Chapter Six #3
He crossed the room, his body angling toward the bassinet, and then—careful, deliberate—he bent at the waist and eased Grace into her nest. He moved with the practiced slowness of someone who’d paid the price for doing it too fast. He set her down, one finger on her back until the last possible second, and only after she exhaled a soft, squeaky sigh did he straighten up.
He checked the blanket, tucking it around her hips with two fingers. He checked her face, free and clear. He waited, just to make sure she didn’t wake, then turned.
I was still there. I knew I should leave. Give him space. Let him have a night’s peace before I complicated the whole thing with my need, but I didn’t. I stayed.
He clocked me in one glance—read the entire situation, history, and intent—and the smile that started at the edge of his mouth went nuclear. It was a slow, knowing grin, equal parts cocky and mischievous, the kind that said: I see you, and I know exactly what you want to do.
He didn’t rush it. He walked across the room, closing the gap with an unhurried precision that made the back of my neck buzz.
When he stopped, we were close enough that I could feel the heat off his skin, and see the way his pupils swallowed the light.
He tipped his chin up, not in challenge, but in open invitation.
“You’re still here,” he said. The voice was soft, but there was nothing yielding about it.
“I am,” I said.
He let that hang in the air, then: “You going to do something about it, or just stand there looking expensive?”
I didn’t ask for permission. I didn’t even think. I reached, cupped the side of his jaw with my left hand, and tipped his face up the inch it needed to meet mine.
The first touch of our mouths was so light it barely qualified as contact. His lips parted, and I tasted the ghost of cherry, sugar, the tang of adrenaline on his skin.
He made a noise—a low, surprised sound in the back of his throat—and then the rest of him caught up. His right hand came up, fast, gripped my arms. He didn’t pull, didn’t try to dominate the move, just held on like the entire world had narrowed to that single point of tension.
The second kiss wasn’t light at all. It was a collision, all heat and velocity, the pent-up pressure of two men who’d spent a days holding their breath.
My hand spanned most of his jaw, the tips of my fingers splayed to his hairline.
He was so small in my grip I could have broken him, but all I wanted was to keep him right there, pinned in that single, perfect moment.
The scent of him hit me full force: skin, salt, cherry blossom, the edge of anxiety and the deeper, richer note of pure, unfiltered want. I catalogued every detail—the way his mouth fit mine, the slide of his tongue, the catch and release of his breath as he let himself match the pace.
The size difference was real. He fit under my chin, tucked against my body, like we’d been engineered in the same factory but at radically different scales. His hand on my arms was tight, the knuckles white, but the rest of him relaxed into the kiss.
I pressed him back a step, angling so his ass hit the edge of the dresser. He went with it, never losing contact, and then he broke for air, panting, a laugh caught in the back of his throat.
“Okay,” he said, and the word was half-drowned in the aftershock. “That’s—okay.”
I kissed him again, just to prove it wasn’t a fluke. He made another sound, softer this time, and let me deepen it. I ran my hand down the line of his throat, cataloguing the staccato beat of his pulse, and then I dropped my hand to his hip, anchoring him there.
He nipped my lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to register intent. I grinned into the kiss, and he grinned back, the tension between us collapsing and resolving into something that felt like gravity.
From the crib, Grace let out a single, reedy breath. It was enough to pull us both back from the edge. He looked at her, then at me, and the smile that flickered across his face was real, unguarded.
“She’s going to wake up in four hours,” he said.
I nodded. “I know.”
He looked down at his hand, still gripping my arm. He loosened his grip, but didn’t let go.
“You going to stay?” he asked, voice gone rough.
“Yeah,” I said. “If you want.”
He swallowed, then nodded. “I do.”
We stood there, not kissing, just breathing in the same air, two men with no idea how to let go, and no reason to try.
The city outside kept spinning, the orange light pressing faintly through the glass, making everything in the room look warmer than it was. The only other sound was the steady, even breathing of the baby in the bassinet—small and oblivious, the reason we were both standing here at all.
He let go of me, but ran his hand up my bare chest once, just to confirm I was still there. He stepped back, only far enough to give himself room to move, and then he yawned, so wide it looked like his jaw would unhinge.
I laughed, low and honest. “Bed?”
He nodded, then crawled into it, not even waiting to see if I followed.
I watched him, small and fierce, tangle himself in the sheets. I watched the soft fall of his hair, the way he made himself so at home in a room he’d never wanted to be in.
I slid in beside him, and the second my body hit the mattress, his hand found mine under the coverlet, squeezed once, and let go.
I didn’t sleep. I just watched the dawn rise over the city, the light catching the far peaks and flooding the glass.
He slept through, warm at my side, and the baby slept, too.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, the world was perfect.
Even if it only lasted a single night.