Three days

Chapter 8 -KATE

I woke to the low hum of the air conditioner and the solid warmth of Alex’s body behind me.

For a few seconds I stayed perfectly still, letting the night come back in pieces. The tall windows of the room were still half-curtained, soft morning light filtering across the high ceiling and the elegant, period furniture that made everything feel older and more intentional than any ordinary hotel. Dark wood, heavy drapes, the quiet luxury of a place that had been hosting people for over a century. The way he’d looked at me when the door clicked shut last night. The slow, deliberate way he’d moved inside me — claiming, present, like he was trying to rewrite every distance that had ever existed between us. My body still felt marked by it. Soft ache between my thighs, the faint sting of his stubble along my neck, the ghost of his hands gripping my hips.

I stirred, shifting carefully so I could turn in his arms. He was still asleep, face relaxed in a way I almost never got to see. Dark lashes against his cheeks, mouth slightly parted. The sheet had slipped low on his hips. I let my eyes travel the lines of him — the rise and fall of his chest, the faint marks my nails had left on his shoulders, the soft trail of hair disappearing beneath the cotton.

Something hungry and tender unfurled low in my stomach.

I leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. Once. Twice. Soft at first, then deeper when his breath changed. His arm tightened around my waist before his eyes even opened. A low sound rumbled in his chest.

“Kate…”

I didn’t answer with words. I kissed him properly, sliding a leg over his hips so I could straddle him. The sheet tangled between us for a second before I pushed it away. He was already hardening beneath me, and the feel of him — hot, thick, half-awake — sent a fresh pulse of want straight through me.

I rolled my hips once, slow, watching his expression shift from sleep-soft to something darker.

“My turn,” I whispered against his mouth.

His hands settled on my thighs, fingers digging in as I kissed my way down his throat, across his chest, tasting the salt of his skin. When I reached the plane of his stomach he sucked in a sharp breath. I glanced up. His eyes were open now, locked on me, pupils blown.

I wrapped my hand around him and stroked once, twice, feeling him thicken fully in my grip. Then I lowered my head and took him into my mouth.

The sound he made was wrecked.

I moved slowly at first — wet heat, tongue tracing the underside, lips tight as I sank deeper. His hand found my hair, not pushing, just holding, like he needed the anchor. I hollowed my cheeks and took him further, humming softly when his hips jerked.

“f**k— Kate—”

I didn’t stop. I worked him with my mouth and hand in a steady, filthy rhythm, letting spit slick the way, letting every wet sound fill the quiet elegance of the room. His breathing turned ragged. The muscles in his thighs tensed under my free hand. I could feel how close he was already — the way he swelled against my tongue, the desperate little thrusts he couldn’t quite hold back.

I pulled off just long enough to look up at him, lips swollen, voice rough.

“Come for me.”

Then I took him deep again and didn’t let up.

He broke with a low, broken groan, spilling hot across my tongue. I swallowed, stayed with him through every pulse, gentling only when his hand trembled in my hair. When I finally released him I crawled back up his body and kissed him, slow and deep, letting him taste himself on my mouth.

His arms locked around me. For a long moment we just breathed, foreheads pressed together, hearts still racing.

“You’re going to kill me,” he murmured.

I smiled against his lips. “Not yet.”

We stayed tangled a little longer before the real world started pressing in. Eventually I slipped out of bed and held out my hand.

“Shower with me.”

The bathroom was all pale marble and soft lighting, the kind of understated luxury that matched the rest of the historic building. Alex followed me in without a word. Under the hot spray he washed my hair with careful hands, fingers massaging my scalp, then trailed soapy palms down my back, over my hips, lingering like he was still learning the shape of me all over again. I did the same to him — slow, deliberate, mapping the lines of his shoulders and chest while the water ran over both of us. Every so often he would tip my face up and kiss me, unhurried and deep, until the steam made everything feel dreamlike and close.

When we finally stepped out he wrapped me in one of the thick hotel robes and pressed a soft kiss to my temple.

“Breakfast?” he asked quietly.

I nodded.

Downstairs the Tchaikovsky restaurant opened into a space that felt like stepping into another century — high ceilings, refined classical details, soft morning light falling across white tablecloths and polished wood. The quiet elegance of the place settled around us as we were shown to a table. We ordered coffee and food neither of us seemed particularly interested in. The easy heat from the room still lingered between us, but something heavier had started to settle underneath it.

I waited until the waitress had left before I spoke.

“Alex.”

He looked up, already wary.

“I need to understand what happened.” My voice stayed steady even though my chest felt tight. “Why it ended the way it did. Why you left me feeling like I wasn’t enough. Like I was completely unwanted.”

His jaw flexed. He stared down at his coffee for a long moment.

“I know your cousin died,” I continued quietly. “The car accident. I know that broke something in you. But it can’t have been only that. The way you pulled away… the way you looked at me like I was already gone… there has to be more.”

He was silent for so long I thought he might not answer. When he finally did, his voice was low and rough.

“There was more.”

He dragged a hand over his face, then met my eyes. The pain there was old and still sharp.

“After the funeral I couldn’t… feel anything the right way. Everything was muted. Or too loud. I kept thinking if I let myself need you the way I wanted to, I’d drag you under with me. So I started putting distance between us. Little by little. Until the distance was all that was left.” His throat worked. “I told myself I was protecting you. But the truth is I was terrified. Of how much I already needed you. Of how much it would destroy me if I lost you too. So I pushed first.”

The words landed like stones in my chest.

I wrapped both hands around my coffee cup to keep them steady. “You made me feel like I was the problem. Like I’d done something wrong. Like I wasn’t worth staying for.”

“I know.” His voice cracked on the two words. “And I’ve hated myself for it every day since.”

Around us the restaurant continued its quiet morning rhythm — the soft clink of cutlery, the low murmur of other guests, the historic grandeur of the space holding everything in place. Inside, the space between us felt both wider and narrower than it had in years.

I didn’t look away from him.

“I need you to tell me the rest,” I said softly. “All of it. Because I can’t keep guessing why the man I loved looked at me like I was already a memory.”

Alex’s hand slid across the table, stopping just short of mine. His eyes were dark with everything he still hadn’t said.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he answered. “All of it.”