Chapter 24 #2
She stared at me. Tears tracking down her cheeks. Bruise dark against her jaw. And I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't pretend. Couldn't stay away. Couldn't watch her carry this alone while I hid behind whistles and drills and professional fucking distance.
I crossed to her in two steps. Cupped her face in my hands — careful of the bruise, so careful — and kissed her like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
She made a sound against my mouth. Half-sob, half-relief. Her hands fisted in my shirt and she kissed me back like she'd been drowning for weeks and I was the first breath of air she'd found.
No restraint. No careful distance. Just desperate, aching need.
I backed her against the counter. She pulled me closer. Her tears wet on both our faces.
And for the first time in three weeks, I could finally breathe.
The kiss wasn’t like the others. Not the desperate, angry one in the alley. Not the frantic, half-dressed collision in the locker room. This was slow. Deliberate. Like we had all the time in the world and I was finally going to use it right.
Her hands slid up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like she was afraid I’d disappear.
I wouldn’t. Not this time. I kissed her deeper, slower, until her breath hitched and her body melted against mine.
Then I lifted her—just enough to feel the weight of her, the trust in the way she let me—and guided her backward, toward the bedroom.
Déjà vu hit me like a body check. Same hallway. Same doorframe. Same way the light from the kitchen spilled across the floor, cutting sharp lines across her skin.
But this wasn’t the same.
Last time, I’d been trying to forget. Trying to burn the memory of her out of my system with rough hands and faster movements.
This time?
This time, I wanted to remember.
I wanted to memorize the way her lashes fluttered when I kissed the corner of her mouth.
The way her pulse jumped under my thumb when I traced the bruise on her jaw—gentle, so fucking gentle, like she was made of something breakable.
The way her breath caught when I pulled back just enough to look at her.
"Calder—"
"Shh." I pressed my fingers to her lips. "Let me."
She swallowed. Nodded.
I undressed her like she was something sacred.
Started with the hoodie—peeling it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Her arms were still wrapped around herself, like she was cold, like she needed the warmth. I kissed the inside of her wrist. The crook of her elbow. The sensitive skin where her pulse beat too fast.
Her hands found my belt. Started working it open.
"Not yet." I caught her wrists. Brought them to my mouth. Kissed her knuckles. "Let me take care of you first."
She exhaled shakily. Let her arms fall to her sides.
I knelt in front of her. Unlaced her sneakers. Pulled them off, then her socks, pressing my lips to the arch of her foot, the dip of her ankle. She made a quiet sound—something between a laugh and a gasp—and her fingers tangled in my hair.
"Ticklish?"
"A little."
I smiled against her skin. "Good to know."
Her leggings came next. I hooked my fingers in the waistband, dragged them down slow, kissing the newly exposed skin as I went—behind her knee, the back of her thigh, the curve of her hip. She stepped out of them, unsteady, and I caught her waist to steady her.
Then there was just her—standing in my bedroom in nothing but a thin sports bra and underwear, skin flushed, breath coming fast.
I sat back on my heels. Looked up at her.
God, she was beautiful. Not just the way her body moved or the shape of her, though that wrecked me too. But the way she stood there, unafraid, even after everything. Even after the bruises and the cameras and the goddamn games we’d both been playing.
I reached up. Traced the hem of her bra with my thumb. "You sure?"
She didn’t hesitate. "Touch me."
Her voice was rough, needy, and it shattered what was left of my control.
I hooked my fingers under the thin fabric of her bra and pulled it over her head.
Her nipples were already hard, pebbled in the cool air, and I couldn’t resist leaning in to take one in my mouth.
She gasped, her fingers tightening in my hair as I sucked gently, then harder when she arched into me.
My tongue swirled around the peak, and I felt her shudder, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
"Calder—"
I switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, my free hand sliding up her ribs, thumb brushing over the first nipple I’d just abandoned.
She whimpered, her body trembling under my touch.
I could feel her heartbeat against my lips, fast and erratic, and it made me slow down even more.
I wanted to memorize this—the way she tasted, the way she sounded, the way her body responded to mine like we were made for this.
I kissed my way down her stomach, my hands mapping the curve of her waist, the dip of her hips, the softness of her thighs.
When I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down, she stepped out of them without hesitation.
I pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then the other, breathing her in.
She smelled like sweat and something sweet, something that was just her, and it made my head spin.
I looked up at her, my hands gripping her hips. "You’re so fucking beautiful."
She didn’t answer, just bit her lip and nodded, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I could see the flush spreading down her neck, her chest, the way her skin reacted to my words, to my touch. It was intoxicating.
I didn’t make her wait.
I kissed her first, slow and open-mouthed, right where she was softest. She jerked, her fingers flying to my hair, gripping tight.
I didn’t rush. I took my time, kissing, licking, teasing her with the flat of my tongue until her legs were shaking.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, her hips rolling subtly, seeking more.
"Please—"
I answered by dragging my tongue through her, slow and deliberate.
She tasted like heaven, like something I’d been starving for without even knowing it.
I did it again, and her knees nearly buckled.
I caught her, my hands sliding under her ass to lift her just enough to keep her steady, my mouth never leaving her.
Her sounds filled the room—soft moans, breathy gasps, my name on her lips like a prayer.
I worked her with my tongue, my lips, my fingers finally joining in, sliding inside her while my mouth kept up its slow, worshipping rhythm.
She was so wet, so responsive, her body clenching around my fingers, her hips moving in time with my strokes.
I could feel her getting closer, her muscles tensing, her breath coming faster. I didn’t speed up. I kept the same deliberate pace, drawing it out, making her wait for it, making her feel every second of this. Her fingers tightened in my hair, her thighs trembling around my head.
"Calder, I—"
I curled my fingers inside her, my tongue circling her clit, and she came with a broken cry, her body shuddering against my mouth. I didn’t stop, not until her tremors eased, until her breath slowed, until she was boneless and spent in my hands.
Only then did I press one last, slow kiss to her inner thigh and look up at her.
Her eyes were glazed, her lips parted, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. She reached for me, her hands unsteady as they found my shoulders, pulling me up to meet her in a kiss that tasted like her, like us, like everything I’d been trying to outrun for weeks.
I stood, lifting her with me, and she wrapped her legs around my waist without breaking the kiss. I carried her to the bed, laying her down gently, following her down until my body covered hers, until there was no space left between us.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want there to be.