Chapter 20
twenty
Kate
I’m weightless.
Falling.
My stomach dips and my limbs go slack, but there’s no crash. No impact. Just steady, unshakable warmth.
Then, I’m flying.
Or am I drifting? Floating through the air, cocooned in something solid and safe. The motion is slow and rhythmic, like the gentle rock of waves against a boat. I feel the press of strong arms under my back and legs, the faint rise and fall of a chest against my side.
A familiar scent tugs at the edges of my consciousness as my lashes flutter. I shift, the warmth beneath me tightening as if instinctively holding me closer.
“Josh,” I whisper.
I wake fully, my cheek brushing against his chest, and it’s then that I realize I’m in his arms and being carried. I open my eyes to see the soft light of dawn spilling into his room through the curtains as he lays me down on his bed before sliding in behind me and pulling the covers over us.
“This is where you belong,” he says, pulling me flush against him—my back to his chest—his hand resting flat against my stomach.
“You’re mine, Kate. I don’t ever want to wake up and find you in your own bed again, understand?
” I nod. “Good,” he says, kissing my neck.
He settles in behind me, and within minutes, we’re both asleep.
When I wake again, it’s to the sound of soft snoring and the weight of an arm draped across my waist and a leg over my thigh.
I shift slightly and feel Josh’s body pressed against my back and his breath steady on the back of my neck. He’s clinging to me like a sleepy octopus, and I can’t help but smile.
He stirs and makes this…happy little humming sound as his arms tighten around me and he places a kiss on the back of my head.
“Please tell me this is real,” he says, his voice deep and gravely from sleep. “That you’re really here right now.”
I roll over to face him and playfully pinch his side.
“Ow!” he says, laughing as he squirms under my touch. “I said tell me.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling up at him. “I’m here.”
He hums again as he kisses my forehead, then drifts back to sleep.
I roll onto my back but can’t seem to take my eyes off him. His face is half-buried in the pillow, and a few rogue waves are draped over his cheek. His lips are slightly parted and there’s a smudge of paint under his chin that he must have missed in the shower last night.
It should be illegal to look that good while unconscious.
Carefully sliding out from under the weight of his arm, I ease myself out of bed and pad quietly into my room, ready to savor another long, hot hotel shower.
I pause in the doorway, glancing back toward the bed where he’s still asleep, tousled and peaceful. With the amount of alcohol he consumed last night, I imagine he’s going to need a greasy breakfast and an industrial dose of ibuprofen.
Once I’m in my room, I grab my travel bottle of Advil from my bag and set it on the table beside the bed with a glass of water. I pull the door between our rooms closed and pick up the phone to place a room service order—tossing in extra bacon for good measure—before I make my way to the bathroom.
Twisting the shower knob as far into the hot zone as it’ll go, I step into the rising steam, letting the spray hit me and forcing my mind to quiet as the warmth of the water finally sinks deep into the aching muscles that tell me I probably should have listened when Josh said he wanted to let me recover.
After I left the party last night, I did the Old Kate thing and thought a lot about what happened between us here and what it all means. And then it hit me—maybe this doesn’t have to be more than what it is.
Something physical.
Something temporary.
Something just for me.
Josh is…Josh. He’s upfront about what he wants, or in this instance, doesn’t want.
There’s nothing I’d get out of a relationship that I can’t find casually.
He isn’t pretending to be anyone else. There are no promises hanging between us. No carefully curated futures. No false security disguised as commitment.
And I think that’s what I need.
Because if it’s just physical, then I don’t have to worry about being enough or too much or not the right kind of girl for someone like him. I don’t have to perform. I don’t have to build a life around someone else’s expectations. I don’t have to disappear.
I get to feel something. Want something. Take something.
And the truth is—Josh makes me feel good. Desired.
He sees me. Not the messed-up version Anthony created that I’m desperately trying to leave behind. Not the careful, quiet, palatable version I used to hand over like a resume. He sees me messy. Stubborn. Awkward. Curious. And despite my flaws, he still looks at me like I’m something he wants.
All my life I’ve been the good one. The responsible one. The one who takes care of everyone else. Who puts her own wants and needs and desires on the back burner.
So, I decided that it is what it is. Not because I’m reckless or na?ve, but because I finally trust myself enough to choose what I want without needing it to become something else.
Right now, I want him.
I feel his arms wrap around my waist first, the press of his chest against my back and his lips to the side of my neck following shortly after.
I don’t move, don’t even open my eyes. I just breathe him in as he slides into the space behind me like we’ve done this a hundred times, his presence wrapping around me tighter than his arms.
“You’re turning me into an addict,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the sensitive spot just below my ear. “You know that, right?”
“How are you standing right now?”
“Last night was not my first rodeo,” he says as his hands slide over my hips, his fingers curving with an intimacy that shouldn’t make my stomach flip the way it does.
I’m melting again, any remaining thoughts about what this is between us drowned by the sound of his voice and the way his hands are already learning every inch of me like I’m a language he’s desperate to speak fluently.
My knees nearly give out as he explores my body, and he must feel it, because his grip tightens at my hip to steady me.
One of his hands slides up my stomach, methodical and slow, while his other hand anchors me—palm flat and possessive against my lower belly—keeping me pressed to him, letting me feel exactly what I’m doing to him.
“You should tell me to behave,” he warns, his lips pressed lightly against my ear. I tilt my head back to rest against his shoulder.
“I know,” I say, eyes still closed. “But I don’t want to.”
Josh slides the hand at my stomach higher until his fingers brush the underside of my breast. I suck in a breath and he freezes, his lips brushing my temple.
“I’ll stop,” he says, and I can feel how much it costs him to offer it. “If you want me to.”
“I don’t.”
He groans and wraps an arm around my waist as he turns me in his arms and walks me backward until my back meets the cool tile wall.
“You feel that?” he rasps, pinning his hips to mine, grinding himself against me just enough to drive us both crazy. “That’s what you do to me. Every fucking time you look at me. Every time you touch me. Every time I touch you. Every time you bite your lip or say my name.”
I moan softly, eyes finally opening to meet his. They’re darker now, almost wild—his lashes wet and clumped from the steam, his hair dripping, a single curl stuck to his cheek.
He looks like a damn sin.
One I’ve already decided I’m going to commit.
“I want you,” I breathe.
He cups my face with both hands, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, a dark laugh working its way up from deep in his chest. “You already have me.”
His mouth crashes into mine, hot and wet and hungry. There’s no hesitation. No slow build. Just pure, desperate need.
The kiss turns frantic as our hands move over slick skin, fingers tangling in hair, mouths gasping against each other between touches that burn hotter than the water.
Josh falls to his knees before me, lifting me up off the floor and sliding both of my legs over his shoulders. I feel like I’m going to fall, but his hands move to my hips, and he presses me against the wall.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he says, looking up at me and grinning. “I’ve got you.”
As he descends on me, I stop thinking about whether I can do this and what we are or aren’t.
Because in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Right now, he’s mine and I’m his.
And, god help me, I never want to be anything else.