When I get back to my bunk, I scoff at Michael’s comments. The lust is there for sure, but she’s not mine to enjoy. So, I put myself to bed like I’m supposed to, hoping it will clear her from my thoughts.
It doesn’t. She wraps herself around me, eager to listen and know me in a way so few ever are. She doesn’t look at me like I’m an opportunity she can use; she’s there, whispering her questions in my ear while holding me through my answers, pulling me closer and closer into her until our lips meet, until groans and soft pants make up our conversations.
I wake up panting, hard, my whole body wired by a kiss I’ve never actually tasted. My hand slips under my blanket and my boxers as I wrap my hand around myself.
Fighting lust is possible, but Hailey’s beyond that. I stroke myself while thinking about her deep eyes, her lips parting, the blush across her face making her golden hair seem lighter.
My hand works faster, giving extra attention to the head of my cock while my mind burns. I can picture her stroking me, looking up at me for guidance. I’d help her down on my cock, then roll on top of her, thrusting into her while she gripped me tightly, her little breathy pants and soft moans filling my ear. Her pussy would tighten around me, hot and wet and mine. My eyes close as I work myself up faster, harder, so desperate for her, so overwhelmed by her constant presence, her smell lingering in my head, the soft brushes of her hand and that soulful understanding she always shows.
There’s no escaping her. I’m the captive and I’m not frustrated by it, not annoyed, just so fucking pleased that she could be mine to protect and please in equal measure. Mine to take care of and revel in.
I come hard, faster than I should, and taste the sheer bliss of a release that’s more than lust or a way to let off steam. I picture her smile, that breathless look I’ve seen on her face after she completes a hard task, the delight filling her gaze, but it slowly melts away as guilt and shame tighten around my heart.
She’s not mine. Could never be mine. And I’m a fool for giving in … even if touching myself to the thought of her opens more emotions than I’ve felt in years. My chest tightens and the need to clean up, to lock this moment away, to let the guilt drive out the pleasure feels like the only way to breathe again.
Mabe it’s just because she isn’t here. Because I don’t know how she feels.
That thought belongs to a dreamer, someone who doesn’t have honor or respect for the woman he just touched himself to. A woman he’ll never actually have.
Chapter 7 - Hailey
“The right path doesn’t always mean following the same career as the people who came before you,” Michael says the next day while we’re having dinner. I notice my eyes drifting across the room again and again.
He’s not here. Wes didn’t come to another homey dinner.
My shoulders sink, and I finally give Michael my full attention. “I know.”
He studies me for a moment. “Do you?”
“I think so,” I say slowly. “I love my father. I love being here, making connections, helping people. But I don’t think I fit neatly into the future he has planned for me.”
Michael nods once. “Then we are on the same page,” he says calmly. “What you’re feeling isn’t confusion. It’s awareness.”
I tilt my head, studying him, a half-smile tugging at my mouth. “You’re not talking about careers anymore, are you?” I ask. “Because the way you’re looking at me right now feels dangerously close to my love life.”
He chuckles softly. “I’m saying you’re a young woman with a heart and a mind of her own. And I’m guessing your father isn’t always the easiest person to talk to about that.”
“I want one,” I admit. “A love life. And… I might already have someone in mind.”
“I won’t ask you to share more than you want,” he says gently, placing his hand over mine. “But I will say this as a friend: paths aren’t always laid out for us. Sometimes you have to make space for the life you want. Clear what’s in the way. Decide what’s worth the effort.”
“You’re being cryptic. Did you learn that from Captain Holt?” I tease. “He may have learned it from me. Old dogs pass along their tricks,” he chuckles, then his smile softens into something fond. “Your mind is definitely stuck in one place.”
I sigh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes,” he says kindly.
I feel my cheeks warm. “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. And I don’t even know if what I’m feeling is real or just—” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if you keep thinking about it,” Michael replies. “That usually means something wants to be acknowledged.”
I hesitate, then whisper, “If it’s about a person, it’s complicated.”
“Most meaningful things are,” he says. “Complicated doesn’t mean wrong. It just means it takes care.”
“But it can’t be just me,” I insist. “It takes two people. Two choices.”
“Of course,” he agrees. “But sometimes it only takes one person to start a conversation. To open a door.” He meets myeyes. “Your father brought you here. That was his choice. What happens next is yours.”
