“You good?” He leans in slightly.
I massage his shoulders, nodding. “Are you?”
His gaze is unwavering. When he speaks, it’s full of determination. “I’m done running, Castillo.”
The vulnerability in his words is both a promise and a confession, and it hits me all at once. There’s nothing left to hide.
I kiss him again, slower this time, like we’re both trying to make up for lost time. Devilish laughs spill from us, spiking the pleasure as we stumble toward his bedroom. Each touch, each kiss, is deliberate—too loaded with meaning to rush.
He undresses me with an almost maddening slowness, his gaze holding mine, memorizing every inch of my skin. The way he looks at me… like he can’t get enough. I pull his shirt off, fingers fumbling slightly with the hem of his pants, but it’s okay. His hands are steady, following my movements, like he’s waiting for the perfect moment.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my leggings, yanking them down as I work on his. We’re desperate now—reckless. He pushes me onto the bed, his body pressing into mine, and I arch into him without thinking, like I’ve been waiting for this all along.
He moves over me with assurance, hands roaming, leaving me breathless. My nerves tingle with every inch of skin he touches, claiming me in ways he hasn’t already. This feels different: more intense, more real.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, searching my face as if checking for permission, for assurance that this isn’t his imagination playing with him.
I pull him closer, fingers grazing his back when he presses into me.
“Please,” I whisper, my grip tightening.
He picks up the pace, our bodies moving together, hot and desperate. Each thrust pulls me deeper, and my vision fades to black when the orgasm races through us, leaving me speechless as fuck.
We collapse, our hands still tangled, hearts racing to catch up. My free hand settles on his chest as we both heave.
“You good?” His voice sounds sweet like honey.
I press a kiss to his chest, letting my lips stay there, feeling the heat of his skin. “Yeah.”
His hand moves up and down my back, hesitant, almost like he’s afraid to touch me too much, to push too far. I shift, propping myself up until our faces are level.
“I want this. All of it. With you.”
Chapter 49
Jared
The coffee shop feels like it’s closing in on me. It’s too bright, too empty in that way that amplifies everything: the low hum of chatter, the steam of the espresso machine, and the clink of cups. Still, what truly stirs me is inside. I should be used to this by now. Should be able to sit across from her, say what needs to be said, and walk away with the usual sense of relief.
But I’m not. And that’s the problem.
This doesn’t feel like a normal meeting between me and my mom. It feels like… like everything I’ve been avoiding is caught up in the space between us. The past. The disappointments. The times I’ve had to swallow every shred of wanting a normal relationship and pretend it didn’t hurt when she disappeared on me again.
Part of me wants to bolt. I almost do when the door swings open and she steps inside, but I don’t. I stay. Because this time, it’s different.
She doesn’t see me, walks up to the counter, and orders an Americano.
I take a deep breath, forcing my hands to stop shaking, but they still betray me when I fist them against my thighs. I’ve been here for ten minutes, too nervous to get coffee, too uneasy to even look at her properly.
I don’t want this conversation, but something about Alli’s words keeps playing in the back of my mind, keeping me rooted here. As much as I’d rather be at brunch with Alli or have herhere with me now, I know meeting my mom is something I have to face on my own.
Alli told me not to be afraid to feel things, to not hide from the hurt. Maybe it’s time to start listening.
It isn’t until she lifts her eyes, a wave of relief slowly creeping across her face, that something clicks. Her hand trembles as she brushes a lock of graying hair behind her ear, and suddenly, I can’t breathe.
My mom’s always been pretty, when she wanted to be, but today, she looks fragile. Like she’s been fighting a war no one told me about. The sadness hits me like a punch to the gut. Part of me doesn’t know how to deal with it.
I clear my throat. “Hey.”
