She doesn’t need to ask again. My mouth crashes over hers, more urgent now, the kiss turning reckless as everything we’ve been holding back spills over. She answers me without hesitation, pressing closer, matching me beat for beat, until there’s nothing careful left between us.
She’s not the girl I remember.
She’s heat and want and danger, all rolled together, and I need her.
Her hands skate all over my body, up my back, across my shoulders, fingers splayed along my jawline, as she stares at me. I could kiss her all night long.
“Is this really happening?” I ask, when we pause for air.
She offers a soft smile from bee-stung lips.
I stand up, arms still around her waist, before patting the kitchen island.
She hops onto the countertop. I part her thighs and stand between her legs which she suddenly wraps around me.
I seal her mouth with mine and we fall into another long, wet, soppy kiss.
My hands move over her gently, but I’m fighting a primal urge, trying to be restrained.
And suddenly, I’m unsure of how to proceed. I don’t want to move too fast, but … An irritating ringtone cuts through the air like a saw. She jerks back, eyes wide, chest heaving, and for a split second we just stare at each other, panting and stunned.
The cell phone rings, annoying and insistent.
“That’s your phone, Zee.”
My brain is in my pants and I can’t think straight. I reach into my pocket.
It’s Dad.
Hell. Reality crashes back in and I force myself apart. I see the outline of her nipples darting out from the satin blouse. Barefoot, sitting on the kitchen island, legs parted, moist lips that beckon. It’s a wrench to pull myself away.
“My dad’s waiting for the document …” I take a step back, taking in the image of her, aroused and desperate for me. Only a fool would walk away.
She hops off the island, adjusts her blouse. “Let me get it for you.”