Page 72

everything and then nothing

ELLIE

T he first thing I feel is his arm. Warm and heavy, slung across my waist like it belongs there.

The second is the soft ache in my legs, a delicious hum lingering deep in my muscles, a secret only I get to keep.

And the third is him. Kieran. Pressed up behind me, his chest rising and falling against my back in slow, even breaths. One hand curls loosely at my stomach. Not gripping, just resting. As if even in sleep, he can’t let go.

The room is cloaked in grey-blue shadows, that in-between hour when the city hasn't quite woken up. Golden streaks of early sunlight slip around the edges of the blinds, painting soft patterns across the bedsheets. I don’t move.

Not yet. I stay still, tucked into the shape of him, wrapped in warmth and something dangerously close to peace.

Last night replays in vivid flashes. His mouth, his hands, the way he looked at me like I was something sacred. How he said my name, as though it wasn’t just a word but a vow.

He told me he wanted me to feel everything.

And God ... I did.

It was like he reached inside and rewrote every part of me that had been quiet for too long.

He made me feel beautiful. Worshipped . Real.

I shift slightly, just enough to glimpse his face soft in sleep, lips parted, one arm tucked close, the other still resting on my waist. His hair is tousled, stubble shadowing his jaw, making him unfairly gorgeous even now.

And he’s mine .

Maybe not officially, maybe not in the ways people label.

But in all the ways that matter?

Yeah. He’s mine.

I press a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist, just above where his fingers rest on my skin. He stirs, groaning quietly.

“Careful, Carter,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep and the gravelly rasp that never fails to wreck me. “Kiss me like that and I’m never letting you leave.”

I smile against his skin. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

He shifts closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “It’s a promise.”

“You’re clingy in the mornings,” I tease, tracing circles on his forearm.

“You weren’t complaining last night when I was clinging to you.”

I laugh softly. “That was different. That was… enthusiastic.”

He chuckles, rough and smug. “Enthusiastic? Ellie, I made you forget your own name.”

I roll onto my side, grinning. “Cocky this early, huh?”

He lifts one eye open just enough to smirk. “You bring it out in me.”

“I was perfectly well-behaved.”

His smirk deepens. “You literally climbed on top of me and…”

I slap a hand over his mouth, laughing. “Okay, okay! Let’s not relive the highlights.”

He nips playfully at my palm, then twines our fingers together, kissing the back of my hand. “Highlight reels on a loop in my head, just so you know.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet…” He lifts my hand to his chest as if it’s proof. “You stayed.”

That gets me. Because yeah. I did. It wasn’t just about last night. It was about choosing him. Choosing us, even if I don't yet have the full picture.

I soften my voice. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” he says. “I make a mean coffee and can burn toast like a pro.”

“Be still, my beating heart.”

He kisses my knuckles again, grinning.

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling as I lean in to kiss him. It starts gently, but the moment I slip my fingers into his hair, it deepens. His breath hitches, grip tightening.

Then he rolls me onto my back, slow and sure, the sheet sliding between us. He braces over me, one arm at my waist, the other brushing my cheek. His gaze moves over my face as if memorising me all over again.

“You’re okay?” he asks quietly.

I nod, not trusting my voice, pulling him down to kiss me again. This time, it’s fire.

“Still hungry?” he murmurs against my skin, voice rough and teasing.

I drag my nails lightly along his shoulder, biting my lip to hide a smile.

“Starving,” I whisper. “But I think breakfast can wait.”

He’s already tugging the duvet aside when I grab his hand, breathless from how he looks at me.

He wraps me in a sheet, and we pad barefoot down the hallway.

He nudges the bathroom door open with his shoulder, flicking on the warm, muted light.

His movements are unhurried, like he knows exactly what we need.

The glass shower is faintly fogged, lingering warmth curling around us. He turns the tap with practised precision, testing the temperature, then glances back at me and crooks a finger. “Come here,” he murmurs.

I drop the sheet and step into the space between us without hesitation, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me flush against him. He presses a gentle kiss to my shoulder, just enough to make my heart stutter.

Steam rises, enveloping us in a quiet cocoon.

When he guides me beneath the spray, everything else falls away.

I rest a hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat, and lean in to brush a kiss over his collarbone. He groans softly—the sound punched from his chest.

As my fingertips drift slowly across his skin, my eyes catch again on that tattoo.

It’s small and intricate, tucked just to the left of his heart.

A delicate tangle of lines I glimpsed once before, that morning in Rosemere, but couldn’t quite make out then.

And last night, in the heat and darkness, I somehow missed it entirely.

But now, in the soft morning light, I see it clearly.

Gently, I trace its edges, following the lines until the shape reveals itself.

“When did you get this?” I ask softly, curiosity colouring my voice.

His breath catches slightly as my fingertips linger. He glances down, eyes softening as he realises what I’m asking. "After that week," he murmurs, voice quiet, vulnerable.

My heart skips. I lean closer, looking again, and I see it perfectly.

A Ferris wheel.

Simple and subtle, but unmistakable. A memory etched permanently into his skin, into his story. Our story.

Emotion wells thick in my throat. “You…kept it with you, all this time?”

He meets my eyes, his gaze warm and full of quiet certainty. “I think part of me always knew our story wasn’t finished, Ells.”

My chest tightens, something beautiful and fragile swelling between us. I open my mouth, but words escape me.

Kieran gently cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing lightly over my cheekbones. His voice drops, achingly tender, filled with the raw truth he's held for years.

“It’s always been you, Ellie.” He pauses, eyes holding mine steady, voice barely more than breath. “I love you.”

My heart stumbles.

The words hit like a wave. My pulse kicks hard beneath my skin, and that rogue butterfly I thought had quieted flutters violently to life, its wings beating against the walls of my chest like it’s trying to escape. My whole body feels suspended in that moment, caught between breath and heartbeat.

I open my mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

Not because I don’t feel it. God, I do. It’s all I’ve been feeling. It’s threaded through every breath, every look, every time I reach for him without thinking. But the words catch somewhere in my throat, thick and too heavy with everything they mean.

Kieran’s thumbs brush lightly along my cheekbones, grounding me.

“Hey—baby, look at me.” he says gently, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to say it back. Not yet.”

My eyes sting. I shake my head, helpless.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know you feel it. I see it every time you look at me.”

I swallow hard, eyes locked on his.

“I just… I had to say it, Ellie. I need you to know that this…” he glances down briefly, his hand moving to rest over his heart, over the tattoo I’m still tracing, “It’s real for me. You’re real for me.”

And somehow, that undoes me more than anything else could. Because he’s not asking for reassurance. He’s just giving me truth.

And in the silence that follows, I let it settle between us like something sacred. Something I’ll carry with me until I’m ready to speak the words myself.

But he knows. And that, for now, is everything.

I press my hand to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, and lean in to kiss the place where the tattoo rests on his skin. He exhales and dips his head to press a kiss to the crown of my head. It’s feather-light, achingly tender.

Then, without a word, he reaches past me, grabs the shampoo bottle, and lathers a small pool in to his hands.

I reach for it too, but he gently nudges me back under the spray, fingers sliding into my hair with ease. He massages slow, deliberate circles into my scalp until my knees threaten to give out beneath me.

I melt into him completely, eyes drifting shut, the water coursing over my shoulders while his touch quiets everything else.

This tenderness I didn't know I could have.

I repay the favour, lathering his hair, running fingers along his scalp. He exhales, like I’ve taken the weight from his shoulders. My touches trail lower, slow, purposeful, tightening his jaw, darkening his eyes.

We don’t rush.

We kiss beneath the spray, pressing open-mouthed kisses along throats, collarbones, the corners of mouths. My fingers draw patterns across his ribs; his thumb strokes my jaw, holding me close.

Then he shifts.

His body presses me gently against the tile, hand braced beside my head, fingertips skimming my waist.

“Still with me, Carter?” he murmurs against my throat.

I can’t speak. I only nod, dazed and desperate.

His mouth trails heat along my throat as his hand glides down my side, slow and sure. Then his knee nudges between mine, parting my thighs as he presses me back against the tile. The contrast of the cool against my hot skin makes me shiver.

My breath catches, sharp and wanting.

And then his fingers slip between my legs, sliding through the slick ache he’s already coaxed from me. I gasp as his touch finds the spot that undoes me entirely.