Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
EMILIA
I was half-scrolling, half-dozing. The soft blue light of my phone screen lit the sheets in flickers as I skimmed updates and ignored messages I had no intention of answering.
Across the room, Bastion lay in bed, propped against the headboard, one arm slung behind his head, the other holding his phone loosely on his chest. He hadn’t said much since the call came through.
Luca was stuck in Villain for the night.
Flights grounded. Something about the storm system sweeping up the coast.
Luca had been weird since we got back from the game. I had planned on talking to him about it tonight when he got back.
I looked up and studied Bastion.
The lines of his body were still, too still. Not relaxed. His eyes weren’t on his phone anymore—they were fixed on something invisible, far past the ceiling.
“How many nights have you two spent apart?” I asked softly.
His gaze slid toward me, sharp. But he didn’t answer .
He didn’t need to.
None. I could tell from one look.
He laid there, chest barely moving, like he was holding his breath. As if he didn’t hold his breath, the spiral might show.
I pushed the sheets off my legs and stood, walking across the cold floorboards.
His eyes tracked me—suspicious, maybe. But there was something else in them too.
I braced my hands on his shoulders and swung one leg over, settling onto his lap before he could argue.
“Emilia—” His voice was low but very strained. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t. Not even close.
The moment I straddled him, his entire body stiffened beneath me. And when my dress shifted—riding up to my waist, cool air brushing my thighs, his eyes caught it. Locked there.
I leaned in slowly, cupping his jaw with both hands. His skin was warm, tense under my touch.
Then I kissed him.
Soft at first.
Just the barely touching his lips with mine.
But when he didn’t pull away, I pressed in deeper—harder—until I felt him respond, his mouth parting under mine like he’d been holding back for hours.
His hand slid to my waist, fingers digging in tight.
The kiss deepened—slow and hungry. His hand flexed once, then again, and I felt it—the moment his control slipped just slightly.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my mouth. “Are you…”
His fingers slid down, brushed over my hips, pausing as they skimmed bare skin.
He pulled back just enough to look at me. “You’re not wearing panties. ”
I shook my head, breath shallow. “Didn’t feel like it.”
His jaw clenched.
I shifted slightly on his lap, just enough for him to feel me.
“I can help you relax,” I whispered.
His hands came up, cradling my face now. His brows were drawn tight, eyes flicking across mine like he was searching for something he couldn’t find.
Still, he didn’t stop me.
I moved again, slow and warm against the tension in his body, he was so tight it felt like he might snap if I wasn’t careful.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone.
“Baby…”
And I just kept moving—gentle, steady. I shifted in his lap, and something in him faltered.
His breath caught—sharp, like he was trying to hold it in.
Without speaking, I kissed him again—softer this time. Slower. Then I slid back just slightly, keeping eye contact as I pushed the blankets away from his body.
“Emilia…” His voice was a warning. But it was soft. Had no fight in in it all all. Very unconvincing.
I leaned forward and pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, and lower.
He stiffened when I started to move down.
“Baby, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” I kissed down his chest, tracing the lines of his body through his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the hem. My lips followed. He wasn’t breathing now. Just staring down at me like he couldn’t believe this was happening.
His hands gripped the sheets.
“I said I wanted to help you relax,” I glanced up at him.
I let my mouth trail lower, kisses lingering, teasing. His hips twitched once. His hands were fists now .
Then I dipped my head fully.
And the only sound in the room was the sudden rasp of his breath—the kind that punched out of him without warning.
He muttered a curse. Low. Guttural.
One of his hands found my hair, his touch trembling as he tried not to guide me, not to move—but failed.
“Jesus… Emilia.”
I hummed softly in response, letting him feel every beat of my intention.
Praising him with my mouth.
Worshiping him.
He wasn’t speaking anymore. Just breathing—ragged and uneven, chest rising like he was struggling to keep control. His fingers flexed in my hair again, not pulling, not forcing. Just holding.
Like if he let go, the moment would slip away.
And maybe it would.
Because Bastion Crow didn’t let people see him like this. Not quiet. Not undone.
But I was watching every part of him unravel—piece by piece. The tension in his shoulders. The hitch in his throat. The way his other hand had fisted the sheet beside him, knuckles white.
I dragged my mouth slowly, lovingly, listening to the quiet sounds he didn’t mean to make.
And when he finally gave in—hips barely lifting, head falling back with a low, desperate groan—I felt it like a confession.
Like a secret meant only for me.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice rough and broken. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”
I eased up gently, tracing kisses back across his hip, then to the trail of skin I’d exposed earlier. My hands slid over his thighs, holding him. Calming him back down. I’m not even sure if he knew he did that to me, but fuck, it had felt amazing. .
He didn’t say anything. Just looked at me—eyes wide, mouth parted, chest still shaking.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
He nodded once.
“Come here,” he rasped.
I let him pull me up, crawling slowly across the bed until I was curled beside him again. His arms went around me immediately. Tight. Too tight.
I buried my face in his neck and whispered, “Better?”
His answer came after a pause.
Not a word.
Just a kiss to the side of my head—and the softest, quietest sound I’d ever heard from him.
Like a yes he couldn’t say out loud.
He pulled me into the blankets without a word.
Just tugged me down and wrapped his arms around me, burying me against his chest like he couldn’t stand the space between us. Like he didn’t want air unless I was in it too.
We lay like that for a while. Breathing. Resting.
And then something shifted.
His grip changed—tightened. Not out of want, but fear. I felt it in the way his whole body went still, tight beneath mine like something inside him had snapped back into place... too hard.
He was panicking again.
Quietly. Internally.
But I could feel it.
I didn’t say anything. Just reached down and gently unwrapped his fingers where they’d been clenched against my back, prying one knuckle at a time until I had his hand in mine.
Then I pressed it flat against my chest. Against my heart.
Held it there. Let him feel it.
The rhythm. The truth of it.
He didn’t move. Just breathed like he didn’t trust himself to do anything else.
After a moment, I trailed his hand up—slowly, carefully—over my ribs, up my side, until I let it go.
And for a second, I thought he might pull back again.
But he didn’t.
As if the permission had only just clicked. As if he hadn’t believed it was real until right now—his fingers began to move. Tentative at first, brushing the slope of my waist, then higher. Exploring. Learning me like I was something fragile he might break.
“Fuck,” he whispered, barely audible. “You’re so soft.”
I smiled into his chest.
“You can touch me,” I whispered, voice low against his chest. “If it helps.”
His breath caught.
So I leaned up and pressed a kiss just above his heart—soft and slow. And then I sat up slightly, undoing the delicate ties at my shoulders, letting the satin slide down my arms.
His eyes followed the movement.
And when the fabric pooled at my waist, he didn’t look away.
He swallowed hard.
I reached for his hand and guided it to my side, placing it over the curve of my ribs.
His fingers twitched—then moved. Trailing lightly. Reverently.
And then he shifted—fast .
Flipping me gently onto my back.
The air caught in my lungs as he hovered above me, just staring.
Looking at me like he hadn’t dared to before.
Like every inch of skin he’d memorized in silence was suddenly real, and right here.
He didn’t rush.
Just ran his fingers slowly over my stomach, along the edge of my hip, down my thigh. Barely touching. But feeling everything.
Then—just as suddenly—he curled his body back around mine, dragging me against his chest, wrapping me in his arms again.
But this time, his hands didn’t stay still.
They moved over my skin slowly, purposefully, like he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t help it.
And somewhere between one breath and the next... he relaxed.
Fully.
Completely.
Like the panic had drained out of him and left nothing but this.
His mouth brushed my ear.
And then, in a voice so low I almost missed it, he said, “One day, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, baby. Really give you the worship you deserve.”
My breath hitched.
He stopped touching me then. Like even saying it had been too much.
And not long after, I felt his breathing even out—his body sinking into sleep, arms still around me, hand still resting on my waist.
But I didn’t fall asleep right away .
Because my heart was still racing.
I woke to the gentlest sensation—his fingers, trailing slowly down my back. Following the dip of my spine like it was something precious. Like touching me grounded him.
I didn’t say anything.
Didn’t move.
Just kept my eyes closed and let him keep tracing. Let him touch me like this—soft, slow, almost reverent.
Then his lips pressed against the back of my shoulder. Then my neck.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep.
I nodded, barely, my cheek brushing the pillow.
He was quiet for a moment, breathing deep like he was trying to anchor himself.
Then he shifted behind me, pulling back slightly.
“If I don’t get up right now,” he muttered, “I’m gonna lose the last of my self-control and fuck you.”
I didn’t answer—but I felt the blush creeping everywhere.
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Naked and blushing in my bed…” he leaned over, kissed the side of my head, voice low and strained. “Baby, you’re killing me.”
And then he stood.
Tossed on a hoodie, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked back at me like he still wasn’t sure leaving was the right call.
“I’m going to the gym,” he said finally.
I rolled over slowly, still warm from where his body had been pressed to mine.
“Can I stay in your bed for a bit?” I asked, voice soft, a little shy. I half expected him to tell me to get out.
The sheet had slipped lower with the movement, showing my breasts. I reached instinctively to pull it back up—but his hand was already there, tugging the covers gently over me .
His eyes lingered for a second before he leaned down and kissed the side of my head again.
“If it was up to me,” his mouth at my ear, “you’d live in it.”
Then he left—quiet, steady—like if he didn’t walk out right then, he wouldn’t leave at all.
I was slipping on my rings when the door opened.
Luca.
He stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall, and for a second… he didn’t move.
His eyes scanned the room like he couldn’t quite make sense of it. Like he wasn’t sure if it was real.
He looked awful.
Pale. Wired. His jaw was set too tight, and his hands wouldn’t stay still. He’d barely slept—that much was obvious. Something darker lingered behind his expression, something that hadn’t let him go all night.
“Bastion’s okay.” I said, I could hear the question without him saying it, “He’s at the gym,” I said gently, keeping my voice low. “Or… that’s where he said he was going. Three hours ago.”
Luca didn’t respond. Just nodded once. Then crossed the room and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees.
He stared at the floor like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.
I didn’t hesitate.
I walked to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Let me help.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
I didn’t argue. Just nodded like I believed him. “Okay. ”
But I didn’t move.
I looked at him—really looked. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed red. His body looked like it had been held too tightly for too long.
Still, he said it again.
“Go to class. I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t. And we both knew it.
I stepped in closer and gently reached for the hem of his shirt. He didn’t stop me.
“Lift your arms,” I whispered.
He did.
I pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it to the side, then moved to unbutton his pants. My fingers brushed the waistband, and I felt the way his breath hitched, how his hands twitched where they rested on his thighs.
He didn’t fight it.
I continued to undress him. Every movement was slow, gentle—careful, like I was handling something fragile.
Because I was .
When I was done, I brushed my fingers along his arm. “Can I nap with you?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me—exhausted, like he didn’t have the strength to say yes, but didn’t want to say no.
I walked to the control panel and tapped the blinds. The room darkened, warm and soft as the automatic shades sealed the light away.
“Please, Luca,” I whispered. “Let me stay.”
I climbed onto the bed and he reached for me immediately, pulling me into his chest. The same way Bastion had earlier.
But it wasn’t the same.
Luca’s grip was tighter. Wilder. Desperate in a way he didn’t know how to name .
I curled in, pressing my face to his chest, my fingers stroking his arm.
He didn’t say a word.
Just held me.
And then, finally—so quietly I almost missed it:
“You smell good.”
I smiled, not moving. Just kept tracing the lines of his forearm, slow and steady, grounding him.
His breathing started to slow.
And I didn’t stop touching him.