In Love With Him

Chapter 65

Kennedy’s POV

I wanted to be mad at him. I really did. I had every right to be.

I was tired of waiting up. Tired of the pit in my stomach every time Dominic didn’t come home. Tired of the drunk footsteps, the slurred mumbles, the fake smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. I was tired of worrying. And now… I was soaked from head to toe because his drunk ass decided it was a good idea to dive into the pool fully clothed — or worse, maybe he hadn’t meant to come back up.

He was lucky I saw him from my bedroom window. Lucky I ran out there. Lucky I jumped in and dragged his heavy, limp body to the surface before something worse happened.

He was lucky he was alive, cause I was going to kill him.

Now I was standing in his room, dripping wet and shivering, watching him sway on his feet as he muttered something incoherent. I cursed under my breath and guided him to the bed. He was half-conscious, but still couldn't managing to undress himself.

“Jesus, you smell like a brewery,” I muttered, yanking his wet shirt off.

His skin was warm — flushed and damp — and despite everything, I found my eyes lingering. His chest was solid. Muscled. His skin golden and dusted lightly with hair.

And then came his pants.

I hesitated, cheeks burning. “This isn’t how I imagined undressing you,” I muttered under my breath.

With a deep breath, I peeled the soaked jeans down his legs. My eyes landed, unavoidably, on the very obvious outline in his soaked underwear.

And oh my god.

Even relaxed — even in this state — it was… a lot. Thick. Heavy. Huge. I swallowed hard, my heart stammering against my ribs. Heat crawled up my neck, all the way to my ears. I had no business noticing these things. No business reacting to them. But my body didn’t seem to care.

I should’ve left then after putting him to bed. Tossed a blanket over him, walked back to my room, and gone to bed wet, angry, and confused.

But he reached for me.

His hand curled around mine, warm and calloused, and his eyes — half-lidded and hazy — found mine with a look that shattered me.

Not lust. Not want.

Pain. Guilt.

“Stay,” he whispered.

And I hated that I couldn’t say no to him. Hated that no matter what he did, one look from him unraveled me like thread pulled too tight.

So I stayed.

I stripped off my soaked shirt and shorts, left in just my bra and underwear, and climbed into bed beside him. His body curled behind mine naturally, instinctively. His arm wrapped around my waist like it belonged there. Like I belonged to him.

And I let him.

His breath was warm against my neck, slow and deep. I reached down without thinking and laced my fingers with his, gently guiding our joined hands to rest against my chest.

His hand was so much bigger than mine.

We lay there in silence. The sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the house the only noise between us. His face pressed against my neck, stubble brushing my skin in the softest, most electrifying way.

A shiver ran down my spine — and not from the cold.

I didn’t remember falling asleep. Just the feel of him against me. Just the way he made me feel safe even when he was the one causing all the chaos.

---

I stirred.

Something had changed.

There was pressure — firm, unmistakable — pressing against the curve of my ass.

Oh my god.

I froze. My heart started pounding. It was… him. His morning wood.

I’d read about it, sure. I’d even heard jokes about it. But feeling it? That was something entirely different. It was hot against my skin, hard, heavy, and… huge. Like impossibly so.

Amber’s s*x-ed crash course flashed through my mind. The part about size. About how it should feel. How you should feel it before you even see it.

Well… I definitely felt it.

I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it was dangerous. But my curiosity clawed at me. My fingers twitched with the urge to reach behind me, just to touch. To compare. To understand what it would feel like, just once.

But then — footsteps.

Faint. From downstairs.

Someone else was awake.

Panic crashed through me.

I carefully, gently pulled my hand from his. Slid out from under the blanket and grabbed my wet clothes, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst through my chest. I crept out of his room and darted into the bathroom, tossing my wet clothes in the hamper, holding my breath the entire time.

I barely made it to my bedroom when I heard a soft knock at my door. I jumped.

“Good, you’re awake,” Dad said, poking his head in. “Helen and I are heading to the airport to grab Kyle and Morgan. Be back in about an hour.”

I nodded quickly, trying not to look like I’d just committed a felony. “Okay.”

He smiled and shut the door.

And I finally exhaled.

That was way too close.

I collapsed onto my bed, pulse still racing, heart confused, body still humming from the feel of Dominic’s skin, his scent, and the unmistakable imprint of him against me.

What the hell was happening to me?

And why… did I already want to crawl back into his bed?

---

Dominic’s POV

A sharp pulse of pain cracked through my skull the second I stirred.

Jesus.

I groaned, burying my face into the pillow, every nerve in my body screaming for mercy. I had to stop waking up like this. The ache. The guilt. The fog of half-forgotten choices. It was becoming a cycle I didn’t know how to break.

Instinctively, I reached out to the other side of the bed — hoping, half expecting, to find her.

But all I felt were cool sheets.

Empty.

I cracked one eye open, the morning light stabbing through the blinds like a blade. For a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it all — her being here. Her soft voice, her fingers lacing with mine, the heat of her body curved against me.

But then I breathed in.

Her scent clung to the sheets. Coconut and vanilla.

She was definitely here.

I pushed myself upright, rubbing a hand down my face. The digital clock blinked 7:03 AM in red. The night before hit me like a freight train.

Amber. The bar. The pool. Kennedy diving in after me. Her saving me. Peeling off my soaked clothes with trembling fingers. Crawling into bed with me. The way I wrapped around her like I’d die if I didn’t.

And maybe I would’ve.

My chest tightened.

I ran both hands over my face, through my hair, down the back of my neck. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up — this double life. One foot in hell, the other buried in a feeling I couldn’t name without destroying everything.

I stood slowly, legs aching, skin still clammy from sweating out last night’s liquor and mistakes. I tugged on a pair of sweatpants, not even bothering with a shirt. The cool air bit at my skin, but I welcomed the sting.

I made my way downstairs, the scent of bacon and coffee coaxing me forward.

Rounding the corner to the kitchen, I froze.

There she was.

Kennedy stood at the stove, back to me, hips swaying gently to the beat of the music playing from her phone. “One Right Now” by Post Malone filled the space, low and steady. The morning sun spilled through the window, casting a golden glow over her legs, her shoulders, her messy hair piled on top of her head.

She was in a tank top and short shorts — shorts so short they should’ve been illegal — and her thighs… Christ. Thick, soft, real.

I used to like the thigh gaps on girls. But her? They did something to me. Stirred something primal. I would’ve traded everything for just one taste of her skin. One bite.

She turned and caught me standing there.

Kennedy jumped, hand flying to her chest. “Jesus Christ, Dom!”

A small laugh escaped me before a spike of pain behind my eyes made me wince.

Karma.

“You scared me,” she mumbled, narrowing her eyes — but there was no bite to it.

Without missing a beat, she plated a stack of toast, eggs, and bacon and set it on the island.

“Sit,” she ordered softly. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

I didn’t argue.

I eased onto the stool, still watching her, still wondering how the hell I got so lucky and so messed up at the same time. She moved around the kitchen like it was second nature — pouring coffee, humming under her breath, tossing me two Tylenol like she’d done it a thousand times.

Like I belonged to her.

And God, that thought hit hard.

I didn’t deserve her. Not even close. Not after last night. Not after what I’d done. She deserved someone who wasn’t a f*****g mess. Someone who didn’t crawl into bed reeking of alcohol and regret. Someone who didn’t lie. Who didn’t have deals with the devil just to protect her.

But there she was.

Taking care of me anyway.

She placed the coffee and painkillers in front of me, and I looked up at her — really looked. Her eyes were soft, tired. Her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Her skin still held the faintest damp glow from earlier, and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what would’ve happened if Marty and Finn hadn’t barged in last night. If I’d touched her like I wanted to. If she’d let me.

“Thanks,” I muttered, taking the pills and downing half the coffee in one gulp.

Kennedy sat on the stool next to me, stealing a piece of my bacon like it was nothing.

She smiled at me — warm, casual, easy — and it gutted me.

Because I was lying to her.

Because I couldn’t stop wanting her.

Because the only peace I’d known in months was wrapped around her at 2 a.m., feeling like I finally had something worth saving.

And I’d already ruined it.