Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
David
I’m not ready for this.
Not ready for how she looks so fucking soft and perfect.
My cock is so goddamn hard, I don’t even know how I’m standing up straight.
The room is too quiet.
Too controlled.
Too polished.
Soft gold lighting spills from recessed fixtures, catching on glass and chrome and the edge of a king-sized bed I haven’t even looked at since I walked in. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one wall, the city beyond glittering like it’s trying to compete.
New York hums out there.
Alive.
Endless.
A thousand lives moving at once.
None of them matter. Not right now.
Not when she’s standing in front of me.
Bare. Still. Breathing like she doesn’t know what she just did to me.
The towel hits the floor, and something in my chest goes tight.
Not just want.
Not just hunger.
Recognition.
Like I’ve been chasing something my whole life and didn’t know it until it was standing right in front of me.
Her.
All of her.
Soft curves and quiet strength wrapped in skin she thinks she needs to apologize for.
I don’t move right away. I can’t.
Because if I move too fast, I’ll ruin it.
And this—this moment—it matters.
More than it should. More than anything has in a long damn time.
My gaze drags over her slowly, deliberately.
Taking her in.
Learning her.
Not missing a single detail.
And when I look back up?
Her eyes are on me.
Waiting. Braced.
“Fuck, Sunshine, you’re so goddamn pretty.”
She shakes her head—it’s subtle.
Like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
Like she’s expecting something less than whatever this is that I feel.
That almost pisses me off.
“Why shake your head, linda? You think I look at you and don’t fucking want you? See here how much I want you,” I growl, voice low, roughened by something I don’t bother to hide.
I grab my cock over my pants and her eyes drop as I squeeze my length, showing her what she does to me.
Her breath stutters.
Good.
She should see this, feel this. Because I do.
Every second of the day since I met her.
I step forward.
The city lights flash behind her, outlining her like something unreal—soft and glowing and completely at odds with the hard, relentless world outside that glass.
She doesn’t belong to that world.
And I don’t belong in hers.
I know that. I knew it the second I saw her.
I told her as much.
Tried to draw that line. Tried to walk away.
But I was wrong.
Because standing here now, close enough to feel the heat of her, to see the way her pulse jumps at her throat—I realize there is no line.
There never was.
There’s just me and her, and we belong together. I don’t give a fuck what anyone else has to say about it.
I force myself to walk to her slowly, one foot in front of the other.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, standing in front of me like a perfect sacrifice,” I murmur.
My hand lifts.
Slower than I’ve ever moved in my life.
Not because I don’t want to touch her—because I do.
I really fucking do.
But because this?
This isn’t for rushing. This isn’t just something I take.
This is something, someone, I choose. And I want her to choose me, too.
My fingers brush her arm.
Soft.
Barely there.
And it hits me harder than any crowd, any stage, any drop I’ve ever built.
Real. She’s so real.
I exhale slowly, trying to get a handle on the way everything inside me is shifting.
“I tried to stay away from you,” I admit.
The truth feels different coming out now.
Sharper. Cleaner.
“Thought I’d mess this up. Thought I’d ruin something good.”
My hand slides to her waist, steadying her—but I’m the one grounding myself.
Because if I don’t—I’m going to lose control completely.
“You didn’t listen,” she whispers, and bites her lip, teasing me with its softness.
“No,” I say.
And I don’t regret it.
Not even a little.
The city pulses outside.
Light.
Noise.
Everything I used to think mattered.
But standing here?
It all feels distant.
Muted.
Like background noise to something bigger.
Something that’s already changing me.
“You said you’re not a backup plan,” I remind her.
My voice drops.
Focused.
Certain.
“And I want you to understand, Sunshine, that I know. I know you’re not.”
She swallows.
And I see it—that moment.
That shift where fear and want collide.
I step closer.
Close enough that there’s no space left between us.
Her body meets mine—soft, warm, real—and the contact hits like a spark to dry tinder.
My breath roughens.
So does hers.
I don’t talk about it. I don’t explain it.
I feel it.
That rhythm inside me that started the second, I saw her gets louder, the bass heavier. I feel it in my blood.
My hand slides up her side, slow, deliberate—claiming the line of her waist, the curve of her ribs—and she hisses at the contact.
Not pain. Reaction. Alive. Desired.
“Yeah,” I murmur, voice low, rough. “You feel that too.”
Her fingers fist against my chest, not pushing me away—holding on.
Anchoring. Or maybe bracing.
Doesn’t matter.
She’s not stopping me.
That’s all I need.
I dip my head.
Take her mouth.
No hesitation this time. No restraint.
My lips press to hers, firm, claiming, and she gasps—then melts into it, the sound that escapes her a soft, broken moan that goes straight through me.
Mine.
The thought hits hard, dark, instinctive.
I deepen the kiss, angling my head, taking more—slow but deliberate, like I’ve already decided how this goes.
She answers.
Fuck me, she answers.
Not passive.
Not uncertain.
Her body leans into mine, heat for heat, breath for breath, like she’s done pretending she doesn’t want this.
Like she’s done pretending she doesn’t want me.
My hand tightens at her waist, pulling her closer—closer than close—until there’s no doubt left between us.
No space.
No question.
She breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, lips brushing mine as she exhales.
“David—”
My name sounds different coming from her.
Rougher.
Lower.
Like she feels it where I do.
I don’t let her get far.
My mouth finds hers again, slower this time, deeper, dragging it out until her breath catches all over again.
I don’t say what this means.
I don’t make promises.
I don’t explain anything.
I show her.
With the way I touch her.
The way I hold her.
The way I don’t give her distance even when I should.
Because right now?
I don’t want distance.
I want her.
And she’s right here.