Chapter 29
THE POINT OF NO RETURN
WILL
After Natalie’s drunk text, a rush of adrenaline coursed through me. Excitement. Anticipation. A dangerous edge of something I wasn’t ready to name. This was her opening the door, her giving me something we could never take back, and I didn’t want to. I couldn’t wait until school drop-off.
The moment I got the kids out of the car, I texted her.
Will: Come over for breakfast.
The seconds stretched until my phone buzzed.
Natalie: Okay.
I stared at the screen. She was really coming.
Will: Come by at 8:30. I'll pick up breakfast.
Natalie: I like breakfast
On the way home, I picked up bagels—not because I cared about breakfast, but because I needed something to do, something to keep my hands busy. By the time I set everything up, bagels, cream cheese, coffee—I knew none of it mattered. This wasn’t about breakfast.
I leaned against the counter, checking the clock: 8:25. My pulse thrummed in my throat. Then came the knock.
I walked to the door, slow and steady, like I hadn’t been waiting for this moment all morning…really since I met Natalie. When I opened it, there she was.
Natalie stood on my doorstep in workout clothes, her ponytail loose and slightly messy. Her cheeks pink from the cool air. She looked casual, like this was no big deal—like she hadn’t just turned my entire morning into a countdown to this exact second.
“Hi,” she said softly. The hesitation in her voice told me she wasn’t sure if she should be here. But she was.
I stepped back, holding the door open. She moved past me, and the moment the door clicked shut, something shifted. The air felt heavier, charged with something unsaid, something inevitable.
I cleared my throat, trying to keep my voice even. “Bagel?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”
I set a plate in front of her, but neither of us touched the food. She slid onto a stool at the counter, her fingers playing with her hair, her breathing uneven.
“You okay?” I asked.
She looked up at me then, and something inside me twisted. Guilt. Fear. Longing.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
“But you are.”
Her breath caught. The silence between us pulsed, stretching tight, waiting to snap.
Slowly, like she couldn’t stop herself, she reached out, fingertips brushing my chest, light as a whisper. The warmth of her touch burned through my shirt, straight to my skin.
“Natalie.” My voice was rough, unsteady.
She swallowed hard, her lips parting, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
Instead, she closed the space between us.
The kiss started slowly. A tentative press of lips, warm and soft, testing, waiting.
Then she made a small sound, something between a sigh and a plea, and it was like a match dropped into dry brush.
I slid my hands into her hair, tilting her head back and deepening the kiss.
Her fingers curled into my shirt, pulling me closer, needing more.
I pressed her back against the counter. My hands found her waist, her hips, memorizing the way her body fit against mine.
Her breath hitched as I let my fingers dip beneath the hem of her top, tracing the smooth skin just above her breast.
Her hands found my stomach, then slid lower, her touch hesitant but eager. My breath stuttered, my body already hardening at the way her fingertips skimmed the edge of my jeans.
“Upstairs,” I murmured against her lips.
She nodded, her hands gripping my shoulders as I lifted her.
Her legs wrapped around me like instinct.
Her body pressed against mine, warm and pliant.
I carried her upstairs. Each step was slow, deliberate.
Anticipation curled hot in my veins. Her mouth was on my jaw, my neck.
Her breath was shaky and uneven as she kissed a path along my skin.
When I reached the bedroom, I set her down on the bed. Her body sank into the sheets. Her hair fanned out around her, dark strands spilling in every direction. She looked up at me, lips parted, eyes dark with desire.
For a second, I just stared at her. Beautiful. Breathless. Mine, if only for this moment.
Then I was on her, my hands sliding under her shirt, pushing it up, over her head.
She sat up just enough to let me pull it off.
Her skin was flushed. Her breasts were rising and falling in shallow breaths.
I ran my hands over her stomach and sides, feeling the warmth of her, the soft curve of her waist. She shivered as I leaned in, pressing my lips to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.
“Will,” she whispered, her hands finding the hem of my shirt. I pulled it over my head in one swift motion, and her hands were on me, exploring, tracing the lines of my stomach, my chest. I groaned when her nails scraped lightly over my skin. My body tightened in response.
She reached for the waistband of my pants, but I caught her wrists, pinning them above her head and pressing my body against hers.
“Not yet,” I murmured. I wanted to take my time.
Make her feel this. Make her desperate for it.
I kissed my way down her body, lingering, tasting, learning every spot that made her shiver, made her sigh, and made her arch into me.
Her hands broke away and found my hair. Her fingers tangled as she gasped when my mouth found the sensitive skin along her ribs and the dip of her hip.
When I slid her leggings down, she lifted her hips, her breath catching.
I ran my hands over her thighs, spreading them and pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, then higher, my name a whisper on her lips.
I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down, kissing the skin I uncovered inch by inch.
She was already wet, already aching for me.
She reached for my zipper, fingers trembling slightly. I held her gaze as she unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down, urgency rising between us. When she freed me, I exhaled against her skin.
By the time I moved back up her body, she was quivering. Her hands fisted the sheets. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused as I pressed against her, skin to skin.
“Please,” she whispered. She reached for me, and I kissed her deep and deliberate, like I needed her to feel every part of what this meant. Of what she meant.
“I want to feel you,” I mummered, my voice rough. “Unless you’d rather I use something–”
“I have an IUD,” she said quickly, breath hitching. “I want to feel all of you. Please” she begged.
That about undid me.
I pushed inside her slowly, feeling her tightening around me, taking me inch by inch.
Her back arched. Her breath grew faster.
Her nails dug into my shoulders as she adjusted to the stretch of me.
She felt perfect, hot, tight, pulling me deeper, making it impossible to think, impossible to do anything but move.
She opened her eyes, and whatever I saw there—whatever she saw in me—made my chest tighten.
I moved slowly at first, drawing out every sensation, feeling every shift, every pulse of her around me.
Her hands slid down my back, urging me closer.
I moved faster. I buried my face in her neck, groaning as she clenched her body around me, as her gasps turned into quiet cries, as she shattered beneath me, taking me with her.
Afterwards, we lay tangled together, her body pressed against mine, our breathing uneven. She sighed. I kissed her shoulder.
“I’ll be right back,” she said softly. I brushed my hand down her back as she slips out of bed. I take a minute to relish the moment we just experienced.
When she came back, she started to get dressed and put her hair in a ponytail. The intimacy of the moment stirred up something I didn’t know I had been missing.
I got up and slid back on my pants.
We didn’t speak as we made our way downstairs, but whatever it was, the energy between us was still there, even in the silence. I poured her coffee without asking, sliding it across the counter. She accepted it with a quiet, “Thanks.”
I wanted to ask when I’d see her again. I wanted to tell her this wasn’t just something that happened. Instead, I watched her take a sip, watching the way she avoided my eyes. When she finally did meet my gaze, I already knew.
This wasn’t just a mistake. It wasn’t just a one-time thing. It was the beginning of something impossible to stop.