Chapter 93 A Good Kind of Trouble
Sable’s POV
Kier is driving me crazy.
But… in a good way.
I woke up wrapped in him.
Not near him. Not beside him. Wrapped. His arm was locked around my waist like he’d decided sometime in the night that letting me go wasn’t an option. My back was pressed to his chest, his breath warm against my neck, slow and steady.
For a second, I didn’t move.
I just… felt it.
The weight of him. The heat. The quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with mine. The mate bond, no longer frantic or overwhelming, but steady. Present. Like it had finally found its footing.
It was… peaceful.
Which was exactly why it terrified me.
I shifted slightly, testing the waters.
Big mistake.
His arm tightened instantly, pulling me closer, and a low sound rumbled out of him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he muttered, voice rough with sleep.
I smiled into the pillow. “I was just adjusting.”
“Adjust less,” he said, nuzzling into the curve of my neck like he belonged there.
My breath caught.
Yeah. This was the problem.
“You know,” I said lightly, “some people wake up and go about their day like normal human beings.”
“I’m not people,” he murmured.
“Of course.”
His hand slid slightly, fingers brushing the edge of my waist in a way that made my thoughts scatter. Not rushed. Not demanding.
I turned in his arms before I could think too hard about it, ending up face to face with him. His eyes were still half-lidded, soft with sleep, but the moment they focused on me, something sharpened.
“Morning,” I said.
“Morning,” he replied, like the word meant more than it should.
There was a beat.
Then another.
Then I leaned in.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t dramatic. Just instinct. My lips brushed his, soft at first, testing.
He answered immediately.
Slow, deep and intentional.
He rolled me onto my back and entered me. He kissed me as he began to move and it was all I could do not to break apart under the weight of it. I arched into him, my hands fisting in the sheets, as he built a steady, relentless rhythm.
His hands were everywhere, tracing lines of fire down my sides, gripping my hips, tangling in my hair. His name was a prayer on my lips, whispered and gasped and cried out until the world dissolved into nothing but sensation.
He watched me the whole time.
His gaze never left mine, dark and intense, like he was committing every expression, every gasp, every shudder to memory.
It was too much.
And not enough.
The release when it came was blinding. A wave of pleasure so intense it left me shaking, breathless, and utterly boneless.
He followed me over the edge moments later, a hoarse cry torn from his throat as he collapsed against me, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
We lay there for a long, breathless moment, our bodies still tangled, our hearts racing in sync.
And just like that, the day was already off track.
We did eventually get out of bed.
Eventually.
I was halfway through pulling on one of his shirts again, when he caught my wrist, tugging me back toward him.
“Kier,” I laughed, trying to keep my balance. “We are supposed to be functioning adults today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Says who?”
“Society.”
“Society isn’t here.”
“That’s not the point.”
He stepped closer anyway, hands settling at my hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re distracted.”
“You’re distracting,” I shot back.
“Same thing.”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t move away.
That was the problem.
I could have stepped back. Could have created space. Could have reminded myself of all the reasons I needed to keep my head clear.
I didn’t.
Instead, I stayed right there, letting the moment stretch.
“Coffee,” I said finally, like it was a lifeline. “We need coffee.”
“Probably,” he agreed.
Neither of us moved.
I laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
There it was again, that quiet truth that kept slipping between us.
I shook my head, breaking the moment before it swallowed me whole. “Kitchen. Now. Before I forget how to function entirely.”
He let me go… barely.
The day blurred after that.
Coffee turned into breakfast, which turned into sitting too close on the couch, which turned into not sitting at all because somehow we kept ending up back in each other’s arms.
Every time I passed him, his hand would find mine, my waist, my arm, my back. Every time he looked at me, it felt like he was seeing something deeper than just what was in front of him.
And every time, I told myself to slow down.
And every time, I didn’t.
“You’re staring again,” I said at one point, leaning against the counter while he watched me like I was something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“I like looking at you,” he said simply.
“That’s not helping my focus.”
“Good.”
I huffed a laugh. “You’re going to be the reason I never get anything done.”
“You weren’t planning on doing anything today.”
“I was planning on being productive.”
He stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. “And how’s that going?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
“Exactly,” he said, clearly satisfied.
I shook my head, but my smile gave me away. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you like it.”
I hesitated just long enough for him to notice.
“That’s new,” he added, quieter now.
“It’s not new,” I said. “It’s just… different.”
“How?”
I searched for the words, even as the bond pulsed steadily between us.
“Before, it felt like something was pulling me,” I said slowly. “Like I didn’t have a say in it.”
“And now?” he asked.
I met his gaze.
“Now it feels like I’m walking toward you on my own.”
Something in his expression shifted, softened, deepened.
“Good,” he said.
And for the first time, I believed him.
By the time the sun started dipping lower in the sky, I realized something dangerous.
I hadn’t thought about leaving all day.
Not once.
Not about my apartment. Not about distance. Not about running.
Just… him.
Us.
The quiet. The pull. The choice.
And that scared me more than anything else.
Because it felt right.
And I still didn’t know what that meant for the rest of my life.