Chapter 16: The After
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was alive.
Heavy with breath and heat and the echo of what they had just done.
Kian lay flat on his back, shirt long discarded, chest covered in bruises and bites. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it echoed in the room, like it might give him away. His lips were swollen, his skin flushed, and he felt completely wrecked—but in the most exquisite way.
Seraphine was still on top of him, legs folded beside his hips, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the marks she'd made. Her nails dragged gently over one of the deeper love bites on his chest, and he shivered beneath her, eyes fluttering shut.
He was hers now.
No need to say it. No one had to know.
But his body knew.
His heart knew.
She tilted her head and stared at him like a painting she had just finished. There was a strange softness in her gaze, one that didn't match the chaos of everything she'd just done to him.
"You're still burning," she murmured, her fingers pressing lightly against the side of his neck, where the worst of her bites lay.
He met her eyes. "You did that."
A wicked smile tugged at her lips. "I know."
His pulse skipped. He felt it in his throat, in his fingertips, in his mouth.
She lowered herself slightly, her chest brushing his again. He gasped—not from the pressure, but from the sensation. Every nerve in him was still raw. She didn't even kiss him this time—she just stared.
"Do you regret it?" she asked softly.
Kian shook his head without hesitation. "No."
She leaned in, her lips barely grazing his. "Even if you never know who I really am?"
"I don't care who you are," he whispered, brushing his nose against hers. "I only care that it was you."
She didn't smile.
She didn't move.
She just kissed him—softly this time, like a secret sealed with lips.
He reached up, one hand cupping her jaw, thumb brushing the side of her cheek. His other hand ran down her spine, slow and reverent, like he was touching something sacred. He kissed her again, and again, until it was just breathing—mouths pressed together, no urgency, no hunger.
Just warmth.
Just closeness.
Her breath hitched when he let his hand run lower—only to stop at her hip, resting there, grounded by her heat.
She pulled back slightly, lips damp, cheeks flushed.
"You've never done this before," she said.
He didn't even bother denying it.
"I've never wanted to."
She held his gaze. "And now?"
Kian looked at her like he was trying to memorize her soul.
"I don't think I'll ever want anyone else."
The words settled in the space between them like gravity.
Seraphine didn't move. Didn't answer.
But she bent down and kissed his shoulder, lips brushing over one of her own bruises.
A quiet, reverent press of her mouth. Like a reply without words.
"I'll find you," he said softly, his voice barely there. "Even if this is just one night. I'll find you again."
She looked down at him, unreadable.
And then she whispered, "I know."
She shifted slightly, resting her head on his shoulder, her palm over his heart. His arms wrapped around her without thought, and they stayed like that—bodies tangled, heartbeats loud, the heat of their connection still pulsing between them.
Neither of them spoke.
There was nothing to say.
Because something had happened tonight.
Something irreversible.
Not just desire.
Not just stolen kisses and bitten skin.
But something deeper.
Like fate had yanked two threads together and knotted them in a single, brutal pull.
And neither of them was trying to untangle it.