Chapter Nineteen Emmy #2
His hand lifts, hovering beside my arm, tracing the line of my skin without making contact. The absence burns hotter than a caress, every nerve ending screaming as his presence brackets me in.
“But now that you have,” he continues softly, inevitability threaded through every word, “there’s no going back, Little Heaven.”
The wind carries his breath over my skin.
My breath stutters. The need for his touch coils tight and unforgiving in my chest, a living thing made worse by the fact that he still refuses to give it to me. I’m trembling now, not from the cold, not from fear, but from the ache of being held right at the edge and denied.
Slowly, I turn to face him, the railing cool against my spine as I lean back just enough to look at him fully.
“Cryptic,” I murmur, a faint smile curving my lips despite myself. “As always.” I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “So, tell me this instead. Why shouldn’t I have crossed paths with you?”
Something tightens in his expression.
He straightens slightly, drawing in a measured breath, and for the first time tonight I see it clearly, the war playing out behind his eyes. Calculation against instinct. Restraint against want. The question isn’t if he’ll answer, but how much he’s willing to sacrifice in doing so.
His tongue drags slowly across his lower lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a heartbeat too long before lifting back to my eyes.
“Because I come from a place that ruins things,” he says quietly. “A world that takes what it can’t break and grinds down the rest.” His jaw flexes. “I’ve done things in it. Things I don’t pretend were necessary.”
The honesty lands heavy between us.
“I know what happens to people who get pulled too close to my orbit,” he continues, eyes drifting past me now, toward the dark horizon. “And you…” A pause. Deliberate. “You don’t belong anywhere near where I come from.”
There’s something like regret threaded through the words.
Something like fear.
I step closer, just enough to cross the invisible line between us.
The heat of him bleeds into my skin immediately, his presence overwhelming in a way that makes my pulse stutter. I can smell him now, something dark and unmistakably his, and it unravels me faster than touch ever could. My body trembles, betraying me, craving what he still refuses to give.
“And what if I want to stand at the centre of your orbit?” I ask softly.
My fingers lift, tracing a feather-light path up his arm, barely grazing skin, the contact so light it’s almost a question. I let them linger at his shoulder, then slide higher, settling at the back of his neck. His skin is warm beneath my touch. Alive.
His eyes snap to mine.
His breathing turns harsh, controlled only by will.
“You’re doing this deliberately,” I murmur, the truth slipping out before I can stop it.
His mouth curves, slow and restrained, something dark flickering beneath the surface. “Doing what?”
“Not touching me.”
A pause stretches, tight, electric.
“Would you prefer that I did?” he asks quietly.
There’s no teasing in it. No bravado. Just care and calculation woven together, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force, waiting to see which way I’ll tip him.
My pulse hammers.
“I didn’t say that” I whisper.
His gaze sharpens, intent locking onto me. “No,” he agrees softly. “You didn’t.”
The air between us feels razor-thin.
I hold his eyes for a moment too long, then rise slowly onto my toes and press a gentle, fleeting kiss to his lips, soft, deliberate, gone almost as soon as it lands.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
His control doesn’t shatter all at once.
It slips.
One moment we’re standing there, the city breathing beneath us, the night holding still, and the next his restraint fractures with a quiet, devastating inevitability.
Khai’s hands move before either of us can think better of it.
One settles at my waist, firm and possessive, anchoring me there.
The other slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair with a tenderness that makes my breath hitch.
He tilts my head just enough to force my gaze upward, his eyes dark, intent, searching my face like he’s looking for permission he’s already been given.
“That,” he murmurs, lips hovering just shy of mine, “was a very dangerous move.”
The words barely land before the sky opens.
Rain touches my skin in scattered drops at first, light, tentative, then faster, heavier, soaking my hair, my dress, the night itself. He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he leans closer, breath warm against my mouth, his gaze flicking from my eyes to my lips and back again.
I can feel his heartbeat now, fast, powerful, echoing where our bodies meet.
I swallow, blink rain from my lashes.
And then he claims the moment.
The kiss is sudden and searing, all heat and intent, stealing the breath from my lungs as rain pours down around us. His hold tightens, pulling me closer, leaving no doubt about where I stand or how badly he’s been holding himself back.
It lasts long enough to make the world disappear.
When he breaks away, he doesn’t let me go.
Instead, his arm slides beneath me, lifting me effortlessly as if my weight means nothing at all. Instinct takes over, I cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he turns, carrying us toward the glass doors.
He doesn’t take us inside.
He pins me there instead, rain streaking down the glass behind me. His presence surrounds me, unyielding, as his forehead rests briefly against mine, breath uneven, control hanging by a thread.
“This,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice rough and unguarded, “is why I tried not to touch you.”
His thumb brushes my jaw, reverent and dangerous all at once.
“And this,” he adds softly, “is why I won’t deny myself anymore.”
His hand drags down my throat slowly, fingers rough enough to steal my breath, until his palm settles high on my chest like he’s claiming the rhythm of my heartbeat for himself. His breathing turns ragged, heavy in the silence between us, each exhale hot against my skin.
He presses closer, leaving no space to pretend this isn’t happening, or that I don’t feel it. The solid heat of him against me sends a sharp pulse low in my stomach, equal parts warning and temptation.
“Tell me no,” he says low, the words threaded with restraint that sounds like pain. “And I’ll stop.”
My throat tightens. I can’t even pretend.
His eyes hold mine, waiting, measuring the choice.
I don’t say no.
Khai exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days. “Good,” he murmurs, and the word is not praise. It’s surrender.
His mouth claims mine again, not a kiss, but a takeover.
Sharp, demanding, gone almost as quickly as it begins, like he refuses to give me enough to feel steady.
My back hits the glass harder this time, the cold shocking against my overheated skin as his hands slide down my body with unapologetic intent.
They settle on my thighs, gripping tight, holding me exactly where he wants me.
His lips drag along my jaw, slower now, rougher, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch. He follows the line of my throat, kissing, biting, soothing the sting only to start again somewhere new. Every touch feels deliberate, like he’s testing how far I’ll bend before I break.
A quiet sound escapes me, and he stills, not to stop, but to listen. To savour it.
A low, satisfied sound vibrates against my skin before his attention turns sharper, more focused. His one hand sliding higher up my thigh, moving my thong aside, and finding my clit.
His movements grow controlled, almost cruel in their patience, drawing reactions from me piece by piece. Heat coils tight in my stomach, tension winding until I can barely think past the sensation of him, his hands, his breath, the way he refuses to let me hide from what he’s doing to me.
My fingers clutch at him, but he only presses closer, crowding my space until there’s nothing left but him.
When the tension finally snaps, it hits hard enough to steal the strength from my body. He holds me up through it, unmoving, letting me fall apart while his voice drops low beside my ear.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, rough and possessive. “I want to see you lose control.”
The words feel like permission, or a command. I’m not sure which.
The air shifts as he pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, unreadable, like he’s deciding something dangerous. The faint sound of movement breaks through the rain, and anticipation curls tight in my chest. I nod, already desperate, already needing more.
He moves slowly at first as he presses into me, almost unbearably so, forcing me to feel every second, every inch of him. When he completely fills me, his head tips back briefly, rain catching in his hair, sliding over sharp features that look almost feral in the dim light.
When his gaze drops back to mine, restraint is gone.
The rhythm builds, measured, controlled, before turning relentless. One hand anchors at my hip, holding me in place as though escape was never an option, the other on my throat. The world dissolves into heat and motion and the rough sound of our breathing tangled together.
He drives me higher without mercy, refusing to slow, refusing to soften, until I shatter again, completely undone in his grasp.
His rhythm turns uneven, desperate, his control finally cracking as his grip tightens at my hip. A low sound tears from his throat, raw, unguarded, and the storm outside feels quieter than the one breaking loose between us.
He buries himself close, holding me there as the last tremor runs through him, like letting go costs more than he expected. For a moment neither of us moves. The world narrows to shared breath and pounding hearts, to the warmth still humming beneath my skin.
His forehead lowers to my shoulder, damp hair brushing my neck as he exhales, deep and uneven. The edge slowly drains from his body, but not the hold. One arm is now wrapped around me, firm, grounding, like he isn’t ready to trust the night without anchoring himself to something real.
To me.
I’m breathless, light-headed, suspended somewhere between floating and falling, held there by his heat, his presence, the quiet certainty of his arms. My body feels heavy in the best way, like I’ve been set down exactly where I belong.
My eyes flutter, grow heavy, the night softening around the edges. Sleep tugs gently, insistently, and I don’t fight it. There is nowhere else I want to be. Nowhere safer. Nowhere warmer.
Held. Claimed. Unwilling to leave the circle of him.
And as the city murmurs far below, I let the moment close around us, knowing something has shifted, knowing there will be no turning back.