Chapter 12
Emma
My heart is hammering. I have no clue what he’s planned. All I know is that I’m lying on a mattress in the back of a truck that isn’t his. Definitely not what I expected on our second date.
When he gives the signal, I open my eyes and instantly forget how to breathe.
Stars. Thousands of them. A spill of silver across a sky so dark it looks painted.
The Milky Way curves over the black silhouettes of the hills.
It’s breathtaking in a way that feels almost private, as if he somehow knew exactly what would undo me.
My chest tightens and, for a brief moment, the joy is so sharp it nearly aches.
Then, as always, doubt tries to slip in behind it. Women like me don’t get nights like this. Don’t get gestures like this. Don’t get men who bother. My mother’s voice slides in, smooth and familiar. Don’t get carried away, Emma. You know how this usually ends.
I shove the thought aside, grab Alex’s shirt and pull him down to me, kissing him with all the feeling I can’t articulate. He laughs softly when I let him breathe again and rests beside me.
“Good surprise?” he teases gently.
“The best,” I say, and heart and soul warms in a way that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
We lie together in a comfortable, perfect silence.
The stars shimmer overhead, the grass rustles quietly, and something inside me wants to reach for him, just to make sure he’s real.
I search for his hand on the mattress, and when our fingers link, something settles inside me. Soft. Steady. Hopeful.
Of course, doubt isn’t finished with me. It never is. Careful. Men get bored. Don’t make yourself appear ridiculous.
I squeeze his hand, holding on as if the contact itself can quiet that voice.
“Why are you doing this for me?” I whisper eventually, the question slipping out before I can censor it.
He turns slightly, propping his head on his hand. “Because I wanted to do something that makes you happy.”
It’s simple. Too simple. A familiar ache starts in my stomach.
“I just… don’t get it.” My eyes stay fixed on the sky.
“All my life I’ve been told I need to be thinner, more mature, cleverer, quieter, less me.
I’m too geeky, wasting my time with the florist, always doing something wrong.
My mum especially.” I can’t hide the old bruise in my voice.
“And then you come along. You could have anyone… yet you make all this fuss about me. It doesn’t add up. ”
He tenses beside me, not in irritation, but with something far fiercer.
“Emma.” He takes my chin gently, turning my face to his. “You’re an amazing woman. Funny. Interesting. Beautiful. Anyone who’s ever made you feel different shouldn’t have had a single moment of your time.”
Beautiful. The word sits on my skin like something unfamiliar but not unwelcome. My mother’s voice tries to rise again, reminding me not to be gullible, but Alex’s expression dismantles it before it can get a foothold.
I take a shaky breath. “The truth is… I like myself at home. Behind my walls. I think I can even look cute sometimes. I like my weird passions and my geekiness. But when I go out there, I only see myself the way other people taught me to.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, eyes steady. “You’ve spent years hearing the wrong voices,” he murmurs. “Let me be a better one.”
Warmth spreads through me so quickly it almost feels like fear, except it isn’t fear. Not exactly. Something gentler. Something that might one day become trust, if I let it.
I reach up and thread my fingers into his hair. He hovers over me for a heartbeat, his breath brushing my lips. I close the final distance and kiss him. It’s slow and deliberate, a kiss that feels like choosing something new. He kisses me back with a tenderness that brings light into my soul.
When he shifts closer, pressing his body to mine, heat spreads through me.
I can feel how much he wants me. For a moment, my mother’s voice tries to sneak in again, whispering that men like him don’t want girls like me.
But the sound he makes when I nibble his bottom lip obliterates that lie with embarrassing ease.
A cool breeze sweeps across the field and I shiver. Alex sits up, pulls the duvet over us and tucks it around my shoulders. It helps, but not enough. I move closer, curling against his chest. His arms wrap around me immediately, as if this is the most natural place in the world.
“I wish I could stop time,” I murmur. “This is as perfect as it gets.”
As soon as perfect enters my mind, doubt tries to follow it like a shadow. This won’t last. Don’t be ridiculous.
But then Alex whispers, “We can stay here all night if you want,” and his voice disarms the fear before it can root itself. My body softens against him, trusting him in a way that both terrifies and settles me.
I lift my head, kiss him again, and something in the air shifts—warm, magnetic, inevitable.
What matters for now is this: I’m not free of my doubts, but for the first time in a very long time, I’m not ruled by them either.
Alex’s hands roam slowly at first, as if he’s letting me guide the pace.
My fingers slide through his hair again and he kisses me deeper, lingering, tasting, learning me.
Heat unfurls low in my belly, spreading through every nerve.
When he shifts his weight and settles half over me, my legs part instinctively, welcoming him closer.
His tongue strokes mine in a slow, deliberate rhythm that sends a tremor through my whole body.
When his hand glides across my waist and up under my shirt, my breath catches.
His touch is warm and certain, as if he’s known my shape for years rather than days.
The duvet cocoons us, trapping all the heat and the scent of crushed grass and him.
He pauses, searching my eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I won’t,” I whisper, surprising myself with how steady it sounds. “I want you.”
He exhales sharply, as if those words knock the wind out of him.
His palm slides up my ribs, slow and reverent, and the edge of my shirt lifts with his hand.
I feel exposed and wanted all at once. He kisses down the column of my throat, lingering at the place that makes my pulse stumble.
My hips rise without my permission, brushing against the firm shape of his erection through his clothes.
A low groan escapes him. “You’re making this very difficult to take slowly.”
“Maybe I don’t want slow,” I say softly, surprising us both.
His head drops to my chest with a helpless laugh, warm breath fanning my skin. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
He sits up just long enough to tug my shirt over my head.
The cool air skims my skin for a heartbeat before he bends again, kissing along the curve of my breast through my bra.
My back arches, offering more, wanting more.
When he finally takes the delicate fabric between his teeth and frees me, his breath stutters.
“Emma,” he murmurs, like a prayer he didn’t know he’d learned.
His mouth closes over my nipple, warm and soft and then lightly sucking. Pleasure spirals through me so fast I grip his shoulders to stay anchored. He shifts lower, trailing kisses down my stomach, each one sending a new spark racing through me.
I’m trembling, not from cold but from wanting him with a clarity that scares me in the best possible way. When he reaches the waistband of my jeans, he looks up again. A wordless question.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He unbuttons them slowly, as if savouring the feeling of undressing me. Every brush of his fingers is deliberate. Every movement feels like its own kind of worship. When he eases my jeans and knickers down and off, I feel bare and vulnerable beneath him, but not ashamed. Not hidden. Seen.
He settles between my thighs, kissing the inside of one knee, then the other, working his way up in torturous inch-long intervals. The anticipation is almost unbearable, and he knows it. His palms slide up my thighs, thumbs stroking patterns that make my breath stutter.
“A little impatient?” he teases, voice low.
“Alex,” I manage, and it sounds like begging.
He chuckles under his breath and finally leans in, his mouth brushing exactly where I need him.
The first slow lick has me gasping, gripping the duvet.
His hands hold me steady as he explores me with careful, devastating thoroughness, and when he draws my most sensitive spot into his mouth, the pleasure is so sharp and sudden that stars explode behind my eyes.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against me, and the gentle praise sends heat rushing through me so quickly I almost sob.
My hips lift, chasing more. His arm slides beneath me, anchoring me to his mouth, guiding me into an easy rhythm that builds and builds until I can barely breathe.
When he presses two fingers inside me, curling them in slow deliberate strokes, the world narrows to the sound of his breath, the warmth of his mouth, the gathering heat inside me.
I break apart. Completely. The climax rips through me like lightning across the sky. My whole body arches and trembles and clings to him because I have no control left to pretend otherwise.
When the pleasure finally loosens its grip, I collapse back onto the mattress, boneless, shaking, utterly undone. He kisses his way back up my body, slow and warm and unbearably tender, as if he’s in no rush at all.
I pull him into a kiss, tasting myself on his lips, and a fresh wave of heat rolls through me.
I slide my hands beneath his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to strip his shirt off.
His chest is warm beneath my palms, solid and surprisingly gentle in how he leans into my touch.
“I need you,” I whisper, surprising myself with the urgency in my voice. “I want you.”
He stills, eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure.”