Page 81 of What If I Hate You
She hums, content, and lets her hand rest just above my heart. I stare at the ceiling, every part of me buzzing, satisfied, sated, but more than that…
Settled.
And for the first time in years, maybe ever, I feel like something that’s always been jagged in me has clicked into place.
Blakely Rivers is chaos and fire and stubbornness and heart.
Together we can be untamed, chaotic, and sometimes too intense for our own good.
But I don’t care.
She’s mine now.
And God help me, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let her go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BLAKELY
My body still feels like it’s floating. Like I’ve been ripped open and stitched back together by Barrett’s hands, mouth, and… other parts.
I’m limp and oversensitive, a mess of damp skin and shaky limbs as he pulls me close, tucking me against his chest like I’m something soft and breakable. His hand runs up and down my spine in slow, lazy strokes, and I swear I can still feel the aftershocks rolling through me like tiny earthquakes.
I didn’t even know I coulddothat.
And now… he’s holding me like I’m his.
Not a hookup. Not a heat-of-the-moment decision. Like I’m his person.
His lips brush against my hairline. “Still alive in there, Rivers?”
Barely. But I nod, eyes closed, heart doing this stupid fluttery thing in my chest that has nothing to do with orgasms and everything to do with the way he’s holding me now.
Like I matter.
Like I’m not just some female form in his bed butBlakely, who he wants to keep close long after the high has faded.
“Just recovering,” I murmur into his chest, my voice rough and full of sleep.
“Should I call for backup? Oxygen? A priest?”
I laugh weakly. “Shut up.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, and I feel him smile against my skin. His hand settles low on my hip, thumb brushing absent circles there like he’s tracing me into memory.
We fall quiet for a minute. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s heavy in thatsomething just changedkind of way.
I tilt my head to look at him. His eyes are half-lidded, that devastatingly smug post-sex smirk on his lips, but there’s something softer in his gaze too. Something almost… reverent.
“You okay?” he asks gently, like maybe he’s worried he went too far. Like making me come so hard I nearly blacked out might've shattered something in me.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my fingers tracing along his ribs. “I’m more than okay.”
He exhales like I’ve just lifted the weight of the world off his chest. His eyes close, and for a second, he looksyoung. Bare. Real.
“Was that—you’ve seriously never—?” He starts, then seems to rethink the question.
“No,” I cut in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Never. Not like that.”
