Chapter 47
Haiyden
Her lips taste like the first sip of air after drowning. But she’s everything—the water, the fight, the breath that I’ve been clawing for.
I pull her closer, one hand at her lower back, the other tangled in her hair.
Holding her feels like finally escaping the stale, dead air I’ve been choking on.
My heart pounds against hers, finally in sync, and for the first time in a week, everything makes sense.
The rhythm. The meaning. The life I’ve been so desperate to find.
My hands move slow, but the urgency’s undeniable. I tug her shirt over her head, unhook her bra, and slide them both off in one fluid motion.
All soft, porcelain skin.
I take her in—every curve, every line, every color—committing it to memory.
My shaky breath slips out, barely a whisper.
“Better.”
Her lips part as I tilt my head down, kissing her again—marking her, taking back what I almost lost .
It’s a kiss meant to make up for every moment I ran, every week I spent fighting how completely she owns me.
I kiss her harder, deeper, erasing the distance. Erasing every second wasted. I need to feel it—the hunger in every cell of my body.
She could burn me alive, and I’d beg for it.
I can’t hide anymore. I grab her wrist and guide her hand to my chest, pressing it over my heart. I know she feels it—wild, frantic, beating for her.
“Yours,” I whisper.
With her hand still in mine, I guide it lower—across my chest, down to the waistband of my briefs. Her nails graze my skin, light but deliberate, and a shiver runs through me.
She pauses, just for a second, like she’s weighing the effect she has on me.
“Please.” I breathe. “Touch me.”
She doesn’t.
Instead, she sinks to her knees—and in that moment, I know I’ve already given myself to her.
It’s not just lust. Not the raw need coiled tight inside me. It’s her . The way she moves. The way she gives herself so freely, like she’s already mine.
She looks perfect like this—lashes lowered, lips parted, green eyes lit with something that isn’t quite submission.
Not yet, anyway.
Her fingers trace the outline of me through my briefs—slow, like she’s deciding exactly how she wants to take me.
My breath hitches—a ragged, pained sound escaping me. I’m already straining against the fabric, aching for her, and she’s barely touched me.
“Slow,” I murmur, almost a plea.
I want to give her control.
Because the hunger in her eyes tells me everything.
She needs this just as badly as I do.
My pulse spikes as she hooks her fingers into my waistband, dragging it down carefully. My cock springs free, and she inhales like she’s desperate to taste me.
I watch, helpless, as her fingers wrap around me. The heat of her touch, the slow slide of her hand—it rips a low sound from my throat. My hips jerk forward involuntarily, chasing more.
My hands clench at my sides, fighting for control.
But I’m losing it.
She presses a quick, teasing kiss to the tip before trailing her tongue along my length—slow. Deliberate. Torturous.
A soft, depraved hum rises in her throat as she moves, savoring every inch. Her hands grip my thighs, steadying herself as she adjusts to take me in, and I can’t look away.
She’s taking her time.
And it’s fucking killing me.
I curse under my breath, head tipping back as I fight to stay still.
But she pushes me—adjusting the angle, the pressure—watching every ragged breath I take as she hollows her cheeks, sucking harder with each exhale.
“More, pretty girl,” I rasp, voice strained.
She responds, sinking deeper. And when I hit the back of her throat, I nearly drop to my knees. It feels sacred .
I push forward, forcing her to take all of me .
She gags, thrashes, her nails clawing at my skin—and in her struggle, I lose myself completely.
“Breathe through your nose,” I murmur, burying a hand in her hair, threading the silk through my fingers.
And as her breathing steadies, I pull her hair tighter and fuck her mouth—relentless, possessive.
I watch her closely. Her eyes are watering, her throat working to take me.
But when the first tear slips down her cheek, my stomach lurches.
The memories flood through me—fast, merciless. The tears she shed in the car that freezing-cold night. The ones that welled when she talked about Jules. The dried streaks I know I saw when I showed up at her apartment, too late to fix any of it.
They gather in front of me now, forming a current strong enough to pull me under. Guilt crashes over me in waves. And for a second, I almost let it.
Because I shouldn’t be doing this. Not like this.
I pull away, heart pounding, head tipping back as I stare at the ceiling. My hands shake as I try to steady myself.
The warmth. The safety. The overwhelming need to keep her—
I’m fucking dying.
Because she deserves the truth… and I can’t even look at her without seeing the lies.
She gazes up at me, pupils blown wide, eyes full of something raw. Primal.
But there’s trust there, too.
And that trust is what undoes me.
Because she deserves more than what I am. She deserves a life full of light. Not one shadowed by my darkness.
I can’t keep doing this to her.
“Stop,” I say, my voice cracking.
She freezes, confusion flashing across her face—
And then I see it. The trust fading, the comfort slipping away.
She moves back, eyes searching mine, trying to make sense of the shift. But beneath the confusion, she’s scared.
And I hate that she has a reason to be.
She stands, eyes locked on mine, and I yank my briefs back up—too fast, like I’m trying to cover more than just skin.
Adrenaline floods me. I swallow hard. The words catch in my throat, choke me, like I’d rather die than confess.
“Calla…”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing—stupidly—that it all might disappear.
But it won’t.
This truth will never just disappear .
“There’s something I have to tell you.”