Chapter 16 #2
He doesn’t let go until we’re inside his apartment, and even then, he keeps me close, as if as soon as he lets go, he’ll dissolve. Coat and shoes forgotten, like being even a few feet apart is unbearable.
I wrap my arms around his waist, feeling the tension in his body as he rests his head on my shoulder.
“I was going to tell you…” I start softly, my hand trailing up and down his strong back, “the service was beautiful. You…”
But I don’t get to finish.
Hayden kisses me like he needs to remember how to feel. No grace, just hunger.
When we break apart, his forehead stays pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard. He’s trembling. Not from the cold, but from something deeper.
“Levi,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “I spent all day holding everyone else’s grief. Carrying it. Absorbing it.” He sags against me. “It took everything out of me today.”
I brush a hand up his back, feeling the tension there. “Hey,” I whisper, tilting his chin so he’ll meet my eyes. “Is it always like this?”
His grip frays with his voice. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, the words almost lost against my skin. “When I get too close or feel too much, it lingers. Like their sorrow gets stuck under my ribs and I can’t shake it off.”
He presses his mouth to my jaw, less a kiss than a breath looking for somewhere to land. His shadows flicker weakly at the edges, dulled and tired, as if they are carrying the same ache he is. “Can we just”—his hands rise, cradling my face delicately—“be here?”
There’s no hesitation in me.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.
I push his coat from his shoulders, fingers sliding past lapels that feel more like armor than clothing.
I take my time with the buttons of his shirt, slipping each one free.
His chest rises and falls beneath my hands, and when I press my palms to his skin, I can feel the storm still echoing in his rib cage.
His shadows respond first.
They unfurl around him in slow, seeking tendrils. Like they’re exhausted, too. And they don’t quite trust the quiet yet. They curl around the back of Hayden’s neck, almost protective.
“You’re tired,” I murmur, running a hand over his chest in slow circles. “Come with me.”
He follows, half dressed and hollowed out, through the apartment to his bedroom.
I guide him to the edge of the bed and press lightly on his shoulders.
He sits without protest, legs wide, spine obedient, a man unable to relax unless ordered to.
His shoes are still on, black leather, polished but scuffed from the day. I kneel before him to unlace them.
His brow furrows.
“You don’t have to…”
“Shh,” I say, fingers moving carefully. “Let me.”
He falls quiet, watching me with something unreadable in his expression as I take off one shoe, then the other, and set them gently aside.
I peel off his socks next, pressing my thumbs into his arches.
The way he exhales you’d think I’ve exorcised something.
Maybe I have. Nothing dramatic, just the kind of tired that turns to trust.
He’s still rooted at the end of the bed, a statue about to crumble, when I rise again.
“Follow me,” I say, extending my hand, and he takes it without question.
I switch on the bathroom light, turn the water to warm, and test it with my fingers until the temperature feels just right.
Hayden leans against the counter, watching me with heavy eyes.
I step in front of him and reach for the rest of the buttons on his shirt. My fingers move slowly, deliberately, brushing the line of his collarbone, the warm stretch of his stomach. I push the fabric from his shoulders, letting it slide down his arms.
“You okay?” I ask, concerned.
He just nods. But when I reach for the waistband of his pants, he exhales deeply.
I kneel, unfastening them gently, and remove them with careful hands. I can feel the tension radiating from him like heat.
He doesn’t make an attempt to remove his briefs.
So I do.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband, looking up to meet his gaze. He nods again and they fall to the floor.
Hayden Harlow, once ruler of the underworld, now trembling and vulnerable, naked in a way that has nothing to do with skin and everything to do with trust.
The other night he was stunning, formidable and golden and otherworldly.
Tonight, he’s something softer. A man who’s carried too much grief for too long and is finally letting someone else bear the weight.
I stand again, cup the back of his neck, and press our foreheads together. “Let me take care of you.”
His answer is the way he leans into me. Boneless and surrendered.
I help him step into the shower, the steam enveloping us in the same way as his shadows, then leave him alone. I linger at the doorway, telling myself to give him space, until he exhales, low and shaky, as if even breathing hurts.
Without questioning it, I strip off my clothes and join him. Hayden stands with his eyes closed under the spray, hands braced against the dark tile.
I reach for the soap and start with his shoulders, my fingers moving in gentle, deliberate sweeps, working into the knots I now know are centuries deep. He groans, a low, worn-out sound, as if he doesn’t know how to let go and is trying to remember.
I lather shampoo between my palms, sliding my fingers into his hair. He goes still, tipping his head back with a surrendering sigh.
“You really don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, barely audible over the water.
“I want to,” I say, massaging slow circles into his scalp.
When I cup water in my hands and pour it over his hair, he starts to let go, and I wonder just how long it’s been since he’s let himself be cared for.
His shadows hover, silent sentries against the glass, waiting for permission to join us.
He turns toward me, and his head drops to my shoulder with a sound that splits the air.
Part moan, part need. It’s the kind of sound that says please without ever forming the word.
He lets me trail my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, over the planes of his stomach.
My touch lingers at his hips, and when I pause, I feel the shift.
His cock presses between us, thick and growing, like he’s unsure he’s allowed to want this.
I glance up, expecting him to flinch, but he holds my gaze…bare, raw, and so achingly desperate it makes my knees weak.
“Okay?” I ask. He nods once, solid.
I press closer, hands gliding along the slick curve of his waist, fingers daggering into the tense muscle there.
His breath stutters against my cheek as my hand slides lower, finding him thick and flushed, already trembling like he’s been waiting for this touch too long.
I wrap my hand around him, slow and deliberate.
He shudders, my touch both permission and provocation.
Hayden swears, a low sound that vibrates through the shower’s steady hiss. Water trickles between us, hot and heavy, but it’s the way his body melts under my hands that undoes me.
“Levi,” he rasps, voice trembling. “I’m not used to…” But his hips rock forward, greedy in a way his mouth or brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
“I know,” I whisper, cutting him off with a slow drag of my palm that pulls a shiver straight out of him. “Your only job is to let me.” His hands find my shoulders, then slide down my back, before he nods.
I stroke him, desperate to memorize the sound he makes when he let’s go of control.
Not hurried or teasing, just present. My free hand holds his back, anchoring him as his hips jerk forward, grinding his cock into my fist like the drag of skin on skin is the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
Each pulse against my palm feels like an admission, and I treat it like one.
His moans catch, a needy little whimper that makes my cock throb.
“Levi,” he groans, voice cracking. “Baby, I’m—”
I hush him with my mouth on his throat, coaxing the tension out of him. He bucks once as I stroke him, then again when I squeeze his dick, harder this time, the fight slipping away from him.
And still, I hold him.
Because sometimes, softness is the tougher ask.
His teeth graze my shoulder as his body shakes from a release that’s so overdue it feels like a reckoning.
His cock pulses in my hand, ropes of thick cum spilling between us as he comes down from his high.
“You’re okay,” I whisper over and over again, threading the words through his hair until they become a rhythm. “You’re safe, Hayden. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
He responds by intertwining his fingers with mine, pressed to me even after.
I brush my lips to his temple. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”
He nods, limbs heavy, and I guide him out, wrapping a towel around him.
I towel his hair, combing through damp strands that curl across his forehead. He watches me, quiet and raw, and once we’re both dry, I press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, my palm against the side of his face.
“I didn’t realize how badly I needed this,” he says, leaning into my touch. “Until you.”
I close my eyes and hold him tighter.
Until me.
We crawl into bed moments later, bare skin against bare skin, his forehead on my shoulder and his hand folded over my heart.
It’s always been the staying. The soft landing is the point.
Hayden’s breath evens out against my chest, damp and tangled beneath the sheets, like maybe he’ll sleep after all. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he pulls back enough to look at me. His eyes aren’t heavy now, just curious. Clear in a way I don’t think I’ve seen before.
Then, softly: “Are you hungry?”
I blink, surprised. “I…maybe?”
He sits up, blanket pooling around his waist. “Don’t move.”
And he disappears down the hall.