Collecting Wives In The Apocalypse

First Night Together (I)•

Her breath trembled. She dared a glance back at him. He was stretching, utterly at ease, as if the chaos outside didn’t touch him at all.

But when his eyes flicked to hers, there was a glint there. Something knowing. Something that made her pulse stutter.

Clara turned quickly, busying herself with removing her shoes, her hands clumsy. She hated how obvious she must look—flustered, small, hopelessly out of place.

Behind her, Kael shifted. She could feel his presence like a shadow, filling the room, steady and unyielding.

The muffled moans seeped faintly through the walls again. Clara’s breath caught. She squeezed her eyes shut.

And then Kael’s voice, low and deliberate:

“Clara… do you really think you’re going to sleep tonight with that outside?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She opened her mouth, but no sound came.

Clara bit her lip, unsure if she should respond. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. She twisted her fingers together. “I’ve never—” She stopped, mortified at what had almost slipped.

Kael raised a brow, studying her like he was solving a puzzle. He didn’t press, didn’t tease, but the silence between them deepened until she felt every second stretch across her skin.

The mattress dipped slightly as Kael sat beside her, not too close, but close enough that she felt the heat of him. His arm brushed against hers for a fleeting moment, sending a shiver darting up her spine. Clara stiffened, then looked away quickly, afraid her expression betrayed too much.

Outside, a sharp moan cut through the muffled walls, rising in pitch before dissolving into breathless laughter. Clara’s entire body flushed. She covered her mouth with her hand, unsure if she was trying to stifle her gasp or her embarrassment.

Kael exhaled slowly, leaning back on his hands. “You’re really that bothered?”

She glanced at him, startled. “I—I’m not—”

But the words crumbled in her throat. Because she was. The heat in her face, the twist in her stomach, the restless pulse in her chest—everything betrayed her. She was bothered, shaken, overwhelmed.

And Kael, steady, unreadable Kael, sat right beside her, letting her wrestle with it.

The noise outside didn’t stop. If anything, it grew louder, as though the whole motel had surrendered to the night. Clara closed her eyes, but the images still formed, fed by every sound. Her imagination betrayed her, weaving Kael’s voice into the chaos, his face into the shadows.

She opened her eyes quickly, heart pounding. But Kael was still there, unmoving, his gaze distant. He didn’t touch her again, didn’t push. He simply let her sit in it, let her wrestle with herself.

And somehow, that silence, that restraint, made it all the more unbearable.

Clara lowered her head, clutching her knees. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not now, not while her thoughts tangled so shamelessly. And yet, the nearness of him made it impossible to think of anything else.

The muffled rhythm from beyond the wall quickened, then broke with a sharp cry. Clara jolted, breath shallow, and Kael finally looked at her. His voice was a murmur, quiet but certain.

“Don’t let it rattle you. We’re just passing through.”

But Clara knew the truth. This night would follow her. Not because of the sounds, not because of the strangers in the rooms beyond—

—but because of the way Kael’s presence had turned every sound, every flicker of shadow, into something she couldn’t ignore.

And for the first time since the outbreak began, Clara wasn’t sure what scared her more: the monsters outside, or the storm quietly unraveling inside her chest.

Kael didn’t move at first. His hand was still braced against the wall beside her, shoulders tense, jaw set as though trying to hold himself back.

Kael leaned closer, tilting her chin up with one finger. "Hey. We don’t have to rush. But you said it yourself—kissing might not be enough."

Her lips parted, her breath catching. She swallowed hard. "I-I just… I don’t know if I’m ready for… for…"

He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "For me?"

Her whole body shivered.

Clara’s hands fumbled at his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. "Kael… you’re impossible."

"And yet you’re still here."

Her answer was a shaky laugh. "God help me, I am."

His hand tilted her chin up until their eyes met. His gaze was sharp, but not cruel. Heavy with intent.

"No running now," he murmured.

Clara’s lips parted, her heart pounding. She wanted to protest, but her body leaned forward on its own, betraying her.

Kael smirked. "That’s what I thought."

And then his lips crashed against hers again.

This time, Clara didn’t hesitate. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down. His hands roamed her waist, sliding lower until they cupped her ass again, squeezing harder. She gasped into the kiss, and he took the opening, his tongue slipping against hers.

The kiss deepened, wet and messy, their breaths mingling. Clara’s moans were soft, needy, vibrating against his mouth. Kael pressed her back toward the bed, not breaking contact, until her knees hit the edge and she tumbled onto the mattress with a gasp.

He hovered over her, grinning. "Comfortable?"

Her face was crimson, but her eyes burned with something new. "J-just shut up and—"

He cut her off with another kiss, his hands sliding under her shirt, tracing her skin.

He cut her off with another kiss, his hands sliding under her shirt, tracing her skin.

The motel room, dimly lit by the flickering neon from the cracked window, seemed to shrink around them, turning the outside chaos of zombies and fires into a distant, almost unreal hum.

Clara’s breaths came fast, mingling with his, the heat of his body pressing down on hers, grounding her in a way nothing else could.

"Kael…" she whispered, her voice trembling, but her hands were already tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. "I… I don’t know if—"

"You don’t have to know," he murmured against her lips, letting his mouth roam from hers to the curve of her jaw, to the hollow of her throat. "Just feel."

The words were low, guttural, and urgent, and Clara felt a pull in her chest, a mix of fear and desire she hadn’t thought possible. She nodded, her nails lightly scratching his shoulders as he lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Her bra followed moments later, and she was bare above the waist, flushed skin gleaming under the neon light. Kael’s eyes darkened at the sight, his breath hitching.

"God, Clara…" he groaned, gripping her hips, dragging her body flush against his. His shirt had been gone for a while, revealing the taut lines of his chest, the evidence of survival and strength, scars and all.

She swallowed hard, tracing the ridges of his muscles with trembling fingers. "You’re—" His voice cut off into a rasping groan as he bent down, claiming her lips again, their kiss now feral, desperate, almost frantic in the intensity.

Clara’s heels pressed into the mattress, but she barely noticed the feel of the rough, worn fabric beneath her.

Every inch of Kael pressed into her, and when his hands slid down her back to the curve of her ass again, she gasped into the kiss, tilting her hips toward him instinctively. The sounds outside faded completely, replaced by the slick rhythm of their bodies and the rapid hiss of their breaths.

Then she realized with a jolt that he was pressing against her more insistently—hard, undeniable, and utterly arousing. The weight of him, the grinding motion, made her catch her breath.

Her cheeks burned hotter, and a tiny voice in her head screamed, 'Is this… really happening?!'

*****

Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for reading and being part of this journey!

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