Intimacy

Chapter Seven

The drizzle still clung to my coat as I was on my way home. Cole’s shadow lingered on me, a taste I couldn’t spit out. I tossed my bag onto the couch, sank into the cushions, and tried not to replay the way his eyes had pinned me.

That was when my phone buzzed.

Kyle.

Dinner at my place. Seven. Don’t be late.

No frills, no overthinking. Just him, steady as ever. I laughed under my breath, a small, ridiculous giggle that felt out of place after the weight of the day. But it loosened something in my chest all the same. At least tonight held something better than Cole’s smoke and riddles.

By seven I was standing at Kyle Marlowe’s door, my boyfriend of a year. The smell of something rich and comforting spilled out the moment he opened it.

“You cook now?” I teased as he leaned down to kiss my cheek.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said, grinning as he ushered me inside. “I’m not just a suit with a phone permanently glued to my ear.”

The dining table was already set with candles, plates, even a bottle of red breathing in the center like it had been waiting just for me.

Dinner was easy. He’d made pasta with roasted vegetables, garlic bread, and a salad too pretty to eat. It wasn’t about the food, though, it was about the thought. The way Kyle filled the silence with warmth instead of smoke. He asked about my week, laughed when I dodged details, told me about a meeting gone wrong that morning and made it sound like a comedy instead of a disaster.

I let myself relax, the wine softening the edges of my thoughts, the light catching in his eyes every time he looked at me.

When the plates were empty, Kyle stacked them with practiced ease and carried them to the kitchen. “Sit,” he ordered lightly, flashing me that half-grin. “Enjoy yourself today.”

But I wasn’t built to sit still. I slipped in behind him as he ran water over the dishes. The clatter of a fork in the sink made him jump, and he let out a sharp breath.

“Jesus, Tess,” he said, twisting toward me, hand pressed over his chest. “Trying to give me a heart attack?”

I bit back a laugh, stepping closer. “Maybe.”

The air shifted. Not suddenly, more like a string pulled tight between us. His hand was still damp from the water, but when it found my waist, the warmth cut through me. I looked up at him, too close now not to notice the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his gaze lingered on my mouth like he was deciding whether to close the gap.

I didn’t give him the choice.

The kiss landed soft at first, testing, then greedy in the space of a breath. His lips moved against mine like he’d been waiting, holding back until he couldn’t anymore. My back pressed into the counter as his hand slid up, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me closer.

The clink of a dish in the sink was the only reminder we weren’t somewhere else already.

“Kyle...” I started, but he swallowed my name with another kiss, hungrier this time. His other hand skimmed my hip, tracing the line of my body as if memorizing it.

I melted into him, the taste of wine and garlic still on my tongue, the steady thud of his heartbeat pressed against my chest. Whatever Cole had tried to stir in me earlier vanished under this heat, this solidity, this man who didn’t deal in riddles but in touch.

His hand slipped lower, gripping my thighs as he lifted me onto the kitchen counter. My breath hitched.

Cold air brushed over my skin when he tugged my top up, baring me to him. My nipples tightened instantly, the sensation sending a shiver racing through me. His mouth found mine again as his hands cupped my breasts, kneading them with deliberate pressure that pulled gasps from me.

I didn’t think of anything at that point. Not Timothy Cruze. Not Cole. Nothing but Kyle’s touch.

His fingers trailed down, sliding beneath the waistband of my skirt. He parted me with rough intent, and I moaned, the sound torn out of me before I could hold it back. I liked the dominance, the way he pushed without asking, claiming every part of me as though it had always been his.

His fingers found my wetness, circling, teasing, then plunging inside me. My back arched and my legs trembled as he worked me open. The pace was ruthless, building me higher until my body gave in. My release came sharp, shaking me apart as I cried out against his shoulder.

Before I could catch my breath, he had already freed himself, dragging his trousers down. His hands spread my thighs wider, guiding me onto him. The stretch stole the air from my lungs.

He filled me completely, and then he moved, slow at first, then harder, deeper, each thrust driving me against the counter until the sound of skin meeting skin echoed with the clatter of forgotten dishes. His mouth was at my throat, his breath hot, his grip unrelenting.

I clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, the pleasure blinding, wave after wave consuming me.

And just when I thought nothing could pull me out of that

moment, a sound broke through.

The front door creaked open.