27. Countdown
Countdown
Natalia
Iwake slowly, warm and trapped beneath the weight of Kiri’s arm. At first, I forget where I am. Then I feel his chest against my back, the steady breath warming my shoulder, and one very solid part of him pressed along me beneath the tangled sheets.
Oh. Right.
My body remembers exactly where I am. Heat stirs between my thighs.
It seems one devastating orgasm and several hours of sleep have done nothing to make my body reasonable.
Kiri's still asleep. I can tell by the way his face is buried against the back of my neck and how completely relaxed his arm feels around my waist. I inch backward, slowly enough to pretend it’s accidental.
His breathing changes, which is just enough encouragement to do it again, so I do.
This time, his arm tightens around me, pulling me against him.
“Kiri?” I whisper.
No response. He’s either asleep or he has far more self-control than any man should be allowed. I roll my hips one more time before I slowly run my hand along the unfair curve of his V-line, but when I'm finally about to reach what I'm seeking, his hand closes over mine.
“That's an interesting way to say good morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I smile into the pillow. “You’re awake, I guess.”
“I am now.”
He pulls my hand away from its destination and traps it against my stomach.
I turn in his arms, which takes some effort because he is enormous and determined to remain attached to me at all angles.
His eyes are barely open and his hair is unrecognizable.
I check for any bald spots I might have caused, but he looks like he's marked safe from my orgasmic death grip.
He still looks ridiculous. Unfortunately, he also looks beautiful.
I lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth.
He kisses me back automatically, slow and warm, then seems to remember what I was trying to do and pulls away. I pout, visibly.
His eyes narrow. “That face won't work on me.”
“What face?”
“The same one that's probably gotten you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“Obviously not everything.”
His mouth twitches. I slide my hand down his chest, pushing my luck, but he catches it again.
“Is this your idea of torture? Why do you keep stopping me?”
“Because.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
I stare at him. This isn't the Kiri everyone warned me about.
The way people talk, he should have taken one look at me and started planning which flat surface would survive us.
Instead, he keeps stopping, redirecting, and treating my body like he subscribed to my OnlyFans just to stare at the previews.
“You know,” I say, “your reputation is starting to look like a lie.”
He sighs and pulls me closer until my face is tucked against his chest.
“Keep that quiet. I have an image to maintain.”
I laugh against his skin.
“Wouldn’t want everyone finding out the terrifying Kiri Chhim is secretly a softie?”
“It'd destroy years of careful branding.”
I tip my head up, studying him. Then I bite his bicep.
He jerks. “Fuck. What was that for?”
“For being annoying.” I bite him again, lighter this time.
“Damn, k-kra—Kroppy.” He frowns. “Whatever. My Khmer’s running on no sleep. You’re Kroppy now. My crocodile. Always using your fucking teeth.” He grabs my jaw gently and turns my face toward him. “Stop. Biting. Me.”
“Then tell me why you keep refusing.”
“If you stop snapping that jaw at me, I’ll tell you.”
I consider his proposal, then bite the edge of his chest near his shoulder.
He flinches and gives me an incredulous look.
“Tell me, or this crocodile will keep going lower until I find something more sensitive.”
His eyes flick downward and the wince that crosses his face makes me laugh. His hand moves slowly over my back, thumb tracing the line of my spine beneath the sheet. He looks away for a moment, toward the dark window and the faint line of early morning beginning to show around the curtains.
“It just doesn’t feel right, taking something from you right now.”
My smile disappears. I blink at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t be taking anything.”
He exhales and drags a hand over his face. “You were grieving when this started between us, and I don’t know…” His jaw tightens. “It feels messed up, like I’d be using something you’re going through to get something I want.”
For a second, I can’t speak. Of all the explanations I expected, that wasn’t one. He looks uncomfortable saying it, as though the thought has been sitting inside him for days and he hates that I’ve made him say it out loud.
“I know you want it. I know you’d be choosing it.” He pauses. “But I also know grief makes people reach for things, shit that makes the world shut up for a little while. Sex is definitely… one way to do that.”
My chest aches. “It’s not taking something from me. You’d be giving something. We both would.”
His brow furrows, skepticism written all over his face. I press closer and rest my hand against his chest before gesturing toward the rest of him beneath the sheet.
“There's probably a million people in line behind me begging for the opportunity to sleep with you.”
“That sounds exhausting. I don't have the energy anymore. Now, if we were talking about twenty-year-old me, he'd take that challenge happily.” He tries to brush it off with a joke but I don't let him.
“You genuinely don’t see yourself that way, do you?” His eyebrows rise. I gesture at him again, broader this time. “Your body. You. It's a gift too.”
He shrugs. I stare at him, trying to process how stupid he must actually be.
“You perform half-naked in front of thousands of people. Don't act dumb.”
“I know people find me attractive.”
“That might be the most detached way anyone has ever admitted to being undeniably hot.”
He laughs softly but I don’t, almost outraged at how ridiculous this conversation actually is.
“Don’t you think being with you would mean something to me?” I ask. His expression changes. “You say taking, like I’d walk away with something missing. Maybe I’d walk away with more.”
His eyes close for a second. When they open again, the joking has left them.
“Well,” he says, voice lower, “if you put it that way, then we definitely have to wait.”
I blink. “That was the opposite of the point.”
He rolls onto his side, facing me fully, and slides one hand behind my neck.
“Once I give you that particular gift, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
The words send a warm shiver through me.
He kisses me before I can respond, slowly at first, his mouth hot against mine.
Then the kiss deepens, his tongue brushing mine just enough to remind me exactly how little space exists between his resistance and losing it entirely.
When he pulls back, both of us are breathing differently.
“I’d need more than one night,” he says against my lips. “More than a few hours before somebody starts knocking on doors and telling us to load the bus.”
My fingers move along his chest, across his collarbone, then curl around his shoulder.
He leans into the curve of my neck, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “I’d need enough time to do it right.”
Heat rushes through me before I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Do it right? I think you should explain that in detail.”
His mouth curves. “Don’t make me explain when I’m already struggling to behave.” He kisses me again, but the smile fades before he pulls away. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before I get to see you again.”
The thought neither of us has wanted to touch. Tomorrow, flights, separate continents. Seattle for me and another city, another stage, another hotel room for him. His thumb brushes along my jaw.
“If we… crossed that line, I don't think I'd survive not getting to feel you again for months.” His voice roughens slightly. “I might actually lose my mind.”
“Yeah, this already feels like enough to lose mine,” I whisper.
We look at each other in the quiet. The room feels smaller now, the bed too warm, his body so close, morning waiting outside the curtains with nothing but distance to offer us both.
I trace the dark ink along his shoulder, the ache in my chest deepening.
I lean in and press my mouth to the spot I bit, giving him a kiss this time.
He exhales and draws me against him until my leg is thrown over his hip.
I grin up at him and he kisses the grin from my mouth, once, then again.
Each kiss is softer until I stop thinking about what he refuses to give me and start feeling everything he already has.
The way he holds me like letting go is the one thing he’s most afraid of. I tuck my face beneath his chin.
“This isn’t very fuckboy of you.”
“Shhh, please,” he murmurs into my hair. “I'm gonna make you sign an NDA before you leave.”
I laugh softly as his arms tighten around me. Neither of us mentions how little time is left; we don’t have to.
I can feel the countdown in the beat of his heart.