Chapter 10 #2
She tasted like the past and everything I wanted for the rest of my life.
My hands slid up her spine, memorizing the curve of her back, the tiny gasp that escaped when I pulled her closer.
The world fell away until there was nothing but the sound of our breathing, the quick, uneven rhythm that said we were already too far gone.
Her fingers trembled as she framed my face, eyes wide, searching mine as if she needed permission to fall. I gave it in silence, tracing my thumb over her lower lip, feeling her shiver. The air between us thickened, heavy with everything unsaid.
I lifted her onto the counter and took her mouth.
Heat met heat—her lips soft, urgent, tasting like the last restraint breaking.
Kissing her had already become my favorite sin.
I palmed her breasts, felt her nipples tighten under my thumbs, and she whimpered when I broke the kiss to drag my mouth along her jaw, her throat, then down to catch one stiff peak between my teeth.
“Harvey,” she breathed, a warning and a plea.
“Tell me what you want,” I said.
“Harder.”
I sucked through the thin fabric of her blouse until she arched, then slid the buttons open, the sound small and hungry in the quiet room.
Lace gave under my fingers, and her bra fell away.
When she reached for her panties, I caught her wrists and set them on the counter beside her thighs. “Stay with me.”
“I am,” she said, eyes on mine.
Her scent—salt, heat, and something that belonged only to her—pulled at me.
I knelt and eased aside the strip of cotton, then pressed my tongue to her, slow, deliberate, until she gasped.
I tasted her and slid a finger inside, feeling the clench, the welcome.
“You taste so fucking good,” I said into her skin.
I circled her clit, blew cool air over it, then sealed my mouth there.
She rolled her hips to my face, fisted her hand in my hair, and when I added a second finger and curled, she swore and shook.
“Harder. Fuck me harder.”
“I hear you,” I said, and I did. But I wanted her slow first, wanted to show her that pleasure could be a place to rest. “Patience. I want to savor you. I promise—later.”
Her laugh caught, turned into a moan. I licked her until her breath broke into small, honest sounds; until her thighs trembled and her grip went from demanding to trusting. When she tipped her chin down, meeting my eyes, I asked, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I stood, stripped my jeans and briefs, and stroked myself once, twice, just to watch her pupils widen.
“Look at me,” I said, and she did—tongue wetting her bottom lip, hunger and softness both there.
I rubbed the slick head against her, teasing, feeling her heat, then pushed inside.
She was tight and warm, and the first stretch was a shock that went straight to my spine.
We fit. Not possession, not conquest—something like finding a door I’d been walking past for years and finally stepping through.
I threaded my fingers in her hair, cradled her face, and kissed her while I moved, slow at first, then deeper. She met me, not just with her body but with the way she looked at me—present, unafraid.
“More,” she said, and I gave her more. Skin to skin, breath to breath. The counter squeaked, her nails scratched my shoulders, and the room filled with the small sounds that meant we were here, and only here.
The climb was fast and inevitable. Not cliffs, not storms—just the simple honesty of her muscles tightening around me, the way her breath stuttered when my pace hit the rhythm she needed, the heat building where our bodies met.
“Harvey,” she said, and I felt her go, felt her pulse grip me, milk me, pull me past the edge.
I came with a groan that felt like relief and prayer, burying myself in her and letting the rest of the world fall away.
After, we didn’t speak. She lay against my chest, her cheeks damp, her breathing steadying while the house settled around us.
I pressed a kiss into her hair and traced slow circles on her back, staying present, staying gentle.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t lost. I didn’t want to own her or possess her; I wanted to be a place she could rest, and to let her be that for me.
Morning would come with questions and ordinary obligations, but for now—just for now—I held her like home and she let me.
After, we stayed like that—tangled and quiet, the fire ticking low while the house settled around us.
Her breathing evened against me, warm and real, not something I had to chase or hold too tightly.
I traced slow circles on her back, memorizing the way she fit there, the way she didn’t flinch when I stayed.
For the first time in years, nothing inside me was braced for loss.
I pressed a kiss into her hair, not claiming, not promising more than I could give—just being present. Just staying. She shifted closer, her fingers curling into my shirt like that was enough, like I was enough, and the weight I’d carried for so long loosened its grip.
Morning waited beyond the windows. Questions would come. The world would ask things of us we weren’t ready to answer yet. But right then, in the hush between heartbeats, we weren’t running or stealing time.
We were choosing it.
And for the first time since I was a boy standing helpless in a hallway, love didn’t feel like something I could lose. It felt like something I could hold—carefully, steadily—without fear of breaking it.