CHAPTER 83: HATTIE

CHAPTER 83: HATTIE
Before I could lose my nerve, I stepped past him into the apartment. He closed the door behind me, still blinking himself awake. “What’s going on?” I clutched the blanket tighter around me. “I couldn’t sleep,” I said quietly. For a moment, he just looked at me, like he was trying to decide if this was real. Then he nodded once, gently took my hand, and led me down the short hallway to his bedroom. The room was dim, the sheets rumpled, the air warm. He turned back to me, his voice soft. “Get in.” I hesitated, then climbed onto the bed, still wrapped in my blanket. He lay down beside me, careful, leaving just enough space for me to breathe. When he slipped an arm around me, I didn’t pull away. The weight of it felt steady, familiar. My head rested against his chest, and for the first time in months, my body stopped fighting itself. The rhythm of his heartbeat filled the quiet. My eyes grew heavy. The tension in my shoulders eased. And before I knew it, I was asleep—deep, dreamless, peaceful. It was the best sleep I’d had in a long, long time.

The light through the blinds was soft when I woke. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was—then the scent of his soap, the weight of the blanket, the quiet hum of the apartment reminded me. Preston’s side of the bed was empty. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. I sat up quickly, heart pounding. What had I done?

I needed to leave before things got complicated again. I slipped out of bed, gathering my blanket around me, and started toward the door. The bathroom door opened. He stepped out, steam curling around him, a towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping from his hair and down his chest. He froze when he saw me. “Hattie,” he said softly, surprise flickering across his face. I looked away, trying to steady my breathing. “I was just leaving.”

He took a step closer, his voice quiet. “You don’t have to.” “I think I do,” I said, though my voice didn’t sound convincing even to me. He stopped a few feet away, the air between us thick with everything unspoken. “Last night… it felt right having you here.” I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “It doesn’t mean anything, Preston. It can’t.” He nodded slowly, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “Maybe not. But it doesn’t change how I feel.” I wanted to argue, to remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea—but the words wouldn’t come. The way he looked at me, the quiet sincerity in his voice, the warmth still lingering from the night before—it all pulled at something I’d tried so hard to bury. I took a shaky breath. “You hurt me.” “I know,” he said. “And I’d do anything to make it right.”

The silence stretched. My heart ached with everything I still felt for him—anger, longing, love, loss—all tangled together. When he reached out, his hand brushed mine, tentative, asking. I didn’t pull away. For a moment, we just stood there, the world narrowing to the space between us. Then I let the blanket fall from my shoulders and stepped closer, resting my forehead against his chest. He exhaled, his hand finding the back of my neck, gentle, steady. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. But it was something—fragile, human, real. And for that moment, it was enough.

Then his fingers brushed under my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. There was something in them I hadn’t seen in a long time—regret, longing, and a kind of quiet desperation that made my chest tighten. “Hattie,” he whispered, almost like a question. Before I could answer, he leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t rushed or careless; it was deep, aching, full of everything we hadn’t said. The kind of kiss that felt like goodbye and apology all at once.

For a heartbeat, I tried to resist, to remember all the reasons I should walk away. But the fight drained out of me. I let myself feel it—the warmth of him, the familiarity, the ache that had never really gone away. When we finally broke apart, I was breathless, my forehead resting against his. “I don’t know what this means,” I said quietly. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “But I know I still care.” I closed my eyes, trying to steady the storm inside me. I didn’t have answers, and maybe I didn’t need them right now.

He drops his hands to my waist and grips them like I am going to run away. He slams me closer to him so there was absolutely no room between us. The kiss deepens and I decide to slowly run my finger between his stomach and towel. He let out a low moan that drove me crazy.

We pulled apart to catch our breathes and the look in his eyes were asking me a question that I already knew the answer too and he sensed that. Without thinking I tore the towel off from around his waist and he let in a sharp inhale.

“Hattie, are you sure? Once I start I am not stopping.” Preston says in a low gruff tone.

I give him my answer by slowly grabbing the hem of my tank top and pull it off over my head and drop it onto the floor. His eyes have pinned me to the very spot next to his bed and without breaking eye contact I slowly shimmy my yoga pants off my hips and toss them on top of my tank top.

He stalks over and pushes me down onto the bed and crawls on top of me before I can change my mind. He then slowly starts kissing me on the lips making them swollen and then slowly starts kissing me down the side of my neck to my breast. He latches on and it causes me to moan and arch my back, which in return made him moan against my breast.

I grab his dick with my left hand slowly start rubbing my hand up and down the shaft in a way that was so familiar to what we did before all this chaos.

I slowly aim it at my entrance and let him slowly push his way in. We both let out a moan at the same time. We both needed this moment and to be honest I missed him and I missed having sex with him.

The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing. The morning light had shifted, spilling across the sheets in soft afternoon light. As I laid on my back, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a blur of everything that had just happened. Preston’s arm was draped loosely around my waist, his fingertips tracing slow, absent circles against my skin. It should have felt wrong—too soon, too complicated—but instead, it felt… right.