Chapter 25 Twenty Five
Kennedy carried her as though she weighed nothing.
Antonia’s arms stayed looped around his neck, her forehead resting briefly against his shoulder as the world blurred past her. The bedroom door shut behind them with a soft, final click—too quiet for how loudly her heart was pounding.
He set her down gently on the edge of the bed, but even then he didn’t step away. His hands lingered at her waist, steadying her, grounding himself just as much as her.
For a moment, they simply stood there, breathing each other in.
The air felt thick—heavy with unspoken things, with grief, with longing that had waited far too long to be acknowledged.
Kennedy rested his forehead against hers.
“I have wanted you so badly,” he murmured.
Antonia swallowed. “Me too...”
There was fear in her chest—but there was also relief. Relief that she didn’t have to pretend anymore. That she didn’t have to carry this alone.
His thumb brushed along her jaw, slow, reverent. “If you want me to stop—”
She shook her head before he could finish.
“I don’t,” she whispered. “I really don’t.”
That was all the permission he needed.
He kissed her again—not desperate this time, but deliberate. As though he was memorizing her. The way she responded instantly, her body softening against his, her hands finding his shoulders, then his chest, as if she needed to feel the steady beat beneath his skin.
Every touch felt amplified.
When his lips trailed from her mouth to her cheek, then down her neck, Antonia gasped softly, fingers tightening in his shirt. The sensation sent shivers through her—not just physical, but emotional. This wasn’t just desire.
This was connection.
“Kennedy,” she breathed, his name slipping out like a confession.
He paused, lifting his head to look at her. His eyes were dark, intense, searching her face as though he needed reassurance she was still with him.
“Don't stop,” she said quietly. “Please don't.”
Something in his expression cracked.
He pulled her closer, holding her—not urgently, not possessively—but like someone who had been alone for far too long and had finally found something solid again.
They sank down onto the bed together, movement slow and careful, as if they were afraid to rush what felt sacred. Antonia lay back against the pillows, watching him hover above her, his hand brushing her hair away from her face.
He had forgotten how good it felt to hold a woman in his arms, and Antonia's body yielded without resistance under his touch.
“You're so beautiful,” he whispered.
She reached up, cupping his cheek.
His eyes closed briefly at her touch.
Then he kissed her palm.
Then her wrist.
Then her shoulder.
Each kiss was unhurried, tender—like he was grounding himself in her presence, letting her anchor him back to the present.
Antonia’s breath grew shallow as his warmth surrounded her, as the space between them dissolved completely. Her hands traced familiar lines along his back, learning him in this new way—not as her boss, not as part of a lie—but as a man who wanted her just as deeply as she wanted him.
His touch so tender against her skin made her want to weep for herself. She wanted to be loved by this sensual man.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. And he responded by claiming her mouth with complete possession, hard and yet exquisitely tender. His tongue swept deep into her mouth, devouring her. His body grew harder and more tense. Blood rushed through his veins, flooding his loins, and making his heart accelerate.
Quickly, he spread her thighs and pressed his potent arousal to the sweet notch between her legs.
Antonia moaned in respond. They moved together in quiet harmony, guided by urgency.
Clothes were shed without ceremony, left forgotten on the floor, replaced by skin against skin and whispered breaths in the dimness.
Kennedy caressed the full swell of her breast, his touch was softer than a whisper, and Antonia bit her lips as fire exploded between her legs.
"I want you...now." She said, with a strained voice.
Immediately, he slid down her body, spreading her legs apart with his hands. Antonia groaned and gasped as his gentle fingers parted the soft folds of her secret lips.
She gripped the bed sheet beneath her in tightly clenched fingers, as wet heat began to pulse and pump her blood. Shamelessly, she opened her legs wider and stared into his eyes as his pulsing manhood glided over the moist entrance of her body. He entered slowly, filling her more completely than Antonia would have believed possible.
Kennedy’s touch was attentive, reverent—never rushed, never careless.
Antonia felt seen.
Wanted.
Chosen.
Soon his pace increased, and she gasped and moaned as Kennedy thrust harder, deeper.
He retreated, slowly, tortuously, almost exiting her, then filled her again, so slowly, Antonia moaned with long languid heat. He did it again , and again. relishing every tight spasm her body used to grip him.
The bed rocked as Kennedy's body took her. She arched her back.
He closed his eyes, plunging harder, driven mad by the sensuous movements of her body under his, pulling, aching, and accepting him fully.
He caught her wrist and held them over her head, and fucked her harder, and deeper until they both came. It wasn’t frantic or wild—it was intense in a way that left her breathless. Emotional. Overwhelming. Like two people who had been circling each other for too long finally surrendering to the inevitable.
Waves of pleasure devoured her, rendering her weak under him.
Kennedy's weight fell upon her, encasing her with delicious, dominating heat as he kissed her neck, then found her lips.
She clung to him, heart racing, emotions cresting dangerously close to tears—not from sadness, but from the sheer release of it all.
She kissed him back with passion and desire.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, the room quiet except for the slowing rhythm of their breaths.
Antonia stared into the dark, wide awake. Her mind drifted towards tomorrow, wondering how their relationship would be, now that they have crossed the line.