Chapter 20
ALAINA
The morning after the storm, we pretend
Pretend we’re just two grown-ass people who got caught in a blackout and needed body heat.
Pretend last night wasn’t... everything.
He makes caf, grunting and shirtless, like nothing’s shifted.
I watch him from the hallway, clutching a blanket around me like armor.
“Don’t burn the beans,” I say, voice croaky.
He smirks. “I’m not a complete animal.”
“Debatable.”
He brings me a steaming mug without comment, like he’s done it a hundred times.
Maybe in some other life, he has.
It doesn’t feel like a one-night thing.
Not when he fixes my son’s broken toy hoverdrone while humming off-key. Not when he reaches for my hand across the couch and doesn’t let go even when the movie ends.
And definitely not when his thumb brushes along my wrist and he mutters, “You always run this warm?”
I don’t answer.
Because if I do, I might say something stupid like Stay forever.
That night, after my son’s asleep and the dishes are stacked like a sad little tower in the sink, he’s still here.
He shouldn’t be.
I should’ve made him leave hours ago.
But I don’t.
“Long day,” I say, flopping onto the couch.
He nods, sitting beside me. “You work too hard.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“I’d help. You just won’t let me.”
I snort. “Since when does Troka of House Smash volunteer for domestic duty?”
He shrugs, gaze softening. “Since I met someone worth sticking around for.”
The words gut me.
Not because they’re romantic, but because they’re real.
Because I believe in him.
And belief is the most dangerous thing of all.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper.
He leans in. “Doing what?”
“Letting you stay. Letting you... touch anything.”
His hand ghosts over my knee. “Then tell me to stop.”
I can’t.
Instead, I lean in and kiss him like he’s oxygen and I’ve been drowning for over a hyear.
We don’t tear at each other this time.
We unravel.
His mouth traces down my neck like he’s mapping me.
My shirt comes off slow, each button undone like a promise kept.
His hands slide over my ribs, reverent. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Don’t ruin it with flattery.”
“I mean it.”
His tongue dips low, tracing the line beneath my breast.
I arch against him.
Heat pools low in my belly. My skin prickles, not with nerves, but with hunger.
He sucks a nipple into his mouth and my hips buck. I grip his shoulders like he’s the only thing anchoring me to the planet.
He murmurs against my skin, “Let me love you.”
It doesn’t feel like a line.
It feels like surrender.
Our clothes fall away, slow and quiet.
When he enters me, it’s not wild.
It’s home.
I gasp, fingers threading into his hair.
He moves slow, each thrust a declaration. A question. A prayer.
His hands hold me like I’m glass and fire.
Our lips meet again and again, sloppy and sweet and filled with need.
“You feel...” he pants, “so damn perfect.”
I moan, louder than I mean to.
“Too much?” he asks.
“Not enough.”
He chuckles, deep and rumbling. “That’s new.”
“You make me greedy.”
He speeds up, just slightly.
“Then I’ll ruin you.”
“Try me.”
We spiral together, breathless and sweating, bodies locked like puzzle pieces. My thighs tremble. My voice breaks. And when I come, I call his name like it’s sacred.
He follows with a low growl, hips stuttering.
After, he cradles me, still sheathed inside me.
I rest my forehead against his chest, slick with sweat.
His heart beats wild under my cheek.
His voice is soft, almost scared. “Is this real?”
I should answer.
I want to.
Instead, I kiss him again. I’ll let him decide whether this is real or not.