Chapter 48 Friends with Benefits: Getting fucked in my house
POV:Nayla
Kade carried me over the threshold like I weighed nothing, kicked the door shut behind us, and didn’t stop until he lowered me onto the cool sheets of his bed.
The room was dark except for the city glow bleeding through the half-open blinds, painting silver stripes across his bare chest.
He didn’t pounce. He didn’t speak. He just stood at the foot of the bed and looked at me like he was memorising the moment he finally got to have me sober, willing, and completely his.
I was still in that ridiculous glittery pink dress, the one I had put on to forget him. Now it felt like a gift wrap he was scared to tear too fast.
“Come here,” I whispered.
He shook his head, slow. “Eight years, Nayla. I’ve waited eight years. I’m not rushing a single second of this.”
My heart did something stupid in my chest…I knew it was making fun of me.
He crawled onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of my legs, and started with my ankles.
His strong hands circled them, thumbs stroking the hollows, then slid upward, palms gliding over my calves, behind my knees, the sensitive backs of my thighs.
Every inch he touched, he kissed, open-mouthed, deliberate, like he was mapping me with his lips.
When he reached the hem of my dress he paused, looked up, eyes asking permission. I nodded once.
He peeled the fabric up my body slowly, exposing me inch by inch, following the rising hem with his mouth, kissing newly bared skin, the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, the soft underside of my breast.
By the time the dress was over my head and tossed somewhere across the room, I was trembling, and he still hadn’t even touched me where I ached and wanted the most.
He settled his weight over me, his forearms braced on either side of my head, and just looked.
Really looked…like he was seeing me for the first time without the fear of losing the friendship.
“I used to dream about this,” he said, voice low, rough and deep. “You in my bed. No Kamila. No pretending. Just you looking at me the way you are right now.”
I reached up, traced the sharp line of his jaw. “Show me what you dreamed about, Kade.”
He kissed me then, slow, deep, the kind of kiss that feels like sinking into warm water.
No teeth, no hurry, just tongue stroking mine, tasting, claiming me. I felt it everywhere, between my legs, behind my knees, in my fingertips.
His hand slid down my body, not teasing this time, just reverent.
Cupping my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple once, twice, until it tightened into a hard peak.
Then lower, over my stomach, tracing the flare of my hip, until his palm finally cupped me over my soaked panties.
I gasped into his mouth.
He pulled back just enough to watch my face as he pressed one thick finger against me through the lace, slow circles that made my hips chase his hand.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured against my lips.
“You,” I breathed. “Just you. Slow. I want to feel every second of this slowly… I don't want you to rush.” I blabbed.
He groaned like I had wounded him and he kissed me again, and slipped my panties down my legs.
When he settled between my thighs this time there was no teasing lick, no edging, just the flat of his tongue sliding through me, slow and filthy, tasting how wet I already was for him.
But even that was gentle, almost worshipful. Long, lazy strokes, like he had all night to learn exactly how I liked it.
When he sealed his lips around my clit and sucked softly, steadily. I came apart on a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, fingers twisted in his hair.
He didn’t stop until I was boneless, then crawled back up my body and kissed me so I could taste myself on his tongue.
I reached for him, hands fumbling with the drawstring of his sweatpants. He helped me shove them down, and then he was naked, finally, thick and heavy against my thigh, the head already slick and precum was dripping from the tip.
He lined up and paused, his forehead pressed to mine.
I opened my eyes. His eyes were dark, serious, and a little afraid.
“I love you,” he said, voice cracking on the words he had never said out loud before. “I’ve always loved you.”
Then he pushed inside, slow, relentless, stretching me open inch by inch while never breaking eye contact.
When he was fully seated, buried deep, he stayed still, letting me adjust, letting the moment burn itself into both of us.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and held him there.
“Move,” I whispered against his mouth. “Make me yours.”
He did slow, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside me, his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
No dirty talk this time. Just our breath mingling, the soft slap of skin, the creak of the bed, and the quiet, perfect truth of finally having each other.
I came again like that, quietly, intensely, clenching around him while tears slipped from the corners of my eyes.
He kissed them away, thrust once, twice more, and followed me over, spilling inside me with my name on his lips like a prayer.
After, he didn’t pull out. He rolled us so I was draped over his chest, still connected, arms locked tight around me.
“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmured into my hair.
I smiled against his skin, sleepy and sated and happier than I had ever been.
“Good,” I whispered. “Because I’m never leaving this bed.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling under my cheek, and pulled the duvet over us both.
Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, we stayed tangled together, hearts finally beating in the same rhythm, and slept.