Chapter 28 - What Comes After

Noah's POV

I woke up to her breathing.

Slow. Soft. The kind that makes you believe in things like peace and second chances.

Ava was curled on her side, hair messy, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. The blanket had fallen low on her back, baring her shoulder. My shirt was barely clinging to her, one side of it slipping down, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone—the one I'd kissed until she trembled.

God.

I just watched her for a second. Let my eyes trace her, memorize her.

Because something about her—like this, morning-lit and quiet and mine—made my chest feel too full.

It was real. We'd done it. We'd crossed that line.

And I didn't regret a single record.

My body ached in the best way. But it was more than that. Something inside me felt different. Like I'd been waiting for that night longer than I'd ever realized. Like a piece of me I didn't know was missing had finally snapped into place.

I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

She stirred. Blinked once. Then smiled.

Jesus. That smile. Not the shy one. Not the forced one. The soft one. The one she only gave me when she forgot to guard it.

"Hey," she whispered, voice still husky from sleep.

"Hey," I whispered back.

She stretched slowly, the blanket shifting with her, baring a sliver of thight that made my mouth go dry. She looked down at herself, then back at me.

Then grinned. "I think I broke your self-control."

"You annihilated it," I said, voice still thick with morning gravel. "Pretty sure it's still somewhere on the floor."

Her laugh was low and quiet and beautiful.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. I let my eyes linger on her back—the curve of her spine, the way my shirt hugged her in all the wrong places.

"I'm gonna go start coffee," she said over her shoulder, not looking back—like she knew I was staring.

I threw a pillow at her.

She ducked it, laughing, and disappeared into the hallway.

When she came back ten minutes later, I was still lying there, half-covered in the sheet, eyes closed.

But I wasn't asleep.

She knew.

"Still naked?" she teased, setting a mug down on the nightstand.

"Still yours," I murmured without opening my eyes.

The bed dipped beside me. Her hand brushed my chest.

I looked up at her.

And I swear—I don't know what got into me—but suddenly I was pulling her down, rolling her gently onto her back, the coffee forgotten, the sheet slipping away.

"Noah—" she gasped, laughing, breathless.

"You smiled like you wanted more," I whispered, kissing her jaw.

She froze beneath me, just for a second.

Then whispered, "I do."

My mouth found hers—warm and sweet and full of memory. She tasted like mint toothpaste and the ghost of last night.

My hands pushed up the shirt she still wore—mine—and found her bare skin underneath.

She arched.

I groaned.

"You're dangerous in my clothes," I murmured against her neck. "You know that, right?"

"I'm not trying to be," she breathed.

"That's the problem."

I kissed her collarbone. Down her chest. The hem of the shirt bunched at her ribs. She reached for it—and together, we pulled it off.

There she was.

Bare. In the morning light.

Still soft. Still open. Still mine.

I moved over her, one hand bracing the bed, the other sliding down to the curve of her hip.

"You're not sore?" I asked gently.

She shook her head. "A little. But in a god way."

"Let me make it better."

I kissed down her stomach, slow and teasing, until her legs parted beneath me.

Then I showed her what "better" could feel like.

Soft tongue. Gentle fingers. Her body rising toward me in gasping waves. She came under my mouth with a trembling moan, hands buried in my hair, hips jerking, and thighs tightening.

When I crawled back up, she pulled me down for a kiss—deep, hungry.

I didn't ask twice.

I slid into her—still careful, still reverent, but this time, there was no hesitation.

She was already open. Already wet. Already ready.

And I moved.

The rhythm came easy. Natural. Her hips rose to meet mine. Her fingers clawed gently down my back. Every kiss was messier. Every moan loader.

The world faded. The light pulsed golden around us.

And I didn't stop until she cried out my name again—shattered and shaking—her body clutching mine in waves of heat and pleasure.

I followed right after, burying my face in her neck, groaning against her skin as I let go.

We collapsed into each other, limbs tangled, breath heaving.

And this time, when she smiled, it wasn't just post-orgasm bliss.

It was something deeper. Something that looked like trust.

Something that said she wasn't planning to run.