Chapter 33
His voice is a whisper against my neck and sends shivers down my entire body. Never—not in twenty-five years—have I felt this in front of someone. This naked. This seen. This wanted.
Not in front of a man carved like temptation, lifting me with a certainty that silences every old insecurity in my bones.
He is all strength and heat and solid muscle, where I am softness and curves, yet I have never felt more powerful. More beautiful. More free.
Somewhere far inside, my insecurities scream, but they can’t reach me here. Not with him looking at me like I’m something holy and he’s starving for me.
“You’re all mine,” he murmurs, voice low and raw, lips dragging against my skin.
I break. Completely. Heat floods through me, pooling low and heavy, need curling tight and sharp inside me.
He lowers me to the bed, and I sink into it, breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my heart. I lie there staring up at him, speechless, worshipping every inch of him—broad shoulders, sculpted chest, hunger burning in his eyes, his erection standing firm, its head glossy with pre-cum.
My breath catches. Before I can think, he’s between my legs, unbuttoning my jeans, sliding them down, stripping me until all that remains is my blue thong—soaked and useless.
He palms his jutting erection, watching me, and I am gone. I could come just watching him.
My thighs shake. He reaches for me, both hands warm on my waist, and drags my panties down agonizingly slowly, never breaking eye contact. They hit the floor, and his body settles over mine, arms braced around my head, his mouth claiming mine in a slow, devastating kiss.
“Bloody hell, that sweet fucking mouth,” he breathes, hips flexing forward, sliding his cock over my lips. My throbbing clitoris gets a feel of him, and I’m convinced I am dying, but if this is death, I really don’t mind ending this way.
“Roger, please,” I whisper, breath shaking. “Fuck me.”
He groans, deep and sinful, and suddenly we flip. I gasp as I end up straddling him, my throbbing center right over his erection, heat sparking everywhere at once.
And God, I feel powerful. Like a goddess. Like I could swallow the world whole and he’d thank me for it.
“Roger, I—”
His hands tighten on my hips, eyes dark, greedy, reverent all at once.
“I want you to ride me, kitten.”
I start a slow rhythm, back and forth over his straining cock, and I feel it, deep inside me, my orgasm already building at the base of my spine.
“Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps.
My hands roam him—biceps, chest, abs—marveling at every line, every cut. I roll my hips, riding the friction, chasing the spark that’s about to swallow me whole. I run my clit along his length over and over again until the world blurs and I’m trembling.
“Rogue,” I breathe, desperate, dizzy, “I want you inside me.”
Control snaps in his eyes.
He sits, kisses me like he needs me to breathe, and flips us again in one fluid, powerful motion. I’m beneath him, open and burning.
“I need to grab a condom,” he whispers against my mouth.
“I’m on birth control,” I pant. “And I’m clean.”
His breath catches. Heat flares. His hand cups my cheek, then everything shatters.
He adjusts his erection at my entrance, then he is in, stretching me until I am gasping.
My head falls back, a moan tearing from me I’ve never heard before.
His lips are everywhere, my cheeks, lips, throat—and then he thrusts his hips, driving inside of me, and I swear I see stars and forget my own name.
He moves, deep, claiming, like I belong to him completely. He fucks me with long and hard strokes and I can’t control it, the orgasm overtakes me.
“Rogue—” my voice breaks, frantic, raw. “I’m going to come …”
His gaze locks on mine, feral and soft at once, and he shifts.
He lifts, staying on his knees, and holds me up, with his hands gripped under my ass, thrusting harder and deeper until I break.
I fall apart in his hands, body shaking, pleasure ripping through me so intense it hurts to breathe.
My orgasm settles, and there is nothing left for me to give.
“Oh, fuck, lass,” he mutters, his cock stiffening inside me.
“Come inside of me,” I say with a moan, and then we are over the edge together, crying out in pleasure. My insides throb, clenching and unclenching over his cock as he loses himself inside of me.
It’s not just an orgasm.
It’s a detonation. A surrender.
A rebirth.
His body collapses over mine, heavy and perfect, heartbeat wild against my chest. His lips brush mine, soft and disbelieving, like he can’t quite accept I’m real.
“Fucking hell, lass,” he breathes, kissing me again, slower this time. “I can’t wait to do that again.”
I laugh, breathless and dazed. “You’re still inside me.”
“And I’m staying here,” he murmurs, forehead against mine, voice low and wrecked. “Forever.”
And my heart—my stupid, starstruck, way-too-far-gone heart—shatters and rebuilds itself around him.
I wake to warmth.
Not sunlight, though soft morning light spills across the room, but him. Heat, strength, steady breath against the back of my neck. A forearm heavy around my waist, anchoring me. A thigh pushed between mine. His chest pressed to my spine like he never wanted space between us.
I don’t move. I just breathe, slow and careful, afraid that if I shift even an inch, this whole night might dissolve into a perfect dream I imagined.
Last night wasn’t one moment, it was a constellation.
Laughter.
Breathless need.
Hands that memorized, not claimed.
His voice low and reverent, whispering in Gaelic.
Twice, I woke to his lips on my skin, the back of my shoulder, the slope of my neck, his voice low and reverent in a language I don’t know but somehow felt in my bones.
Twice more, he pulled me under him and thrust into me slow and deep and full of something more than want.
And every time after, he held me like he was afraid I’d disappear.
I blink up at the ceiling, breath catching.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I have to hide any part of me. Not here, not with him.
I turn slowly to face him.
He’s still asleep, lashes dark against his cheek, hair a little messy, jaw rough with stubble. He’s beautiful, unfairly, breathtakingly beautiful in a way that almost hurts to look at.
But it’s more than that.
Under all that sinew and strength and bone, there’s a softness he doesn’t let anyone else see. A tenderness he pretends doesn’t exist. A quiet ache in him I feel even now, humming between us like a second heartbeat.
His brows twitch and his eyes open—storm gray, a little sleepy, devastating.
Then he smiles.
Slow. Warm. Like waking up to me is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Good morning, kitten,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
My heart forgets how to function. “Hi,” I whisper, smiling back before I can stop myself.
He lifts his hand and gently tucks my hair behind my ear, thumb brushing my cheek as though he’s still not convinced I’m real.
“Sleep all right?” he asks softly.
“More like floated,” I say, breath catching. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this …” Loved. Safe. Wanted. “… good.”
His eyes darken with something molten and warm, and he leans in, kissing me softly at first, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that says I could get used to this.
Then it deepens, turns hungry, like sleep was just a pause, not a cure for wanting.
I gasp against his mouth, heat coiling low in my stomach, then I force myself away, panting, forehead pressed to his.
“Rogue,” I whisper, breathless. “I am starving.”
He laughs, low, surprised, a sound I want to bottle and keep forever, and presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Alright, kitten,” he murmurs. “Stay right here. I’ll make us something to eat.”
He slides out of bed and walks toward the kitchen—broad shoulders, messy hair, and the kind of perfect backside that absolutely should have its own fan club.
He glances over his shoulder and catches me staring, then smirks, cocky and shy at the same time. I don’t even pretend I wasn’t staring at his perfect ass.
He disappears around the corner, and I sink deeper into the sheets that still smell like him, fresh and earthy and warm.
My heart is a wild thing in my chest.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. Muscle memory kicks in, it’s time for my morning routine: check emails, double-check scheduled content, make sure the world hasn’t burned overnight.
Inbox empty. Posts running.
Crisis level: blessedly zero.
I switch to messages.
June:
Good morning boss. I checked everything. Posts are up, interacted w/ fans, schedule looks good for the rest of the day. I hope you had a fun evening *side-eye*
I smile.
Me:
Thank you for being on top of it. I woke up a little later than usual today.
June:
oh I bet you woke up late. tbh I’m shocked you’re alive enough to text
I snort, typing back.
Me:
tbh, me too xD
Next, I tap open my preexisting text thread with Bri and Anna.
The last unread message hits me like a slap.
Bri:
And use protection!!!!
“… What?” I whisper to no one.
I scroll up.
Anna:
Don’t make a big deal but I’m leaving with him.
Bri:
WHAT THE FUCK????
Anna:
Stop making that face, he’s right here!
Bri:
Didn’t you JUST meet him??
Anna:
Technically it was over a month ago.
Bri:
Yeah but this is like the first time you’ve talked to him??
Anna:
Don’t cockblock me. You didn’t blink when Cat left and you KNOW she’s getting railed
Bri:
Slow burn doesn’t count. They’ve been eye-fucking for MONTHS.
Anna:
And I want my one night athlete stand. let me live.
Bri:
fine. go get ruined
Anna:
OH I WILL.
Bri:
And share your location.
Anna has started sharing location with you.
Bri:
And USE PROTECTION!!!!
My jaw hits the mattress.
Me:
WHO IS MY BABY SISTER SLEEPING WITH???????!?!
Bri:
Apparently the Arismendi sisters have a type: goalkeepers.
My soul leaves my body.
Oh.
My.
God.
Marianna. And Thiago.
I’m going to throw up.
Another text dings.
Bri:
So? How was it? Are you walking or crawling today?
I laugh despite everything.
Me:
Haven’t tried to stand yet. Soooo … TBD.
I leave the chat, heart still racing, and that’s when I see it, a Veil notification.
My stomach twinges.
There is a message from last night.
@Halfwritten.
I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately.
I think it’s time we meet in person, coffee or whatever. There are a few things I need to open up with you about.
I exhale slowly. We’ve stayed friendly. Respectful. He’s been nothing but understanding and kind since I admitted I had feelings for someone else. It feels safe to answer.
Me:
You know what? I think we should. I’m free later this week if you want to meet.
I wait for the typing dots.
Silence.
A soft ding sounds, not from my phone, but the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Rogue’s phone lights up, then goes dark again.
My chest tightens.
My brain tries to rationalize it, coincidence, glitch, wrong sound, but my body knows.
My heart knows first.
I type again.
Me:
Let me know when works for you.
Another ding from his phone.
No.
No way.
My heartbeat punches my throat. I throw the covers back, crawl across the sheets to his side, eyes locked on his phone.
One more test.
Me:
Testing.
His screen lights up, same app, same sound, and everything freezes.
My pulse, my breath, my reality.
It can’t be, but it is.
With trembling hands, I type one last text.
Me:
How fucking could you?