Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alycia
Kyle kisses me like he’s trying to teach my body a language I’ve spent years pretending I didn’t need to learn.
Slow and steady, but unbearably sure, like he knows exactly how close I am to unraveling, and he’s asking me to fall apart anyway.
His lips move with deliberate tenderness that makes my chest ache.
Every brush of his mouth feels like a vow I never asked for but desperately want.
His weight settles above me, not crushing, but just enough to let me know he’s real and here and not walking away this time.
I slide my hands up his torso, palms tracing the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, feeling the steady tremor in him that mirrors my own. His breath catches when I trace the dip between his ribs, and the sound goes straight through me.
He lifts his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling, lips brushing my mouth between each word. “I know you’re scared. I’ve got you.”
His hands skim slowly up my sides, thumbs brushing the edge of my bra where fabric meets skin. He moves with unbearable gentleness, giving me every second I need to pull away. I don’t. I arch into him instead, my breath stuttering as his fingers slide higher.
“Kyle…” His name escapes me like a plea.
He lifts his forehead to mine, breathing with me for a moment, steadying both of us. “Tell me if anything isn’t okay.”
“It is,” I whisper. “It’s more than okay.”
Something small and fragile loosens inside me enough to let my hands slip down to the waistband of his sweats, enough to let the truth pull me forward instead of back.
His hand slides up my spine until his fingers find the clasp of my bra.
It gives beneath his touch, and the straps fall away from my shoulders.
Cool air skims over my skin, but his hands are warm when they slide forward to cup me, palms molding carefully around the soft weight of my breasts.
His thumb brushes lightly over a sensitive peak, exploring the weight of me like he’s learning every inch for the first time.
A small, involuntary sound breaks from my throat as his thumb makes another pass.
A bolt of heat shoots through me so sharply that my back arches off the couch.
“God,” he breathes, his voice breaking as his thumbs circle again, firmer this time. “You’re incredible.”
He lowers his mouth to my neck, lips brushing the frantic pulse there.
Then, lower, along the slope of my collarbone, his tongue sweeps in a slow circle around my nipple before drawing it gently between his lips.
The moan that tears out of me feels like it comes from somewhere I’ve never let anyone touch.
“Kyle—” My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there without meaning to.
The soft pull makes him groan against my skin, the vibration sinking straight through me. He kisses down my stomach, his hands smoothing down my hips as he traces the lines of my body. When he reaches the button of my jeans, he presses a shaky kiss to my hipbone.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs, fingers brushing the denim.
“Please.” My breath leaves me in a gasp as he strokes his thumb again, slow circles that tighten every muscle in my stomach.
He unbuttons them slowly, sliding the zipper down with careful deliberation.
When his knuckles brush the inside of my thigh, my breath catches so hard I hear it in the quiet room.
He eases the jeans down my legs, kissing my knee, then the inside of my calf, his hands steady despite the tremor in his arms. I reach for him, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt until our mouths meet again.
“It’s not enough,” I whisper into the kiss, lips trembling.
A shudder runs visibly through him. His forehead drops to mine, eyes squeezed shut like he’s holding something back. He reaches toward the side table without looking, opening the drawer and finding a condom. He holds the foil packet between his fingers as if it's something fragile.
“I got these a while ago,” he says softly. “Didn’t know if you’d ever… but I wanted to be ready.”
I cup his cheek, emotion swelling painfully in my chest. “Kyle, I want you.”
He strips out of his sweats and boxers, and even with his body bare, he hesitates, giving me a chance to look away. I take him in, hungry and unafraid, watching every breath he takes as he rolls the condom on. Then he settles over me again, skin to skin, warmth sinking deep.
“Are you sure?” he whispers, brushing his nose along mine.
“Yes.”
He sinks into me so slowly I feel every inch of him, his every trembling breath hot against my cheek as he sinks deeper. My nails bite into his shoulders, a sharp gasp breaking from my lips as my body adjusts around him.
“Jesus…” he breathes, forehead dropping to my shoulder. “Alycia…”
My legs wrap around him instinctively, pulling him in, deeper, closer. He groans again, a low, broken sound he tries to swallow but can’t.
“You feel…” I can’t finish. The words break apart under the heat curling low in my stomach.
He cups my jaw with one hand, kissing me gently, his hips rolling into mine in unhurried strokes that drag against every nerve ending I have.
A rhythm that feels like devotion, not desperation, sends heat flooding through me.
Tightening every muscle in my body until I’m arching, clinging, whispering his name like it’s the only thing holding me together.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips, voice raw and trembling. “I love you so much.”
My fingers trace his jaw, sliding through his hair, pulling him closer. “I love you, too.”
His thrusts stay slow but grow deeper, more intentional, like every movement is a promise and everything he doesn’t have the right words to say all in one.
His mouth finds mine again, kisses messy and hot and trembling at the edges.
Heat coils tight inside me, winding and pulling and building with every breath he drags out of me.
“Kyle… I’m close,” I whisper, burying my face against his neck as the world narrows to him, to us, to the heat between our bodies.
“I’ve got you,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Let go, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
I break with a soft cry, body arching into him.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves that leave me shaking and weightless.
Kyle follows a heartbeat later, thrusting deep once more as a low, guttural groan rips from his chest. His forehead presses to mine, breath uneven, body trembling against me as he spills into the condom.
He holds himself inside me through every shudder, forehead pressed to mine, hearts racing like they’re trying to reach each other through bone and skin.
When he finally pulls out, he does it gently, whispering my name like he’s afraid I’ll vanish at any moment.
He kisses me once reverently before slipping away to take care of the condom.
Then he’s back with a warm cloth, kneeling beside me on the couch like I’m something fragile he’s afraid to touch wrong.
He cleans me with the gentlest hands I’ve ever felt, his thumb brushing soothing circles across my hip.
When he’s done, he sets the cloth aside and climbs onto the couch behind me, pulling me carefully into his chest. I curl into him without thinking, my cheek pressed over his heartbeat. His hand slides up my arm, over my shoulder, into my hair. He presses his lips to the crown of my head.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers again, kissing the top of my head. “You’re safe with me.”
My fingers curl into his ribs, holding him close enough that there’s no space left between us. “I know,” I whisper, breath catching, and for the first time in years, I believe it.
I wake up to a slow, steady rise and fall beneath my cheek, a heartbeat thudding against my ear like a quiet drum.
For a second, I don’t move. I float there in the space between sleep and whatever comes next, eyes closed, breathing in the faint mix of detergent, his shampoo, and something that’s just…
him. I realize my fingers are curled into the fabric of his shirt.
He must have pulled it back on at some point.
The hem bunches in my fist like a lifeline.
My legs are tangled with his beneath the blanket, and my bare skin grazes his shin with each heavy breath. It’s disorienting how right it feels.
I peel my eyes open slowly, letting the room come into focus.
The blinds are half-drawn, thin stripes of pale morning light cutting across the room in gentle lines.
Kyle is on his back, head turned slightly toward me, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other draped loosely around my waist. His fingers rest at my hip, not gripping, just there, because even in sleep, he couldn’t quite let go.
His face looks softer like this, with less weight in the lines between his brows.
His mouth is relaxed, the constant tension around it gone.
I watch his chest rise and fall, and every breath feels like proof he’s still here.
I’ve seen him in so many states now—laughing, furious, hurt, defensive, cocky—but the unguarded version is the one that scares me the most because it’s the one I want.
He shifts a little in his sleep, fingers flexing at my hip, and I freeze, half afraid of waking him and the other half afraid of what happens if I don’t.
Memories from last night flicker behind my eyes.
His mouth chanting I love you against my skin, the way he held me like I might break but never once treated me like I was fragile.
The way I finally said the words out loud and didn’t drown in them.
“I love you,” I’d whispered, and for one impossible, terrifying moment, I’d let myself believe loving him didn’t mean I would lose everything else.
I swallow hard, eyes burning, as the old script tries to slot back in.
This is too fast. Too dangerous. You shouldn’t have said it. You shouldn’t have stayed.