Chapter 31 #2
“You came into my life like a storm, Alex,” he says softly, “that night I saw you… I knew my life wouldn’t be the same again.”
“You made me quit my job,” he says, breath catching like each word is dragging glass from his throat. “You keep throwing money at things like it doesn’t cost you anything to fix the world around me. Like, I’m just supposed to get used to it.”
He swallows, and when he finally looks up at me, his eyes are glassy, and the pain in them hits me like a blade.
“And then… You do this thing.” He says quietly. “You care. You call me baby. You say I’m beautiful, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. You kiss me like I’m worth something. You touch me like I’m… yours.”
God, I want to tell him that he’s mine in every damn way.
But he’s not done.
“Do you know how fucking terrifying it is to be seen?” His voice cracks now, hoarse and shaking. “To be truly seen after so long of trying to disappear?”
He breaks eye contact, stares down at his lap, fists clenched like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“I spent years learning how to be invisible. How to stay small, how to live without taking up space because I had to. Because no one ever looked at me like I was worth anything.”
And then he turns his eyes back to mine.
“And now you look at me like I’m the most important person in the world to you.” He shakes his head slowly, voice barely a whisper now. “It feels like a dream. Like if I blink too long, it’ll all fall apart. And—I’m scared that if I let myself want it, if I like it too much, it’ll just… shatter.”
He covers his face with his hands.
“God, I hate this. I hate that you make me feel this much. That you make me want something too good to be true.”
I sit there, still, the ache in me growing louder. And then a single tear rolls down his cheek. That one tear undoes something in me. Quietly. Completely.
I reach for him, gently, like touching something too delicate to hold. My hands find his waist, and I pull him toward me.
“Come here,” I whisper.
He doesn’t resist.
Doesn’t say a word.
He climbs into my lap like his body was always meant to fit there, like he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t belong. His knees rest on either side of mine, and I wrap my arms around his waist, holding him like he’s fragile. Like, I’m terrified he might disappear.
He tucks his face into my neck, burying himself in me. He isn’t crying exactly, but he’s trembling — his body holding on to whatever scraps of control it has left. So I tighten my arms around him, pressing him closer, silently telling him: Fall apart. It’s okay. I’ll catch you. Always.
“I’m scared,” he whispers, and it breaks me. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”
The words land heavy, full of fear, and something else, something sacred. He rarely says things like this. He guards his feelings like they’re secrets carved into bone, like the moment he speaks them out loud, they’ll vanish.
But not now. Not here.
He’s letting me see him, all of him. And I swear to God, it fills my chest with something I can’t name. Something so full it aches.
“You won’t,” I breathe, my hand finding the back of his neck, and I take off his beanie, my fingers threading gently into his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ve got you.”
A small, broken sound escapes him, raw and quiet, the kind of sound that no one’s probably ever heard from him before. A sound that tells me just how much this means to him. I hold him tighter, pressing my lips to the side of his head, my heart thundering in the silence.
When he finally pulls away from my neck, it’s slow, like he’s reluctant to leave the only safe place he’s ever known. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, but I stop him gently, catching his wrist and bringing my other hand to his cheek.
“Let me,” I murmur.
I cradle his face in both hands, brushing my thumbs over the tear tracks on his warm skin.
His cheeks are flushed, damp, his eyes rimmed red, but he’s still breathtakingly beautiful.
There’s something almost unearthly about him when he’s like this — raw, stripped bare, vulnerable.
Like, he doesn’t even realize how much he glows in the dark.
“You’re gonna pay for making me cry like this,” he mutters, voice hoarse and thick with emotion, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.
A slow smile curves on my mouth.
“Gladly,” I whisper, leaning in.
I kiss him — once, then again. Gentle. Grounding. Just the brush of lips, like I’m telling him I’m here without needing words. Like I’m promising him that he’s safe. Wanted.
I reach for my phone, fire off a quick text to Mike, then toss it aside.
“I just got off a long-ass flight,” I say softly, brushing a kiss across his cheek. “I haven’t even rested yet.”
My hand slides to his waist, fingers curling there possessively.
“I want to take you home with me. I miss you.” I press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I want to kiss every inch of your body, make you forget your own name until all you can do is scream mine. And when I’m done, I want you wrapped up in my arms, asleep on my chest where you belong.”
His breath catches, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips — the kind he gives me when he’s not sure how to hold all the emotion swelling in him. But his eyes say it clearly: Yes. I want that too.
I kiss him again.
This time, deeper. Slower. My hands cradle his jaw, holding him like he’s everything I’ve ever needed. It’s the kind of kiss that pulls the air from the room, that says everything I haven’t yet. And when Mike slides into the front seat and the car rolls into motion, I don’t stop.
***
We’re in my bedroom now, the lights dimmed to a golden haze, the silence between us soft and full.
Lucas is lying on my chest, his breath slow, steady, anchoring me to the moment.
My hands trail gently over the bare skin of his back, feeling the rise and fall of his body against mine like waves.
He’s everywhere — in the air, on my skin, under my fingertips.
His scent, that faint sweetness and warmth that only he carries, wraps around me like a drug, and I close my eyes as I take it all in.
His head is tucked beneath my chin, his cheek pressed to my shoulder like he’s finally let himself rest. One of his hands is curled loosely against my chest, and his whole body is tangled with mine like we were made for this shape. For this silence. For each other.
Mike had driven us back, and we didn’t last a second.
We’d barely made it through the penthouse before we were on each other again.
It wasn’t just lust; it was something deeper.
Desperate. Like the space between us over the past few days had been oxygen-deprived, and now we couldn’t get enough air unless we were touching.
Kissing. Pressed together like skin to skin could erase the ache.
The elevator, the hallway, the bedroom — we didn’t stop.
Every kiss, every gasp that left his mouth was laced with leftover emotion, like the remnants of that breakdown were still clinging to him, and I was the only thing keeping him steady.
I promised I’d kiss him all over, and I did, trailing my mouth down his neck, his chest, over every freckle and tremble.
I whispered how much I missed him between each kiss, and showed him just how much I do.
He came hands-free with my fingers deep inside him, brushing over that spot that made his whole body arch and break as he trembled, gasping and calling my name like a prayer.
Then after that, I laced my fingers through his — holding those delicate hands in mine as I stroked both of us together, slow and tight, until we were shaking against each other, breathless and undone.
But I didn’t go further.
Not yet.
And it’s not because I don’t want to. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Every inch of him drives me insane. His sounds, his reactions, the way he holds onto me like I’m all he’s got. I want to fuck him and be deep inside him so bad I can barely breathe.
But I didn’t. And it took everything in me not to.
Because I need him to know, really know, that this isn’t about that.
Not about sex, not about repayment, and especially not about the fucking trust fund I gave him.
I see it in his eyes sometimes. That flicker of doubt. That voice he tries to bury that’s telling him he’s only being cared for because I feel sorry for him, or worse, because he owes me something.
And I can’t stand that.
I don’t want his first time to feel like some unspoken transaction. I don’t want him wondering if whatever I gave him means he has to give something back. I don’t want him to look at me and question whether what he has with me is an obligation.
And I’m not going to cross that line until I’m sure he knows this isn’t something he has to earn.
Because what I feel for him isn’t something I want to take, it’s something I give. Freely. Without condition. Without a price.
I want him to come to me when he’s ready. When he knows, without a shadow of doubt, that I want him not because he’s broken, or beautiful, or brave, but because he’s him.
“Are you asleep yet?”
His voice pulls me back to the present, soft, muffled against the quiet hum of the room. I blink my eyes open, glancing down. He’s no longer curled beneath my chin. He’s looking up at me now, those warm brown eyes catching the amber glow of the bedside lamp and turning gold at the edges.
“No, krasivy,” I murmur, brushing a few stray curls away from his face, careful not to disturb the hearing aids tucked behind his ears. My fingers linger there a moment longer than necessary, like touching him might tether me better to this moment.
He lets out a small sigh and nuzzles back into me, head resting just over my heart again. His fingers start tracing slow, idle patterns across my chest, like he’s thinking through his fingertips.
“I applied for Blackwood,” he whispers.
The words hang between us for a moment, quiet but heavy.