Last night was more than a kiss. It was a shift. A collapse of every wall I spent years building. And when he looked at me, like I was the only thing tethering him to this world, something inside me cracked open.
He stirs beneath me, and I instinctively hold tighter. My leg’s tangled with his, my arm spread over his chest like I belong there. Like this is where I’m meant to be.
God, the feelings I had on that plane? They were nothing compared to this storm inside me now. And the taste I got of him last night? It only lit the fuse.
I shift slightly, and my fingers accidentally brush over something very hard. My cheeks flush as I realize what I’ve just touched—grabbed—and panic bolts through me.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I blurt, scrambling out of bed like it’s on fire and rushing into the bathroom, heart pounding in my ears.
Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I jump into the shower, crank the water, and hope it can wash away the embarrassment. But I can still feel his heat on my skin, the way his body molded to mine.
Then his voice—soft, teasing—breaks through the steam. “Izzy… is everything okay?”
God. He followed me.
I don’t respond. I can’t.
Seconds later, the door slides open and I feel him step in behind me, warmth radiating off his skin even through the cold spray.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, facing the tiles.
He wraps his arms around me, gently but with intent. “Hey, baby. It’s all right. I didn’t mind at all.”
Then his lips brush my neck, and I melt.
“Izzy…” I try to stay grounded, but the way he says my name—like it’s sacred—pulls the breath from my lungs.
When our eyes meet, everything else falls away. Logic, fear, promises to take things slow—gone.
He turns me to face him, lifts me with ease, and presses me against the slick tiles. His mouth is everywhere—urgent, worshipping—and I give in completely.
The water chills, but my skin burns under his touch.
When he turns me again, pressing me back against his chest, I arch into him as his hands explore every inch of me. The contrast of his touch—rough and reverent—makes my head spin. I gasp when his fingers circle my clit, and the moment he slides inside me, my world narrows to nothing but him.
I come apart in his arms, screaming his name, steadying myself with one hand on the foggy glass while the other guides his movements deeper, harder. I feel him throb against me, and I swear I’ve never felt so alive. So wanted.
He kisses me again, long and lingering, and murmurs one word that sends a jolt through my soul.
“Mine.”
And with everything I have left, I breathe, “Yours.”
Wrapped in a towel, I try to steady my heart and leave him to shower. I’m running away because I have no idea on how to handle all of this. I dreamed all my life of my Prince Charming, but not even in my wildest fantasies did I imagine was Nate. My dream guy used to ride in on a white horse—perfect, polished, predictable. Nate is none of that. He’s a storm wrapped in warmth, a wildfire I’m desperate to touch. When I'm with him, I don't just feel special—I feel seen, chosen… real.
He made me feel loved—not the fairy-tale version, but the kind that sinks deep into your skin and makes you crave more. And still, I know it's just my stupid heart playing tricks. This can’t be real. No man like him chooses someone like me—not for long, anyway.
Still… the shower. God.
Charlie—my battery-powered buddy—has always done a decent job keeping me sane. But Nate? One touch and my knees nearly buckled. His fingers played my body like he knew every hidden note, and when I shattered for him, it felt like my soul left my body just to kiss the stars. He held back, though. I felt it. The way he controlled himself… like he was scared of what might happen if he let go.
But why? Why pull away when it felt so right?
When I went back into the bathroom to bring him a towel, I told myself not to look. But of course, I did.
I couldn't not.
