Page 78 of Heat Island
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “Then why didn’t you call me back?”
The question I’ve been dreading. The one I deserve.
“Because I’m a coward,” I say simply. “Because someone like you deserves better than someone like me. Because I was afraid of what would happen if I let myself want you.”
“And now?” Her voice is barely audible, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten.
“Now I’m still afraid,” I admit. “But I’m more afraid of losing you again.”
She studies my face, those intelligent hazel eyes seeming to see straight through me. Then she smiles—a genuine smile, not the forced ones I’ve seen her give her family all week—and leans forward until our foreheads touch.
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I’m not letting you run away this time.”
Trinity shifts back in my lap, her movements deliberate as she grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it up just enough to bare herself to me. My breath catches, a raw sound escaping my throat at the sight of her—swollen, glistening, ready. The air in the empty ballroom thickens with her scent, that sweet and spicy mix that’s been haunting me for months, now even more piquant without the suppressants entirely dulling it.
“Fuck,” I rasp, hands tightening on her hips as heat surges through me. My body screams to take over, to claim, but Trinity doesn’t wait for me to make the call. Her fingers are already at my waistband, deftly undoing my pants with a focus that sends a jolt straight to my core. She frees me, her touch firm and unhesitating, and before I can process the rush, she’s sliding down, taking me in to the hilt in one fluid motion.
A groan tears from my chest, loud in the silent room. Her warmth envelops me, tight and overwhelming, echoing memories of our heat-breaking session—those desperate, fevered hours I’ve replayed in my mind too many times to count. My hands grip her harder, anchoring myself against the wave of sensation as she starts to move, grinding down with a rhythm that’s all her own.
“Knot me, Kyren,” she breathes, voice low and pleading, her lips brushing my ear. “Like you did before. Please.”
Her words ignite something primal in me. I’m distantly aware we’re in a public space, that anyone could walk into this ballroom and see us tangled like this on the piano bench. The thought should stop me cold, should force some shred of restraint. But it doesn’t. Not with her rocking against me, her pleas unraveling every defense I’ve built. Denying her feels like denying air.
“Trinity,” I growl through gritted teeth, my foreheadpressing against hers as I fight for control. “You sure? Here?”
“Stop thinking,” she snaps, her tone sharp but her movements relentless, hips rolling with a need that mirrors my own. “Just do it.”
That’s all it takes. My resolve crumbles, hands sliding under her thighs to lift her slightly, adjusting our angle so I can thrust up to meet her. Each movement draws a soft whimper from her, the sound driving me closer to the edge. I feel the swell building, the instinct to knot her surging stronger with every second, just as it did during her heat when her body begged for relief only I could give.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails biting through my shirt as she arches her back, pressing herself tighter against me. The piano keys clatter under my elbow, a discordant jangle that barely registers over the pounding in my veins. My focus narrows to her—her scent, her heat, the way she’s claiming this moment as much as I am.
“Kyren,” she gasps again, her voice fracturing on my name, and I’m done for. My hands grip her waist, pulling her down hard as I give in, the knot forming and locking us together. A shudder rips through me, raw and unguarded, as her body clenches around me in response, drawing out the intensity until my vision blurs at the edges.
We’re both panting, her head resting against my shoulder now, breath hot against my neck. The ballroom’s silence creeps back in, broken only by our ragged breathing and the faint hum of the resort outside. Reality slowly seeps through the haze—where we are, what we’ve just done—but I can’t bring myself to care. Not yet. Not with her still in my arms, her weight a comfort I’ve craved for too long.
I wrap my arms around Trinity, my elbows hitting the piano keys in a dissonant crash that mirrors the chaoticrhythm of my heartbeat. The jarring sound echoes through the empty ballroom, but I barely notice it. All I can focus on is her—the weight of her in my lap, the warmth of her skin against mine, the way her body still pulses around my knot.
This moment feels impossibly fragile. Like a dream I might wake from at any second. Six months I’ve spent running from this connection, convincing myself I wasn’t worthy of someone like her. Six months wasted on self-doubt and fear.
Her head rests in the crook of my neck, her breath gradually slowing against my skin. I breathe in her scent—wildflowers and honey—and make a decision as the piano’s lingering notes fade to silence.
I won’t run again. I won’t let my insecurities dictate what happens between us. For once in my life, I’ll fight for something that matters.
My fingers trace gentle patterns on her back as we remain locked together. Outside, the moon casts silver light through the ballroom’s tall windows, illuminating dust motes that dance around us like silent witnesses to my silent vow.
Whatever happens after tonight—whether she chooses all of us or none—I won’t disappear from her life again. No more excuses. No more hiding.
I’ll be here for as long as she wants me to be.
TWENTY-EIGHT
TRINITY
I strollinto the resort’s spa with a smile on my face, feeling more relaxed than I have in years. Last night was...well, I don’t really have words for what last night was. It’s hard not to fixate on what happened with Kyren. Not just the physical part, though that was incredible. It was his vulnerability, his confession about why he’d disappeared after our heat-breaking session, that left me feeling strangely liberated.
For once, I’m not overthinking everything.
That newfound confidence carries me through the double doors, past the aromatherapy waterfall, and into the manicure room where a half-circle of pedicure chairs awaits. My smile doesn’t falter even when I’m greeted by the stone-faced expressions of Amelia and Isabelle.
