Chapter 35
KAZ
Iwake to the scent of her.
Not perfume. Not anything engineered. Just Nova—bare skin and clean sheets and something warm and a little wild that sinks into my lungs like oxygen after drowning.
Her back’s tucked to my chest, her hair tangled against my mouth, and for a moment—just a breath—I forget the war, the years, the silence, the lies.
She shifts slightly, a small sigh escaping her lips.
Peace.
Not the empty kind. Not the numb, post-battle variety. Real peace. Heavy and human and earned through years of ache neither of us ever really unpacked. It wraps around us like a second set of sheets, invisible but undeniable.
I let my hand drift along the curve of her hip, fingers splayed wide like I’m still convincing myself this is real.
She leans into the touch.
Then turns.
Eyes still half-lidded, sleep-soft. Her lips part, and the kiss she gives me isn’t frantic like last night, or desperate, or soaked in memory. It’s quiet. Sweet. Slow. The kind of kiss that asks for nothing and gives everything.
“I missed you,” I murmur into her mouth.
“I know,” she whispers back.
I shift, sliding one leg between hers, pulling her flush against me. My cock stirs, already hard from the heat of her, the scent of her, the sheer presence of her body wrapped around mine like she never left.
She presses her forehead to mine. “We shouldn’t be doing this again.”
I smile, lazy and unbothered. “You always say that. Then you kiss me anyway.”
Her laugh is a puff of breath against my lips. “I hate that you know me that well.”
My hand slides lower, fingertips trailing over her stomach, then dipping between her thighs. She’s already warm and wet, her pussy slick as I stroke her gently. Her breath hitches, and her hips roll into my hand.
“You’re soaked for me,” I whisper. “Already.”
She hides her face in my neck, biting down softly. “Don’t be smug.”
I slide a finger into her, slow, then another. She gasps.
“I’m not smug,” I murmur. “I’m reverent.”
Her hands grip my forearm as I work her open again. Her cunt clenches around my fingers, greedy and familiar. I curl them just right, and she cries out, soft and broken.
“You feel it, don’t you?” I ask, voice low and rough. “This thing between us. Still there. Still alive.”
She moans in response, writhing against me.
Her hand slides down, fingers closing around my cock. I groan into her neck. Her grip is sure, confident, like she remembers every ridge, every throb, every pulse.
“You’re bigger than I remember,” she murmurs, teasing.
I thrust gently into her hand, lips dragging across her collarbone. “You can take it. You always could.”
I pull her onto her back, hovering over her now. The sheets slip from her body, revealing smooth skin and soft curves I’ve missed like air. Her nipples are hard, begging for my mouth. I lean down and take one between my lips, sucking gently, while my fingers still play between her legs.
She’s panting now, back arching, thighs trembling.
“Kaz…” she breathes.
“I need to taste you again,” I growl.
She opens for me, legs spread, golden light from the window hitting her just right. She’s beautiful—feral and flushed and fucking radiant. I kiss my way down her body, tongue tracing every inch of her like I’m charting a map I never want to lose again.
When I reach her pussy, I bury my face in it like I’m starving. My tongue flicks over her clit, forked tip teasing, circling, pressing. Her hands tangle in my hair, and she cries out, grinding into my mouth.
I slide two fingers in deep again, tongue lapping faster now. She breaks apart with a choked scream, pussy pulsing around me. Her body shakes, breath stuttering.
“Fuck—fuck, Kaz—”
I climb back up her body, kiss her hard. She tastes herself on my lips and moans again.
Then she pushes me onto my back.
Her eyes are fire now.
“No more gentle,” she whispers. “I want to ride you.”
I growl, my cock twitching.
“Then ride me.”
She straddles me, lines me up, and sinks down in one long, slow motion. My breath punches out of my lungs.
Her pussy swallows me whole, tight and hot and perfect. Her head falls back, eyes closed, lips parted.
“Gods, you fill me up,” she moans. “You always stretched me so fucking good.”
I grip her hips as she starts to move—slow at first, grinding, rolling. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, and I can’t look away. She’s fucking glorious. Strong and soft. Fierce and trembling.
“Kaz,” she pants. “Say something.”
“You feel like fucking heaven,” I growl. “Your pussy is the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
She gasps, rides me harder. Faster.
The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room, mingled with moans and curses and desperate pleas. She’s close again. I feel it.
Her fingers dig into my chest.
“Don’t stop,” she begs. “I’m gonna—”
“Come on my cock,” I command. “Let me feel you lose it.”
She does.
She screams my name, shattering, pussy clenching tight as she trembles above me. I thrust up into her, chasing my own release.
I flip her onto her back mid-orgasm, legs over my shoulders now. I fuck her hard, fast, savage. Her eyes roll back, hands clawing at the sheets.
And then I explode inside her, roaring her name, cock throbbing as I spill deep.
We collapse together, slick and panting and overwhelmed.
No words. Just us.
And the storm of everything we tried to bury.
But the moment shatters with a wail.
High-pitched. Sharp. Definitely not adult.
Nova’s breath catches. She jolts upright, dragging the blanket up with her as if it’ll shield her from what just breached our bubble.
The crying sharpens, muffled through a door but unmistakable.
I sit up slower.
“That’s Dar,” she says, voice tight.
Right.
The kid.
I knew he was here—hell, I knew last night—but now he’s present. Real. Cracking through the fantasy we built between these sheets.
Nova swings her legs over the side of the bed, looking for clothes, flustered.
“I can help,” I offer, already grabbing my pants.
She freezes.
Looks at me like I just offered to defuse a bomb with a butterknife.
“I mean,” I add, trying to sound casual, “just... point me to whatever stops the crying.”
Her face is unreadable for a beat too long.
She says, “Just... hand me the bottle.”
I nod. Don’t ask which bottle. Just head toward the kitchen, heart thudding louder than it should.
The bottle’s already sitting on the counter—sterile, prepped, measured. The kind of precision that only comes from routine. From care. From being the only one doing the work.
I bring it back to her without a word.
She disappears into the next room.
The crying dims.
I hover outside the door like a ghost, catching snatches of her voice—low, soothing, rhythmic. She hums something off-key. The kind of lullaby you only learn after too many sleepless nights and too many wet onesies.
Suddenly, a giggle.
Not hers.
High and bright.
I blink.
Seconds later, she opens the door with Dar on her hip. He’s small. Shockingly so. Big eyes, mop of dark curls. He’s in footie pajamas patterned with tiny rockets. A bottle hangs lazily from his lips, one hand gripping Nova’s hair like it’s the anchor keeping him in orbit.
“This is Dar,” she says, like she’s bracing for something.
I look at him.
He looks at me.
He studies me like a scientist studying a new element. Blinks once. Twice.
Then he reaches toward me.
Nova’s eyes widen.
“Guess he’s curious,” I say, stepping forward.
She doesn’t stop me.
Dar’s arms stretch further. I don’t even hesitate—I take him.
And he fits.
His body settles against mine like he’s done it before. Like I’ve done it before.
He grins—wide and gummy—and suddenly he’s bouncing in my arms, hand slapping against my chest.
“He likes you,” Nova says quietly.
I glance up.
She’s watching us like her world’s about to fall apart.
I hold Dar up, make a mock face, and he squeals—actually squeals—with laughter.
“That’s my pilot voice,” I tell him. “Used to scare engineers on inspection days.”
He giggles again, clapping.
Nova presses her lips together. Doesn’t speak.
But I see it.
In her eyes.
A mix of joy and terror. Pride and panic.
Like this scene is a wish come true and a secret unraveling all at once.
I don’t know why that hits so hard.
But it does.
A minute later, I pass Dar back gently, carefully. He curls into her like a kitten, bottle still in hand. I run a hand through my hair, exhaling.
“He’s amazing,” I say.
“Yeah,” she replies. But her voice’s soft. Strained.
I want to ask something—maybe what are you not telling me—but it feels too soon.
So I don’t.
Instead, I step out onto the porch.
The sun hasn’t fully risen yet. The stars are fading, caught in the in-between of night and morning. The air’s crisp, laced with dust and ozone and the faint scent of the biolumina bloom out by the ridgeline. I lean on the railing.
Paint's still chipped in the same spots. My work, years ago. I remember every stroke. The way the light looked through her hair when she teased me about painting instead of helping with the wiring. The sound of her laugh echoing in the canyon air.
I trail a finger over the same spot I painted last.
Faded navy blue.
It never did match the base coat.
But she said it made the porch feel like home.
Behind me, I hear her humming again. Dar gurgles something back.
I close my eyes.
Maybe this is it.
This is what coming home feels like.
I smile, small but real.
I think I’m finally getting my second chance.
What I don’t know—what I can’t know—is how close that truth really is.
And how far away it might slip the second I find it.