Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dexter
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the stillness.
It isn’t empty or cold—it’s alive in a way that feels rare, almost unreal. The air hums softly, like the world has gone quiet just long enough to let me feel her against me.
The ceiling above me is streaked with light from the slatted blinds, thin lines cutting through the morning haze. The ocean murmurs beyond the windows, rolling and retreating as if catching its breath.
And she’s still here.
Aly.
If there’s any hope, maybe soon I’ll get to call her mine. My Aly.
She’s tangled in the sheets beside me, half-buried under white linen, her hair spilling across the pillow in soft waves. My arm rests beneath her, her cheek against my skin, and we’re still caught in the same shape we fell asleep in.
I’ve never seen anyone sleep like that before—so peaceful, so untouched by whatever waits outside this room. It stirs something deep inside me, an ache that feels dangerously close to belonging.
It’s strange, waking up and realizing I don’t have to leave.
No half-dressed escape. No search for excuses. No pretending this didn’t mean something.
I used to believe solitude was freedom. That distance made me stronger. That needing no one was the only way to keep from breaking. But right now, with her pressed against me, I can’t remember what that freedom was supposed to feel like.
I shift slightly, and she murmurs something in her sleep, turning toward me, fingers curling against my ribs like she knows I’m there even without seeing me.
And suddenly, I can’t imagine a morning without her in it, without this heartbeat against mine.
Maybe this is what it means to stop running.
Maybe this is what belonging actually feels like.
I shift carefully, turning onto my side. The sheet slips a little, brushing her hip. She stirs, sighs, then nestles closer like she’s done this a thousand times—like her body already knows where it belongs. My throat tightens.
What the hell is happening to me?
I reach out before I can stop myself, my fingers tracing the curve of her shoulder, the soft line where light meets skin. She’s warm. Every inch of her feels like something I didn’t know I’d been missing.
She murmurs something I can’t catch, half-dream, half-memory, and my chest twists. I’ve written a thousand songs about love and never came close to this. This isn’t a lyric. It’s a heartbeat I want to turn into melody.
I used to wake up in rooms I didn’t recognize. Hotels. Buses. Dressing rooms that smelled like liquor and sweat and adrenaline. I used to think that was life:
No attachments, no expectations, no silence to sit with.
But right now, this silence feels like the first real song I’ve ever heard.
Her hand finds my wrist, still half-asleep. She doesn’t open her eyes. She just lets her thumb brush over the inside of my arm like she’s confirming I’m real.
I could stay here.
Forever, maybe.
She shifts again, her leg sliding over mine, her body curling into me. The air between us disappears. My heartbeat stumbles. I can smell her—coconut, skin, last night. The scent of us.
And fuck, I want to stay inside this moment.
Just this.
The morning after—or maybe the beginning of everything.
This is the part no one writes songs about because it’s too fragile to hold. Too real to rhyme. She finally opens her eyes, hazy and soft, the color of morning after rain.
A small, sleepy smile tugs at her lips.
“Hey.” Her voice sounds like sunlight looks.
“Hey.” I kiss the top of her head.
We just stare at each other, like we’re both waiting for the world to crash back in.
It doesn’t.
“Did you sleep?” she asks.
“Some,” I murmur. “Even when I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I was afraid this was a dream and you’d disappear.”
She laughs softly, tucking her face against my shoulder.
I feel the smile against my skin. It does something to me I can’t name. Something dangerous.
I kiss her hair before I can stop myself. My lips linger there, breathing her in. I’m not supposed to want this.
Not the woman.
Not the morning.
Not the stillness that comes after everything else has burned out.
But this time I fucking do.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
Her fingers trace idle patterns across my chest, slow and lazy.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She tilts her head up, eyes still half-closed. “You look like you’re trying to write a song in your head.”
I grin, guilty. “Maybe I am.”
“What’s it about?”
I glance down at her. “This.” I kiss her softly. “You.”
She laughs again—soft, disbelieving, but it lands in my chest like a promise.
Then she shifts, her mouth brushing my collarbone as she whispers, “Now it’s my turn to tease you.”
She starts slow.
Featherlight kisses pressed to my neck, my shoulder, and down across my chest. Like she’s memorizing the shape of me. Like I’m something she’s decided to learn by heart.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmurs, lips dragging across my ribs. “Bet you don’t even know it, do you?”
I can barely breathe.
My hand slips into her hair. Not to stop her. Not to guide her. Just to hold on.
She grins when her mouth is so close to my hard length, her breath warm against skin that’s already strung tight.
I feel her exhale—slow and smug—and it nearly kills me.
“You’re already trembling,” she whispers, brushing her lips along the base. “Barely touched you and you’re already shaking for me.”
Fuck.
I choke on a moan, my other hand fisting in the sheets.
I want to say something cocky. I want to tease her right back. But all I can do is feel—feel her, feel everything—and let it wreck me.
“I’m fucking gone for you,” I rasp, voice barely holding together. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
She hums like she doesn’t believe me, and then—fuck—she presses a kiss just beneath the head. Gentle. Lingering. Sinful.
My hips jerk, instinct tightening every nerve I’ve got, and she lets out a low, satisfied laugh.
“I want to make you beg.”
“Fuck, Aly—don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”
And then she takes me into her mouth.
Slow at first—excruciating in the best way. Warm and wet and perfect. Her tongue drags over every inch, like she’s tasting something decadent, something she’s been craving for weeks.
I throw my head back, breath ragged.
She moans around me, and the vibration rips through my spine like lightning.
“You feel that?” I manage. “That’s yours. That desperate, fucked-up noise I’m making—it’s all because of you.”
She slides deeper, hand curling around the base to match her pace, her eyes locked on mine like she wants to see the exact second I come undone.
And fuck if I’m not seconds away already.
My thighs start to tremble. My jaw clenches. I bite down a curse so filthy it’d make the devil blush.
“I’m not gonna last,” I warn, breathless. “You keep doing that and I’m gonna lose it down your throat.”
But she doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t even pause.
She just looks up at me—eyes dark, lips stretched around me—and keeps working me with her mouth like it’s what she was made to do. Like making me fall apart is her purpose.
Every stroke, every slow suck pulls me closer to the edge, and I know I’m seconds from unraveling.
I groan, gripping her hair tighter. “Fuck—stop, baby. If you don’t—I’ll come in your mouth.”
She hums low and filthy like that’s exactly what she wants.
Then she sinks deeper, her throat tightening around me.
I snap.
My entire body locks up, pleasure detonating behind my eyes as I spill into her with a broken, guttural sound. Her hands hold me steady, keeping me there as her mouth stays on me, swallowing every last drop like she wants it. Like she’s proud of it.
I stare down at her, completely undone, chest rising like I’ve run a goddamn marathon. I’ve never felt anything like this. Never been taken apart so slowly and so completely.
She pulls back, wipes the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and gives me this smug, sleepy smile that nearly makes me hard again.
“You okay?” she teases, voice husky and proud.
I let out a low, wrecked laugh, dragging her up into my arms and kissing her like she just broke me and made me whole in the same breath. Nothing will break this. Nothing
But of course, I’m wrong. The landline rings—harsh, shrill, too loud for a morning like this. It slices through the stillness, dragging me back to reality one ring at a time.
I don’t want to, but I reach for the receiver.
“Yeah?” My voice is still thick, rough from what I’ve just experienced.
A beat of silence. Then—“Dex?”
I recognize Eddie’s voice right away. It’s not hard. This is the voice that dragged me through detox. The guy who never calls before noon unless something’s on fire.
“Hey,” I murmur, trying to keep my tone light. “You know what time it is?”
He exhales hard. “You sitting down?”
That’s when my stomach drops.
“Eddie, I can’t right now.”
“Sorry, Dex. You need to come back now.”