Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Rose
There is a fragile moment suspended between us.
I know with a certainty that leaves no room to retreat, this is it.
It hangs there, the final thread of everything I’ve always relied on: control, distance, and careful detachment I built to keep myself from ever needing someone this way.
And yet, I don’t reach for it. Because standing here, caught between his hands and his gaze, something softens inside me until certainty is all that’s left.
It isn’t fear or hesitation. Just the undeniable realization that I don’t want to pull away.
So I let go of caution. Of restraint. And for the first time in a very long time, I reach for something I’ve never allowed myself to want.
His touch isn’t demanding, it isn’t forcing, and that’s what makes it harder to resist. It leaves the power in my hands, when I’ve spent so long convincing myself I never really had a choice at all.
When I choose, I rationalize, defaulting to the safer path.
The one that keeps me safe. This isn’t something I can think my way through.
I’m already moving, leaning into him, my body having already decided something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet. And maybe that’s the truth of it.
The armor I've worn for so long crumbles, the ice around my heart finally thawing until there's nothing left to hide behind. It leaves me exposed. Or worse, it becomes something I give freely. And that's the most dangerous part.
When he kisses me again, something inside me responds instantly, instinctively, inevitably, as though it has been waiting for this exact moment, the point where everything I’ve fought to keep separate finally comes undone.
My hands roam without thought, gripping his shirt first, before sliding higher, pulling it over his head, and tossing it aside without another thought.
He drops me onto the bed, and I stare up at him as he looms above me.
He isn’t intimidating. Not now. In this moment, he looks almost as exposed as I feel.
His dark, piercing eyes hold mine, and my breathing evens out.
I drag my lip between my teeth, my gaze dipping to the large bulge in his pants before returning to his.
A silent question passes between us, wrapped in a shared understanding.
His breathing turns uneven. Rougher now, syncing with the quickening rhythm of my heart, as it beats for him and only him.
My fingers move to the buttons of my blouse, undoing them one by one, slower than I feel, drawing the moment out even though something in me strains toward him.
I don’t want anything between us. Not fabric.
Not distance. Not restraint. A shiver slips through me at the thought of his mouth on mine, on my skin that burns hot, a fire set alight within that only he can extinguish.
I need that. Him. More than anything in this moment.
I want to mark him, to bury my face in his neck, and lick and bite until the copper taste of him explodes on my tongue.
The last button gives, and I shrug the fabric from my shoulders, letting it fall without breaking eye contact.
My chest rises and falls faster, my body aching for something only he can give me.
Without thinking, my legs part in instinctive surrender.
He sees the way I’m no longer holding anything back.
His gaze darkens as it drifts lower, watching it all, as if he is taking in every aspect of my body, every reaction.
Heat pools low in my body, impossible to ignore and impossible to hide.
The wild look in his eyes and the subtle flare of his nostrils tell me he knows.
He steps closer, his hands finding my feet, tugging my socks off one at a time and dropping them to the floor.
My toes flex against him through the thin fabric of my leggings, and he exhales softly at the contact.
His hands slide up my legs, guiding them higher, until they rest against him.
I press into him without thinking, and his eyes close briefly.
Then he looks down. His touch moves more slowly now, more deliberate, as his hands move over me with a kind of intense focus that makes my breath catch as he places a reverent kiss on the ball of my foot.
He does one, then the other, grabbing one in each hand as he holds them there, suspended in that attention, taking his time, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
The soft sounds of movement fill the quiet room, fabric rustling as the space between us disappears with every passing second.
He pulls me firmly against him, holding me there, unyielding.
He pops the button on his jeans and unzips them, the sound sharp, echoing in the quiet, dimly lit room.
He shoves them down his backside, and my feet follow, pushing them lower, helping him strip them the rest of the way.
I dig my heels into him, pulling him closer, pressing myself nearer, closer to the place I want to feel the most.
He holds my leg in place, but something in his expression soothes me, the space between us sizzles, charged with anticipation for words he hasn’t spoken yet.
He isn’t distant or withdrawn. He’s deliberate, choosing his next words carefully, weighing them against something that matters more than anything we’ve said out loud.
His hand doesn’t leave my legs, keeping them wrapped around his slim, sculpted waist. If anything, his grip tightens, needing this moment as much as I do.
“You think this is just—” he starts, then stops, exhaling slowly like the wrong words almost slipped out. His gaze lifts back to me, unwavering. “You think this is just attraction for me.”
I don’t answer. I haven’t found the words for what this is, and he hasn’t said what he wants it to be.
“That’s not what this is,” he says, something in his tone stilling me completely. My breath catches, but I don’t move, held there, suspended, waiting for what comes next.
“You said you don’t trust it,” he continues, his voice is lower now, more controlled, holding something back and choosing to give it to me piece by piece. “That anything this intense doesn’t last.”
I swallow hard, holding his stare, matching him word for word.
“Rose,” he says, my name sounding like a plea. Something in the way he says it keeps me present, even when everything in me wants to turn away. His intensity is all-consuming.
“I’ve never done this before,” he says.
I blink. “That’s not—” I start, because that doesn’t make sense. “That day at his house, the girl running out—”
He shakes his head slightly, cutting me off. “I’m not talking about sex,” he says, no hesitation, no embarrassment, just a plain truth. “That part? Yeah, I’ve been with people. I’m not pretending otherwise.”
Something in my chest tightens at the confession.
“But this,” he leans in, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion, “I’ve never kissed someone and felt like I knew them before I even touched them. The act was always too intimate. Too personal. Too close.”
My breath stutters.
“I’ve never looked at someone and felt like everything just snapped into place,” he continues, his voice thicker now, threaded with something I can’t ignore.
“Like I’ve been waiting for something without realizing it, and then suddenly there you were, standing on my doorstep, and I knew you were it. ”
The room feels smaller somehow.
“You’re not my first,” he says, and his words, though not the ones I want to hear, are just the beginning, the prologue of our story. “But you’re the first one that mattered.”
My heart stumbles, tripping over itself at the sound of his honesty, raw and unfiltered.
The certainty in his voice doesn’t feel forced or reckless. It feels like a truth I’ve already accepted.
“You don’t get to say those things lightly,” I whisper, because it feels too big, too permanent, too dangerous to hold him to without consequences.
“I’m not,” he says simply.
My chest rises and falls unevenly, because part of me wants to believe him and part of me is terrified that I already do.
“You don’t even know if I can…” I start, my voice faltering, because I don’t know how to finish the sentence without unraveling.
Love you. Stay. Be what you think I am.
As if reading my thoughts, he continues.
“And you’re my last,” he adds, softer now, but no less certain.
“That’s not something I’m guessing about, Rose.
That’s something I know. Something I feel here.
” He taps his chest. “And here.” His fingers brush his temple.
“And here.” He thrusts his hips against my center, and I groan.
The hard outline of his cock strains against the fabric of his underwear as it brushes my already sensitive clit, and I throw my head back, aching for more of whatever he’s willing to give me.
His heart. His thoughts. His cock. My body reacts before I can think, before I can hold anything back, because I want every part of him.
As if knowing exactly what I need, he pulls my pants down my legs and lets them fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my bra and thong.
He takes me in then, slowly, greedily, his gaze moving over my body as if he has all the time in the world.
Wherever it lingers, my skin reacts, goosebumps rising in its wake, heating and chilling simultaneously across my flesh.
I feel everything at once. Too much and not enough.