Chapter 31 #2
“No.” He tilted his head, offering more of his neck. “Just reporting a sensory event.”
“Noted.”
I kissed him there again, and this time his laugh turned into a rough breath.
His hands were everywhere. My shoulders.
My arms. The tattoos across my chest. My ribs.
My beard. He touched like his focus kept jumping and catching, like every part of me demanded attention at once.
I didn’t stop him. I didn’t ask him to be different.
I liked the restlessness because it was honest. Because it was Jace.
We undressed in pieces, kissing between each failed attempt at coordination. His sock caught on his heel and he nearly tipped sideways.
I caught him by the hips.
“Elite athlete,” I said.
He pointed at me. “Fabric malfunction.”
“Of course.”
“Could happen to anyone.”
I guided him back onto the bed.
For a second, I just looked at him. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes, dark hair wrecked from my hands, mouth parted like he was about to make a joke and couldn’t find one strong enough to cover what he felt.
It undid me.
I climbed over him and kissed him until his body went heavy under mine. His hands slid into my hair. His legs shifted around me. We moved together in slow, searching contact, skin against skin, breath turning uneven, neither of us trying to win anything for once.
I learned him again without urgency.
The sensitive dip near his hip. The way his stomach tightened before he made a sound. The way he tried to stay in control until my mouth found the right place and his thoughts scattered. He said my name once, then again, softer. Not a request exactly. More like proof he knew where he was.
I kept my hands firm on him, steady enough to give him something to push against, gentle enough that he could choose every second of it.
When I moved lower, his fingers brushed through my hair.
“Declan.”
I looked up.
His chest rose and fell hard. His face was flushed, but his eyes were clear.
“I’m going to say something stupid,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Do you think Tiny knows he’s shaped like a coffee table?”
For half a second, I just stared at him.
Then I laughed against his stomach.
Jace covered his face with both hands. “I warned you.”
I kissed the skin above his hip. “I love you.”
“Because of my important observations?”
“Among other things.”
His hands dropped away. His smile was crooked, embarrassed, and so open it hurt. “Continue, then.”
So I did.
I took my time until the humor thinned into need, until his fingers twisted in the sheets, until his body stopped searching for a dozen different outlets and found one rhythm under my hands.
He didn’t go quiet all at once. It happened gradually.
His breathing changed first. Then his mouth stopped shaping words.
Then his focus narrowed until there was only us, the bed, the heat between us, my name in his throat.
He asked for more without shame.
I gave it to him with patience. With attention. With all the care I had failed to give other parts of my life and all the need I could no longer pretend was discipline.
When we came together fully, it was slow.
His eyes stayed on mine. His hands gripped my arms. I held him with my weight and my attention, not pinning him down, anchoring him.
Every movement had intention behind it. Every breath felt shared.
The intimacy of it was almost more than sex, almost more exposed than anything we had done in the dark, because there was nowhere for either of us to hide.
Jace trembled under me.
“More,” he whispered.
I kissed him instead of answering.
He made a frustrated sound against my mouth. “Declan. Please.”
I gave him more.
Not rushed. Not careless. Closer.
His legs tightened around me. His mouth found mine, then lost it when his head tipped back. He laughed once, breathless, when our teeth knocked together.
“Smooth,” he muttered.
“Quiet.”
“No.”
I smiled against his mouth and moved again.
That took the word from him.
His back arched. The sound he made was raw enough to strip the control right out of me.
I slid one hand beneath him, holding him close, watching pleasure break over his face in waves he couldn’t organize or outrun.
It wasn’t submission that hit me hardest. It was the trust. The way he let me see him without a joke ready, without armor, without pretending he was less affected than he was.
Then he came apart in my arms.
His whole body seized. His eyes opened wide, shocked and almost insulted, like his own body had betrayed him in front of witnesses.
“What the fuck,” he gasped.
I couldn’t stop the laugh.
He smacked my shoulder, weak and useless. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
His laugh broke loose then, helpless and wrecked, and I kissed it from his mouth as I followed him over. I held him through it, forehead pressed to his, both of us shaking, both of us too far gone to pretend this was only hunger.
Afterward, I moved carefully. He made a low protesting sound that went straight through me.
“I’m coming back,” I said.
“You better.”
I cleaned us up without ceremony, then returned to bed and pulled him into me. He came willingly, long limbs tangling with mine, face tucked against my chest like he’d done on the couch, only now there was no dog between us and no office door waiting to open.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The silence didn’t scrape at me. It settled.
Then Jace said, muffled against my skin, “I meant it.”
I stroked a hand down his back. “Which part?”
“The groceries. The booth. My dad. All of it.” He lifted his head.
His eyes were tired, but steady. “I know tomorrow doesn’t get easier because we had one quiet night.
Work is still work. Olivia still deserves the truth when the time is right.
Roman’s going to keep watching me like he’s one suspicious look away from interrogating my soul.
The team doesn’t disappear. Vanessa doesn’t either. None of it disappears.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not confused tonight.” His voice stayed low, deliberate. “I love you. I’m choosing this with the consequences attached. Not because it fixes what we broke. Not because wanting you makes it clean. Because it’s true.”
My throat tightened.
I touched his face, thumb moving over his cheek. “I love you. And I’m choosing you too.”
He closed his eyes and leaned into my hand.
Outside the bedroom, Tiny barked once, offended by both solitude and the closed door.
Jace sighed. “Your son has terrible timing.”
“He’s persistent.”
“He’s going to ram the door.”
“He might.”
Tiny barked again, louder.
Jace looked at me, then started laughing, quiet and exhausted and warm. I kissed him because I could. Because for this one night, in this room, he was in my arms and not across the ice, not behind a locked door, not waiting for a text he was trying not to need.
Tomorrow would ask more of us than tonight could answer.
But Jace settled against me again, his breathing evening under my palm, and I let myself hold him without reaching for the next problem.
For now, we had this.
For now, I stayed.