Chapter 28 #2
“See?” I murmured. “No cameras. No contracts.”
She let out a soft laugh — the kind that cracked at the edges like she didn’t trust it. Her hand stayed on my jaw, thumb tracing the corner of my mouth like she didn’t quite believe I was real.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s what scares me.”
I opened my eyes and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, and in that moment, I knew there was no going back.
Because I’d just kissed her like she was mine.
And she’d kissed me like she finally believed it. Like she meant it—like she was tired of pretending she didn’t want this.
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
The kiss deepened, slow at first, then hungry. My hand slid into her hair, and her fingers tightened around the front of my hoodie, pulling me closer like she needed me the way I needed her.
I lost myself in her — in the way she tasted, in the quiet little sounds she made when I tilted my head and kissed her deeper, slower. I felt her shift on the couch, her knees brushing mine, and when she moved to straddle me, it was over.
I stood, taking her with me, her legs wrapped around my waist. She gasped into my mouth, and I kissed her harder in response.
We made it halfway down the hall before she whispered my name, like it was a question and a plea all at once.
I carried her to the bedroom.
The second I kicked the door shut, she was pulling at my hoodie, and I tugged it over my head in one smooth motion. Her eyes drank me in like she hadn’t expected this—like maybe she thought she’d regret it, but she didn’t.
She didn’t say a word as I leaned down and kissed the edge of her jaw, then her neck. She tilted her head for me, gave me full access, her hands sliding up my chest, over my shoulders. When she touched my skin, I nearly lost it.
My fingers found the hem of her shirt, and I paused.
“Okay?” I asked, voice rough.
She looked at me, pupils blown wide. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I want this.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I undressed her like she was something precious, taking my time even as my pulse thundered. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was real, here, in my arms, choosing this. Choosing me.
Every second felt like a line we crossed and couldn’t uncross. But I didn’t want to. I wanted more. All of it.
She touched me like I was something steady. Safe. Like she trusted me not to break her.
We fell back against the mattress, tangled in sheets and need. I kissed her like I’d never get another chance, like I’d waited my whole damn life for this one moment. Because I had. Even if I didn’t know it until now.
Her skin was warm beneath my hands, her breath shaky and quick. She whispered my name again—softer this time, a thread of disbelief in her voice, like she couldn’t believe this was really happening.
I kissed the corner of her mouth, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. She arched into me, and my hands were everywhere—memorizing the curve of her back, the dip of her waist, the way she trembled when I kissed her hipbone.
This wasn’t just heat. It wasn’t just chemistry. It was everything.
The kiss had started as a confession.
Now, this—us—was the proof.
She looked up at me like I was something sacred.
Like I was worth staying for.
The moment felt fragile—balanced on a breath, a heartbeat. One wrong move, and it could shatter.
But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn away. Instead, she reached for me, fingertips brushing along my jaw, my shoulder, my chest. Soft. Steady.
Like she was grounding herself in me.
I bent down and kissed her, and this time, there was no fire behind it. Just warmth. Intention. A slow pull of gravity drawing us closer, deeper.
The world narrowed.
Just her. Just me. Just this.
I laid her down, careful, like she might vanish if I moved too fast. Her hands slid up my back, pulling me closer until there was nothing left between us—no fear, no doubt, no space.
Her body fit against mine like it was made for me. Her breath hitched as I kissed her throat, her shoulder, the hollow between her collarbones. Every part of her trembled beneath my mouth, not from fear—but from trust.
She trusted me with this.
I wasn’t sure I deserved it, but I’d spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy.
When our skin met, I felt the shift—like something ancient unlocking inside me. Not lust. Not possession. Something quieter. Heavier.
Love.
The kind that sank into your bones and never let go.
She whispered my name, barely audible, but it wrecked me. The sound of it—soft, raw—hit harder than any spotlight, any goal, any crowd I’d ever played for.
I held her face, brushed my thumb over her cheek, just to keep her close, just to make sure she knew this wasn’t something I’d forget.
And then I moved, and she moved with me.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy and breathless and full of pauses where we just looked at each other, wide-eyed and overwhelmed. But it was real.
Every brush of her skin against mine was a silent promise: I’m here. I’m not running.
And I answered it with every part of me.
Time blurred. The storm outside faded into background noise—the low rumble of wind against the windows, the occasional creak of the old house. But inside this room, everything felt still. Sacred.
She clung to me like I was a lifeline. I held her like she was the only thing tethering me to the world.
After, she curled into my chest, breath still uneven, skin warm and glowing.
I kept one arm around her and used the other to brush her hair back, memorizing the shape of her, the scent of her shampoo, the way her lashes fluttered when she started to drift.
I’d never felt more alive.
Never more terrified of losing it.
But I didn’t say any of that.
I just kissed the top of her head and whispered into the quiet, “I’ve got you.”
Because I did.
And I always would.