28. Particles
Particles
Natalia
The alarm goes off at five in the morning and it makes me feel like committing violence. I make a noise somewhere between a groan and a death rattle and bury my face deeper into Kiri’s pillow.
“No,” I say into it.
Beside me, the mattress dips. He leans over me and silences the alarm.
The room falls dark and quiet again, which feels like proof I’ve won, until the mattress moves beneath me again and cold air invades every place his body had been keeping warm.
I crack one eye open. Kiri stands beside the bed in nothing but black boxers, dragging both hands through his hair.
It sticks up in several directions, making him look unqualified to make decisions at this hour.
“Come back,” I demand.
“I have to hit the gym.”
“You don't.”
“I do if I want to keep fitting into the leather pants wardrobe keeps putting me in.”
“I’ll buy you bigger pants.”
He laughs under his breath and bends to pick his shirt off the floor.
“And you need to get back to your room before this turns into a fucking disaster.”
I roll onto my back and fling both arms over my head.
“I don’t care.”
“You will when Rafe tries to kill me before breakfast.”
“He can’t kill you.”
“He’d try. Your sister might help.”
I kick one leg beneath the sheets in protest. “She’s supposed to support women.”
“Probably not when the woman is her baby sister and she's sneaking out of my room at five in the morning.”
“You want me to leave after everything we just said and did?”
“I don't want you to leave. But you probably should, before the last day gets ruined by a giant fight in the hallway.”
I begin flailing properly now, twisting in the sheets with all the dignity of a toddler being removed from a toy store.
Kiri ignores me. He walks around the room collecting the wreckage of last night.
He grabs his black sweatpants from beside the chair, my sweatshirt and, mortifyingly, my lace thong from beneath the desk.
He tosses each thing into separate piles with irritating efficiency, but when he bends over to grab his bag, my flailing stops.
Every muscle along his back moves beneath his skin.
His shoulders flex as he drags the bag closer, the dark lines of ink moving with him.
When he crouches and pulls the zipper open, his thighs tighten, and my brain offers me an extremely detailed replay of what all that strength felt like against me last night.
He glances over his shoulder and our eyes meet. I yank the sheet over my head.
His laugh is low and sleepy. “Subtle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure.”
The zipper moves again and I can hear clothes rustling.
“You know,” he says, “you can’t exactly sneak looks at a rock star.”
I lower the sheet just enough to glare at him.
“Is that so?”
“Kinda our thing. You start feeling it like some kind of animal instinct.”
He folds a shirt with far more care than I’ve ever given any item of clothing in my life.
“There’s that whole thing about particles changing when they’re being watched,” he continues. “Whatever the fuck it’s called. Ronan wouldn't shut up about it but it’s true.”
“That sounded extremely scientific.”
“I’m basically a physicist.”
He packs the shirt, then straightens.
“Watching changes people,” he says. “Right now, I know I’m standing differently because you’re staring at me.”
“I'm not staring.”
“You’re hiding behind a sheet but you're still staring.” He turns toward the bed. “I know I’ll hold myself better and flex without thinking about it. I’ll try to look good for you—because I like it when you watch me.”
I peek farther over the sheet just as he starts prowling toward me.
A second later, the bag is forgotten and he’s leaning over me.
He plants one hand on either side of my body, caging me beneath him.
His hair falls forward around his face, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something much more dangerous.
“And when I’m watching you,” he murmurs, “I’m sure there are lots of ways you’re reacting to that, right?”
He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and my pulse trips.
His hand leaves the mattress and drifts down the sheet, following the shape of my body without touching it.
It passes over my ribs, then my stomach, traveling lower.
He stops directly above the place already aching for him.
Almost touching. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin space between us anyway.
“You feel that, don’t you?” he asks, voice still rough from sleep.
I nod, struggling to keep my breathing even. He doesn’t move or try to kiss me. He only watches. The anticipation builds until every nerve in my body seems fixed on the distance between his hand and me. I squirm beneath him, trying to close it. He lifts his hand slightly.
“Wait, or I won’t.”
I freeze. His gaze holds mine as I force my body still.
My breathing sounds embarrassingly loud in the silent room, but he keeps me there until I’m wound so tight I can barely think.
Then his palm finally settles over me through the sheet.
The sound that escapes me is almost louder than when he made me come last night. His eyes flash with satisfaction.
“Shhh.” His mouth brushes mine. “People might actually be awake. I don’t want to go to jail this morning because Rafe heard you and decided to avenge your honor.”
I clamp one hand over my mouth. Kiri laughs against my cheek.
He keeps his hand where it is, moving with that perfect pressure.
He pulls my hand away and takes my mouth with his.
The sheet between us should make this less intense.
Somehow, it doesn’t. All the waiting has turned the smallest touch into fire.
My body is already primed, every inch of me answering him.
His mouth moves over mine while his hand keeps the same torturous rhythm, and the tension breaks through me so quickly I barely understand it’s happening until I’m shaking beneath him.
When I finally open my eyes, he's watching me with the kind of expression that makes it difficult to remember my own name.
“For the record,” he murmurs, “I’m normally in favor of you being as loud as possible.”
I’m still trying to breathe.
“So don’t get used to staying quiet.” His thumb strokes once over the sheet, making me twitch with sensitivity. “Every sound you make is mine. I want all of it.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. He kisses me again before I can recover, slow and deep enough to make leaving seem like an impossible concept invented by truly cruel people. Then he pulls back.
“You should go before your stupidly punctual sister wakes up and starts knocking on your door.”
I shake my head.
He raises an eyebrow. “Kroppy, that wasn’t a question.”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
His smug little grin says he considers that a glowing review. Ten out of ten. Would recommend being rendered brainless and turned into a puddle by Kiri Chhim before sunrise. Then he goes back to packing.
I eventually force myself upright and begin collecting my clothes.
Every few minutes, Kiri drifts toward me even when he’s supposed to be packing.
His hand settles around my waist while I’m pulling on my shorts.
He kisses my shoulder while I search for his hairbrush and attempt to tame this mess of sex hair.
I look thoroughly fucked despite the depressing technicality that I’m not.
When I finally attempt to head toward the door, he catches me by the hips and kisses me until I forget what I was doing.
“At this rate, I’m never leaving,” I tease.
His smile fades, and mine follows. His bag is zipped. My clothes are on. There’s nothing left for either of us to pretend we still need to do. I stop near the door and fold my arms tightly across myself.
“We won’t get another chance to say goodbye.”
“I know.” Kiri looks toward the door, then back at me. “I thought about coming to the airport but that'd probably make things obvious.”
The ache in my chest deepens.
“So this is it.”
His expression tightens, but he nods.
“Probably better to do it here.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “You’re right.”
He pulls me against him so quickly my breath catches. One arm locks around my waist, the other hand sliding along my jaw. His mouth brushes my ear.
“Next time I see you,” he whispers, “if you still want me, I won't hold back.”
I nod against him. He draws back just enough to look at me, then his mouth crashes into mine.
It feels nothing like a goodbye. It feels hungrier than that, desperate, as if both of us are trying to take enough with us to survive whatever comes next.
When we finally separate, he holds my face firmly but gently between his hands and locks his eyes on mine.
When he speaks, every trace of teasing is gone. “Text me when you get in, so I know you’re safe.”
“I will.”
“Once you're home, we’ll take it from there. Figure this out.”
“That sounds simpler than it feels. Especially the keeping it a secret from everyone part.”
“It’s our secret for now.” His mouth twists slightly. “Some Romeo and Juliet-level shit.”
I laugh, even though it hurts. “They died and everyone still hated each other. Definitely goals.”
“Right.” He grimaces. “Bad example.”
“The worst.”
He opens the door and checks the hallway before stepping back to let me pass.
My room is only a few doors away. Leaving his shouldn’t feel like anything major, but every step takes me farther from the warmth of his bed, the press of his body, the strange little world we built in the dark while everyone else slept.
By the time I reach my door, the hallway already feels colder.
I look back. Kiri is still standing in his doorway, watching me.
Then I slip inside, knowing Seattle waits for me on the other side of all this—gray, rainy, routine, boring as fuck, and suddenly unbearable now that I know what it feels like to be here with him.