“Thank you,” she whispers.
I inhale, steadying myself. My hands slide up her arms, stopping at the straps of her dress. I pause there, breath uneven, surprised by the faint tremor in my fingers.
I don’t tremble.
Except now.
Her breath catches as I start to ease the straps down her shoulders, and I stop.
I stop because I need to know she’s still choosing this.
She looks up at me, searching my face, rainwater clinging to her lashes. I lean in, my mouth hovering just shy of hers, close enough that I feel the warmth of her breath.
I kiss her, soft, brief, reverent.
Then I step back.
“I’ll leave something for you to change into,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “On the bed.”
And I turn away before instinct can undo me again, walking out of the room with every ounce of control I have left, knowing that if I look back,
I won’t stop.
Emmy
As Khai leaves the ensuite, I release a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.
I remain where I am, still fully dressed, standing beneath the warm spray as water slides down my skin and pools at my feet. His presence lingers like a second heat, ghosted into the air, into my bones. I can still feel his hands, his mouth, the way the world had narrowed to just us before he chose to step away.
Slowly, I peel off my dress and let it fall in a dark, sodden heap beside the shower. My underwear follows, discarded without ceremony. The water grounds me, steady and relentless, rinsing away the rain, the night, the sharp edge of wanting.
I glance around, taking in the space with new eyes.
The ensuite is unmistakably his, dark marble veined like shadows, brushed gold fixtures catching the low light, clean white accents that feel deliberate rather than soft. It’s dangerous and controlled and impossibly elegant.
So Khai.
My thoughts spiral, replaying the night in fractured images. His honesty, careful, incomplete, but real. His restraint. The way it finally snapped. His hands. His mouth. The rain.
That moment.
The moment we crossed the line.
I wanted it. I needed it. I don’t regret it.
But,
He walked away.
Not cold. Not distant. Just… gone.
The memory of his back as he turned presses sharp and unexpected against my chest. I hadn’t been ready for that part. I understand the care. I understand the control, maybe even the necessity of it. But the distance, him choosing to leave when everything in me was still reaching for him, leaves behind a hollow ache I can’t quite name.
Did I do something wrong?
The question echoes softly, unanswered.
When the cold finally seeps from my bones, I turn off the water and reach for a thick black towel. I dry my hair, wrap the towel around myself, and step out into the quiet of his penthouse.
