Chapter 5: Morning Afterglow
1051 Words
woke to the smell of coffee and the soft hush of snow against glass.
For a moment I didn’t know where I was—then the heavy arm draped over my waist tightened, pulling me back against a warm, solid chest. Damien’s breath stirred the hair at my neck, steady and slow. He was still asleep.
I lay there, heart fluttering, replaying everything from last night in vivid detail: his mouth between my legs, the careful way he’d opened me, the sting and then the impossible fullness when he finally slid inside. The tenderness afterward. The way he’d carried me to bed like I was something precious.
My body ached in the best way—muscles I didn’t know I had, a delicious soreness between my thighs that made me squeeze them together and bite my lip.
He stirred behind me, arm flexing. Lips brushed my shoulder.
“Morning, little one,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.” It came out shy. I felt suddenly exposed, even under the sheets.
He shifted, propping himself on an elbow to look down at me. Hair tousled, stubble darker, gray eyes soft in the pale winter light filtering through the blinds. He looked younger like this. Almost reachable.
“How do you feel?” His hand slid up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip.
“Sore,” I admitted. “But good sore. Really good.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Good.” He leaned in, kissed me slow and lazy—morning breath and all, none of it mattered. When he pulled back, his expression turned serious.
“Any regrets?”
I shook my head immediately. “None. I wanted it. I wanted you.”
Something fierce flashed in his eyes. He kissed me again, deeper this time, rolling me gently onto my back. The sheet slipped down, cool air hitting my breasts. He paused, scanning my body like he was checking for damage.
“I was careful,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But I should’ve been gentler.”
“You were perfect.” I reached up, touched the faint marks my nails had left on his shoulder. “I loved every second.”
He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. Then he dipped his head, kissing a path down my neck, between my breasts, over my stomach. When he settled between my thighs, I tensed—not from fear, but anticipation mixed with tenderness.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Just going to make you feel good. No pressure.”
His mouth was soft this time, gentle licks and kisses, avoiding anything too sensitive. He brought me to a slow, rolling climax that left me boneless and teary-eyed.
After, he crawled back up, tucked me against his chest.
“Coffee?” he asked against my hair.
“Eventually.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through me.
We stayed like that for a while, talking in low voices. He told me about the scars—one from the military, one from a stupid motorcycle accident in his thirties. I traced them with my fingertips, memorizing.
I confessed I’d been saving myself—not for any big moral reason, just that no one had ever felt right. Until him.
He didn’t say anything sentimental, but his arms tightened around me like he understood.
Eventually hunger won. He pulled on sweatpants—commando, which did things to me—and lent me one of his soft Henley shirts. It hung to mid-thigh on me, sleeves swallowing my hands. He rolled them up, fingers lingering on my wrists.
Downstairs, the kitchen was bright with snow-reflected light. He made eggs and toast while I perched on a stool, watching the easy way he moved. Domestic. Dangerous.
We ate at the island, knees brushing. He kept touching me—small things: tucking hair behind my ear, thumb rubbing my knee. Like he couldn’t stop.
Mia texted around ten.
Mia: You survive the snowpocalypse? Power’s flickering here—might head to your parents’ early for movie night if it gets worse.
Panic spiked.
Damien read over my shoulder. His face stayed calm.
“Tell her you stayed at Sarah’s last night. Roads were bad.”
I typed quickly, thumbs shaking.
Me: Yeah, crashed at Sarah’s. Heading home soon to help Mom with baking. See you tonight?
Mia: Perfect! Dad’s coming too—more the merrier.
I set the phone down, stomach knotting.
He noticed, of course.
“Hey.” He turned my stool to face him, stepping between my legs. “We’ll be careful. Nothing changes in front of them.”
I nodded, but the guilt was already creeping in. Mia was my best friend. This would destroy her.
He read my face again. “We can stop—”
“No.” I gripped his shirt. “I don’t want to stop. I just… hate lying to her.”
He rested his forehead against mine. “I know. We’ll figure it out. One day at a time.”
His phone buzzed on the counter—an email about work. Reality intruding.
He sighed. “I have calls this afternoon. You should head home before the next band of snow hits.”
I didn’t want to leave. But he was right.
He walked me to the door, helped me into my coat. Before I could open it, he pressed me against the wall one last time—deep, possessive kiss that left me dizzy.
“Text me when you’re home safe,” he said.
“I will.”
He brushed snow off my car, watched me back out of the driveway.
The roads were plowed but still slick. I drove carefully, body humming with afterglow, mind spinning.
Two days until Christmas Eve.
Tonight: family movie night at my parents’ house. Mia, Mom, Dad… and Damien.
I’d have to sit across from him, pretend nothing had changed.
Pretend I wasn’t already addicted to the way he looked at me.
Pretend I wasn’t falling deeper every second.
I turned up the heat in the car, but the warmth spreading through me had nothing to do with the vents.
I was his now.
And tonight, under the same roof as everyone we were lying to, the real test would begin.
- Writer
