Chapter Thirty
WORTH THE WAIT
Tori
The door clicks shut behind us, and suddenly we’re standing in Zayden’s bedroom, surrounded by dim light and anticipation.
He doesn’t rush. Despite the heat that’s been building all night—during dinner, during the drive, during the thirty seconds it took to pay Hannah and usher her out the door—he takes his time now, looking at me as if he wants to memorize this moment.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Nervous,” I admit.
“We don’t have to—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” I step closer, pressing my palm flat against his chest. His heart is pounding just as hard as mine.
“Come here,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss starts slow, almost careful, but it doesn’t stay that way. His hands find my waist, pulling me against him, and I melt into the heat of his body.
My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and I start working them open. He pulls back just enough to watch me, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“In a hurry?”
“We’ve been waiting months for this. Yes, I’m in a hurry.”
He laughs, low and warm, and helps me with the last few buttons. The shirt falls open, and I push it off his shoulders, then—
Oh.
Oh, this is a lot.
I’ve seen him shirtless before—dozens of times. I’ve had my hands on this body in a purely professional capacity more times than I can count.
But this is different. This is Zayden in the low light of his bedroom, looking at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted, and I am absolutely not prepared for the full impact of him.
Broad shoulders that seem to go on forever. A chest that’s all hard planes and defined muscle. A dusting of dark hair trails down his stomach to where his belt sits low on his hips. There’s a scar on his left side—an old injury I know the history of—and I want to trace it with my tongue.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“You’re very stareable.”
“That’s not a word.”
“It is now.”
He grins, reaching for the zipper at the back of my dress. “May I?”
I turn around, lifting my hair off my neck. His fingers brush my spine as he pulls the zipper down, and I shiver at the contact. The dress loosens, then falls, pooling at my feet in a whisper of fabric.
I stand before him in nothing but a black lace bra and matching underwear—thank God I planned ahead—and suddenly I feel very exposed. Very seen.
He makes a sound, low and almost pained. “Tori.” My name comes out rough. “You’re...”
I lift my eyes to his, waiting.
“I had a whole sentence planned. It’s gone now.” He shakes his head slowly, his eyes traveling over me. “You broke my brain.”
I laugh, and just like that, the nervousness fades. This is us—heat and humor and something real underneath it all.
“Get over here,” I tell him.
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter, and then his mouth is everywhere—my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder. I arch into him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back, trying to pull him closer even though there’s no space left between us.
He kisses his way down my body, taking his time, and I’m going to lose my mind. Every touch feels amplified, electric—like my nerve endings have been waiting for exactly this.
When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he looks up at me.
“Still good?”
“Zayden. If you ask me one more time if I’m okay, I’m going to—”
“Going to what?”
“I don’t know, but it’ll be dramatic.”
He grins, and then he stops asking and starts showing me exactly why he’s been worth the wait. His mouth trails across sensitive skin, and I arch into him.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs against my thigh, “how long I’ve been thinking about this.”
“How long?” I pant.
“Since the first time you put your hands on my shoulder and told me to stop being a baby about the ice bath.”
“That was week one.”
“I’m aware.” He kisses my hip bone, and I gasp. “Drove me crazy. This gorgeous woman with her hands all over me, completely professional, while I’m lying there trying not to embarrass myself.”
“You hid it well.”
“I’m an athlete. I’m used to hiding pain.” He lifts his head, grinning. “Among other things.”
I pull him back up, kissing him hard, and his hands start to wander. Down my sides, over my hips, hooking under my thigh to pull my leg up around him. The contact makes us both groan.
“Wait,” I breathe. “Too many clothes. You’re still wearing pants.”
“Valid point.”
He pulls back long enough to deal with his belt, and I take the opportunity to unhook my bra and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. I hear the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of pants hitting the floor, and then—
When he looks back at me, he actually stops moving. Just freezes, staring.
“What?”
“Give me a second. I’m committing this to memory.”
“Zayden.”
“I’m serious. This image is going to get me through a lot of long road trips.”
I throw a pillow at him. He catches it, laughing, and then he’s back—pressing me into the mattress, skin against skin, nothing between us but heat and want.
“Better?” I manage.
“So much better.” He kisses me deeply, thoroughly, until I’m dizzy with it. “You feel incredible.”
His hand slides down my stomach, and I stop thinking altogether.
He takes his time with me—learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch off the bed, what makes me say his name like a gasp. He’s patient and thorough and devastating, and by the time he finally pulls away to reach for the nightstand drawer, I’m trembling for entirely different reasons.
“Good?” he asks, hovering over me.
I pull him down by the back of his neck. “Very.”
He presses into me slowly, giving me time to adjust. My breath catches. He’s big—I knew that, objectively, but knowing and experiencing are very different things.
“Okay?” His voice is strained, like it’s taking everything he has to hold still.
“Yeah.” I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “More than okay.”
He starts to move, and it’s—
It’s everything.
Slow at first, finding our rhythm, learning how we fit together. Then faster, deeper, as the tension builds between us. His forehead drops to mine, breath ragged, and I can feel him holding back.
He pauses above me, and something raw crosses his face. “I haven’t—” He swallows hard. “It’s been a long time since anyone—”
I cup his jaw, feeling the muscle tick beneath my palm. “Don’t,” I tell him.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”
Something flashes in his eyes—dark, hungry—and then he’s not holding back anymore. He hooks my leg higher on his hip and changes the angle, and I actually cry out because it’s so good.
“There?” he asks, and the smugness in his voice should be annoying, but it’s really, really not.
“There. Right there. Don’t stop.”
“Never.”
He keeps his word—over and over—until I’m clutching at his shoulders, until I’m making sounds I’ll probably be embarrassed about later, until I feel the pressure building to something I can’t contain.
“Zay—I’m going to—”
“I know.” He kisses me hard. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
I do.
It crashes through me in waves, and I’m pretty sure I say his name, or maybe just a string of incoherent sounds. He follows a moment later, groaning against my neck, hips stuttering before he collapses half on top of me.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Just breathes. His weight is heavy but I don’t want him to move.
“I think you killed me,” I finally manage.
He laughs against my neck. “You okay?”
“I am much better than okay.” I trace a finger down his jaw. “I might need a minute before I can feel my legs again.”
“Take all the time you need.” He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Later—much later—we’re lying in a tangle of sheets, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. I can hear his heartbeat under my ear, gradually slowing back to normal.
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, and I’m just starting to drift toward sleep when something occurs to me.
“Zayden?”
“Mm?”
“Did you lock the door?”
A pause. A very long pause.
“I... think so?”
“You think so?”
“I’m pretty sure I—”
And then, as if the universe has been waiting for exactly this moment, there’s a small knock on the door.
“Daddy?”
We both freeze. I’ve never moved so fast in my life—scrambling for sheets, for clothes, for anything to cover myself while Zayden nearly falls off the bed trying to find his boxers.
“One second, Maze!” His voice comes out strangled. “Just—stay there, okay?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“I know, baby. One second.”
I’m under the covers now, blanket pulled up to my chin, watching Zayden hop around trying to get his legs into his boxers. He bangs his shin on the bedframe and bites back a curse.
“Smooth,” I whisper.
“Not helpful.”
He finally gets them on and cracks the door open, slipping out into the hallway. I hear murmured voices—Maisie’s small and sleepy, his low and soothing—and then footsteps padding away toward her room.
I lie there, heart pounding, caught somewhere between mortification and hysterical laughter.
This is my life now—sneaking around like a teenager, hiding under the covers while my... boyfriend? Whatever he is... puts his daughter back to bed.
It should feel strange. Complicated. Maybe a little scary.
Instead, it just feels right.
Zayden comes back ten minutes later, closing the door softly behind him—and this time, I hear the lock click.
“Is she okay?”
“Bad dream about a dinosaur eating her homework.” He slides back into bed, pulling me against him. “I told her dinosaurs are extinct and also don’t care about first-grade math.”
“Solid parenting.”
“I try.” He settles back against the pillows with a sigh. “Sorry about that. Not exactly the romantic ending I had planned.”
“Are you kidding? That was perfect.”
He looks down at me, confused. “How is my kid almost walking in on us perfect?”
“Because it’s real.” I prop myself up on my elbow. “It’s you—your life, your daughter, all of it. I don’t want some sanitized version that pretends complicated things don’t exist. I want this—the messy, interrupted, real thing.”
He stares at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just...” He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m falling hard for you. You know that, right?”
My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He pulls me down for a kiss—soft this time, tender. “Stay tonight?”
“What about Maisie?”
“Well… we could sneak you out in the morning.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips. “But I think she’d be happy to see you again.”
I settle against his chest, letting my eyes drift closed. “Okay.”
His arm wraps around me, warm and solid and safe, and I fall asleep listening to his heartbeat.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not scared of what comes next.
I’m excited for it.