Alpha – Chapter 12

Hawaii

Michael

By the tenth day, silence had a shape.

It clung to the Hideout’s rooms like a smell – flat, stale, bitter. Phones rang all day, managers, lawyers, promoters, but never the one call I truly wanted. Her line was the only one that stayed empty, a tunnel I kept shouting into with no echo back.

I’d rehearsed every version of what I’d say if she answered. Apologies, questions, reassurances. Some nights I’d even mutter them under my breath, like practicing a dialogue before a scene. None of it mattered. The phone would ring until it fell quiet again, and it was the kind of absence that grew heavier with each passing hour.

Fifth call that morning. Maybe sixth. I’d lost count days ago.

Deep down, I already knew the truth. Lisa Presley had disappeared on me and I had no idea where to find her.

“Still nothing?” Bill asked from the kitchen doorway, voice gravelly.

I pressed the receiver to my ear harder, as if pressure alone could force her voice through the wire. The line clicked, then gave me absolutely zero. Slowly, I replaced the receiver.

“She’s not home.”

“You’ve known that since last week.”

“I know it again today.”

My voice cracked sharp enough to make him raise an eyebrow. He didn’t argue. He’d already gone himself: slipped down the service alley by her building, up the back stairs, knocked until the silence answered. In fact, I had made him do the same charade several times already, hoping something would change. It hadn’t.

“Place was cold,” he reported again now, arms folded, sighing heavily – like a man who knows he’s about to deliver an inconvenient truth to someone who hasn’t listened all that well the first time around. “Michael, she hasn’t been there in days. Her mail is under the door, and the neighbors didn’t see her go in or out. Blinds drawn, no lights.”

I dragged a hand down my face, fighting the ache building behind my eyes. I realized I was sweating.

“She just walked out.”

“A couple of paps were still sniffing around the street corner this morning,” Bill added. “One of ’em swore he saw her slip out with a suitcase days ago. Said she kept her head down, took a cab and didn’t look back.”

The word suitcase landed like a punch.

Bill nodded. “So, yeah. She was gone before we could even blink.”

The coil in my chest twisted tighter. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

He gave me that flat cop look. “Why do women do anything?” A pause. “You want me to keep knocking on doors, maybe check if she’s at her mom’s, or you want me to pull real strings?”

For a second, pride made me want to say no. To sit still. To let her come back on her own terms. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be left alone?

But silence had a history with me.

My people had told me more than once about the women who swore they loved me. Who smiled at my side while they had someone else waiting across town. Who whispered about forever while taking what they wanted – money, trips, clout, a photograph that kept them in gossip columns for a week. My worst fear was always the same: not rejection, but being a fool. Being a name someone used until they’d had their fill.

I clenched my jaw and banished the thought. Lisa wasn’t them. She couldn’t be.

Still, the absence burned the same.

“Find her,” I said. My voice came low, hard. “But don’t even bother with Priscilla. I’m sure Lisa is not there. Call the airlines. Use the men. Whatever it takes. Find her, Bill.”

Bill’s mustache twitched once – his way of saying finally – and he left the room already scribbling in his notepad.

Hours later, he came back and dropped a slip of paper on the counter between us like evidence.

“Maui. Presley property. The house has been shuttered for a while, but she’s there. Alone. Grocery run every couple days, from a local store. She walks the beach in the morning… Sometimes she swims in the ocean. One of the locals swears he saw her sitting out by the tide yesterday, just staring into space.”

The paper lay there like a weapon. There was a phone number scrawled beneath the address.

Hawaii. Of course. Ocean, distance, sanctuary. The one place even Priscilla’s shadow couldn’t strangle. Hopefully, at least.

“She’s not with anyone? You sure?” I asked, hoping not to sound too insecure – although with Bill, I knew I could be. My throat was dry.

“No one. The house is empty but for her. She’s alone.”

I nodded once. Relief and pain tangled too tightly to pull apart. Alone was good. Alone was also unbearable.

I hovered over the number. Black ink on white paper. The phone sat inches away, waiting.

All I had to do was dial.

But if I called too soon, she’d hear the fury before the concern. She’d hear the need for control before the care.

Why did she leave?

The paparazzi, yes. Bill had told me they were camped outside her building like wolves, waiting. I was sure they had spooked her – after all, she wasn’t used to that kind of attention despite her last name. Maybe she felt hunted. Maybe she wanted air.

Or maybe it was me. My silence during those first days. My distance. She’d told me once she also wasn’t used to men staying. Had she already convinced herself I’d gone?

The number burned into my eyes. My hand hovered, curled back, hovered again.

Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe.

If she didn’t call first.

The next morning came with fog so thick it pressed against the windows like wet cotton. I’d slept maybe two hours, and even those had been restless, full of half-dreams where I was searching for her in crowds that kept swallowing her whole.

Bill found me in the kitchen, coffee already cold in my hand.

“You look like shit,” he said, no preamble.

“Thanks.”

“You gonna call her or are you gonna sit here staring at that number until it catches fire?”

I looked down at the slip of paper, still on the counter where I’d left it. Creased now from my fingers worrying at the edges.

“What if she doesn’t want to hear from me?”

“Then she won’t pick up. But at least you’ll know you tried.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say it was more complicated than that. But Bill’s face told me he’d heard it all before and wasn’t buying any of it.

“And if she hangs up on me?”

“Then you get on a plane.”

Simple and direct. That was the way Bill saw everything.

I reached for the phone. My hand shook slightly as I dialed, and I hated myself for it. The line rang once. Twice. Three times.

Then her machine picked up.

Her voice, recorded years ago probably, sounded different. Less burdened. “We’re not home. Leave a message if you want.”

The beep felt like a verdict.

“Lisa, it’s Michael.” My voice came out rougher than I intended. “I know you’re there. I know you needed space and I tried to give it to you, but ten days is a long time to wonder if you’re okay. If the baby’s okay.” I stopped, swallowed. “Call me back. Please. Or don’t. But I needed you to know I’m thinking about you.”

I hung up before I could say anything stupider.

Bill was watching me from the doorway. “Feel better?”

“No.”

“Good. Now pack a bag.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You left a message, and that’s step one. Step two is you stop waiting for permission and go.”

“Bill…”

“You think she flew all the way to Hawaii to get away from you?” He shook his head. “She flew there because it was the one place she could think without everyone else’s voices in her head. Including yours. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you to show up.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you’ll regret it if you don’t try.”

He was right. I hated that he was right, but he was.

Two hours later, I was on a plane.

Lisa

The shutters stuck the way they always did, swollen with salt air and years of disuse. I shoved until the hinges gave, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the empty house. The ocean air spilled in, together with that wet, heavy heat that made your skin slick even when you stood still.

I’d been here over a week. Long enough for the dust to settle back where I hadn’t swept, but also long enough for the ghosts to start talking again.

Every corner of this house still belonged to my father. The worn leather chair by the window where he’d strummed a guitar until his knuckles ached. The porch rail where he’d leaned with a cigarillo dangling from his lips, pretending not to notice me watching. The hall that still smelled faintly of him: tobacco, aftershave, something warm I could never name.

If I shut my eyes, I could almost believe I’d turn a corner and find him there. Almost.

But ghosts don’t hold you when you wake up sweating. They don’t pick up the phone when you’re too afraid to call. They don’t tell you what to do with a life that isn’t just yours anymore.

I walked barefoot across the tiles, a glass of water sweating in my hand, and caught sight of myself in the hall mirror. Hair tied up in a knot that was already sliding loose, tank top streaked with dust from unpacking old stuff I didn’t even need. Eyes sharp in the middle, puffy at the edges. I looked like someone who’d run out of fight but hadn’t figured out how to surrender either.

Today, the house had been silent all afternoon, save for the ocean pressing in against the walls, steady as breath. I’d thrown the shutters open to let in the salt and the light, but the place still felt heavy in the sweetest way, every corner weighted with memory.

I’d come here chasing air, distance, freedom. And for a few days I’d almost convinced myself it worked. Coffee on the porch steps, long walks down the beach with my jeans rolled, the tide licking at my ankles until I felt clean again. But night always undid it. The night brought back the hollow. Empty bed, empty rooms, no voice on the other end of the line.

I’d told myself I hadn’t called Michael because I didn’t want to burden him. That he was busy, and quite honestly, safer without me. But the truth was simpler and sharper: I wanted him to come without being asked.

The machine had blinked at me this morning. One message. His voice, rough and tired and so careful it made my chest hurt.

I know you’re in Maui. I know you needed space and I tried to give it to you, but ten days is a long time to wonder if you’re okay. If the baby’s okay. Call me back. Please. Or don’t. But I needed you to know I’m thinking about you.

I’d played it three times. Each time I’d reached for the phone. Each time I’d stopped.

What would I even say? That I’d run because I was scared? That I didn’t know how to let him in without losing myself? That every time I started to trust something good, my mother’s voice came back, telling me I was making a mistake?

So when the tires crunched over the gravel, my chest seized.

I froze by the sink, glass of water still in my hand. The sound was too deliberate to be a stranger, yet too careful to be chance. My heart started hammering before the knock came: soft, patient, like someone who already knew I was standing on the other side of the door.

I pulled it open.

Michael stood there in the late sun, no hat, no disguise. Just jeans and a pale shirt rolled at the sleeves, the fabric clinging to him in the damp air. His face was unshaven, hair loose, eyes shadowed and rimmed with fatigue. He looked leaner, maybe a little hollowed, and impossibly handsome in the way only exhaustion could make someone: stripped of polish, all bone and heart and truth.

For a moment I just stared at him, and something inside me loosened all at once.

God, I’d missed him. Not just his voice on the phone, not just the reassurance of knowing he cared, but him. The way he filled a doorway, the way his presence charged the air. I wanted to step into him before a word was spoken.

Instead I swallowed hard and heard myself say, almost in disbelief, “God. You came.”

“I came.” His voice was huskier than usul, threaded with something that might have been anger if it hadn’t sounded so much like relief. He searched my face like he was making sure I wasn’t an illusion.

“You look…” he started, then stopped. His gaze dragged down, taking me in from head to toe, the gentle curve beneath my shirt, the bare feet, the salt on my skin. “Different,” he finished softly.

I tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “That’s what happens when you disappear from Los Angeles for ten days. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He didn’t take the bait.

“Ten days,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Ten days not knowing where you were, not hearing your voice, not knowing if you or the baby were alright. I was going insane, Lisa.”

The words hit hard; I felt them in my chest.

“I didn’t think you’d even know where I was.”

His eyes sharpened. “Bill found you yesterday. Yesterday, Lisa. I would’ve been here the first night if I’d known.”

My throat tightened. “So you waited.”

“I waited because I thought it was what you needed,” he stepped closer. “Every night I told myself you just needed space. Every morning I told myself you’d call. But you didn’t. I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever paced so much in my life.”

Something broke open in me, shame and longing knotted together.

“I thought that you’d finally had enough of my crazy ass.”

His brow furrowed. “Why would you think that? I could barely function. I could barely sleep. Every time the phone rang I thought it was you.”

The honesty of it almost unraveled me. I felt the sting behind my eyes before the first tear fell.

“I missed you,” I admitted.

He moved then – one slow, certain step. “Lisa…”

But I didn’t move away.

When his arms came around me, the fight drained out of my body. I sank against him, face pressed into his shoulder, breathing him in: sweat, travel, exhaustion, something warm and clean beneath it all.

His hand slid up the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there.

“I missed you too,” he said against my temple. “So damn much.”

The house exhaled with me.

He didn’t let go right away, and I didn’t make him.

His chest rose against me, steady but rough, like he had to remember how to breathe. The tension that had knotted between us for days didn’t dissolve; it just shifted, coiling tighter under the quiet.

When he finally pulled back, his hands stayed on my shoulders, thumbs tracing slow circles.

“You look thinner,” he said, almost to himself. “You’re supposed to be eating more.”

I smiled through the tears that were threatening again. “You’re one to talk. Look at you.”

He huffed out a laugh, the first sound of humor between us. “Fair. We need to eat more.”

I stepped aside, wiping my face with the heel of my hand. “Come in. Before the neighbors start guessing who the crazy man on my porch is.”

He followed me into the living room, the floorboards groaning under his steps. The last gold light of the afternoon spilled across the walls, catching dust motes that drifted like ash.

“This house kind of reminds me of him,” he said quietly, eyes moving across the room. He didn’t have to say my father’s name.

“It does. It always feels like him.”

He lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed. His unshaven jaw caught the light, and I realized just how tired he was. Days of tension carved into the lines around his mouth, eyes rimmed red.

“Coffee?” I asked, just to fill the space.

He shook his head. “No, thanks. If I drink anything right now, it should be chamomile.”

I smiled faintly and sat beside him. Not too close, but not too far either. The scent of him once again wrapped around me until my pulse stumbled. Familiar. Comforting despite my best efforts.

“You didn’t have to come,” I said finally, because the words had to come out somewhere. “Not after everything. You could’ve just called again and at some point I’d have -”

“Stop telling me I didn’t have to come, Lisa. I couldn’t just call you this time.” His voice cut through me, low and firm. “I needed to see you. Needed to know you were really alright.”

I turned toward him, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “You knew I was here yesterday. You could’ve flown right then.”

“I almost did.” His gaze lifted, tired and intense, probably trying to gauge the mixed signals I kept sending. I couldn’t help myself. “But I stopped myself. I didn’t want to show up and have you slam a door in my face. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.”

“Michael… I would have never slammed a door in your face.”

He stared at me then, and I felt the pull in the room shift.

“I’m not mad that you left.” He paused, then shrugged. “Well, I am, a bit. But I can’t take disappearing. Not from you.”

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. But I needed to get my head straight. There were cameras, my mother… Danny showed up, and…”

His jaw tightened. “Danny.”

“Don’t start,” I said quickly, even though part of me wanted him to. “He didn’t do anything. He just said things that made me realize I couldn’t stay there another minute.”

“What kind of things?”

“The kind that make you feel like you don’t get to own your own life.” I looked down at my hands. “Like maybe it’d be easier to disappear altogether.”

He let out a long, quiet breath. The edge in his posture eased, but his voice came lower, steadier.

“Don’t ever do that again. Just call me if something is wrong or doesn’t go as it should. I don’t care where you run, but let me know you’re okay.”

The rawness in his tone caught me off guard, gentler than anger, heavier than forgiveness.

“I scared myself,” I said, almost to the floor.

He reached out, fingers catching my chin, lifting it just enough for our eyes to meet. “Well, we’re here now. Together. That’s enough. And before you ask – no, I am not leaving.”

Something in me cracked at that – not because of the words, but the way he said them.

“You really haven’t slept at all, have you?”

He smiled faintly. “Not properly. I kept thinking I’d wake up and find out this was just some long dream I’d had about you.”

“That’s not romantic,” I said, voice trembling with the start of a laugh.

“Maybe not. But it’s true.”

Silence again, this time not sharp but thick, alive. His hand found mine, thumb rubbing small circles into my skin.

“You should rest,” I said finally.

“I will. Just…” He caught my wrist gently when I started to move away. “Stay with me a minute. Please.”

I sat back down beside him, close enough that our shoulders brushed. His head tipped back against the couch, eyes closing for a heartbeat, then opening again to find mine.

“Ten days,” he said softly. “You’re nuts, girl. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

I managed a smile. “I’ll try not to.”

But the words felt small compared to what was humming between us: the warmth, the relief, the danger of how much we already belonged to each other.

Outside, the ocean kept breathing, steady and endless, as if it knew we were learning to do the same.

Michael – Later that night

She told me I could stay in her room.

It was almost midnight, the house quiet except for the surf breaking against the rocks below. I’d offered to take one of the guest rooms; she’d shrugged, said I could sleep here if I wanted to. I didn’t know what she meant by it – comfort, truce, something in between – but I knew better than to question it. It was what I longed to do, anyway.

She was already in bed when I came in. Not under the covers, just curled against the pillows with the lamp still on, one leg bent beneath her, the other dangling off the edge, staring at the ocean outside the window as if lost in thought.

Her hair was still damp from the shower, darker at the ends where it brushed her shoulders. I noticed she wore one of my white shirts, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the shadowed valley between her breasts, the sleeves rolled carelessly, the hem riding high on her thighs, barely concealing the soft juncture where her legs met. She must’ve rummaged through my duffel bag and chosen it deliberately, as if claiming a piece of me.

It swam on her. And still, I’d never seen anything fit her better. Her breasts strained against the thin cotton, fuller now, her hips heavier. And beneath it all, the faintest curve where our child was growing.

I didn’t ask why she was wearing it, but seeing her in it knocked the breath clean from my lungs.

She caught me staring and her mouth curled just slightly. Almost shy, almost daring.

I didn’t move. I didn’t trust myself to.

“You can take the left side,” she said, her voice low and a little rough. “It’s closer to the window.”

I sat carefully on the edge of the bed and toed off my shoes, unbuttoning my shirt with more focus than necessary. “You still sure you want me here?”

Her eyes flicked toward me. “If I didn’t, I would have locked the door.”

That earned a faint smile from me. I lay down slowly, careful to keep a space between us. Instead of turning away, she shifted toward me, resting her cheek against her hand, watching.

“You’ve been quiet all night. Not that you’re much of a talker, but still…”

“I’m just trying not to say the wrong thing.”

“Say the right one, then.”

I hesitated, staring at the ceiling. “Those days I didn’t know where you were… I thought about things I shouldn’t. Things that scared the hell out of me. I wondered if maybe you’d decided.”

Her voice was steady. “That I’d gotten rid of it.”

The words landed heavy. I met her eyes and she didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.

“I didn’t. That’s never what I wanted. Even when I was scared out of my mind. Even when I couldn’t figure out what the hell we were.” Her hand drifted to her belly. “Out there by the water, I started to feel something. It’s early, I know. But it’s there. Sometimes I swear I can feel it humming.”

Something in my chest cracked open. I reached out, hesitated, then let my fingers rest over hers, against the curve of her stomach. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t doubt me. You worried. There’s a difference.”

We fell quiet again, silence and ocean waves filling the spaces between our words. She shifted, and the sheet slipped down her shoulder. My eyes followed before I could stop them. Her skin caught the lamplight, tanned, warm, alive.

Trying to distract myself from the sight, I stretched my body and sighed, careful not to disturb her, though my body kept humming with the urge to close the distance. My fingers ached to trace her skin again, to the point that it was almost physically painful. I started thinking that maybe I should have slept in another bedroom, after all. Lisa and I were still too undefined to be feeling like this.

“There’s something else,” she said, reaching toward the nightstand. She handed me a folded slip of paper. “The tests came back a couple of days ago. Bloodwork, full panel.”

I glanced at the page. hCG levels. CBCs. Markers. The kind of numbers I didn’t fully understand but knew mattered more than anything else in the world.

“All good?” I asked.

She nodded. “Perfect. No infections. No signs of anemia. I’m ten weeks.” Her eyes met mine. “Which means it must have happened that first night.”

My breath left me.

I remembered that night even too clearly. How we’d fallen into each other like strangers who’d known each other forever. No plans, no protection, no strings. Just need. Pure, reckless, beautiful need.

I traced her wrist with my thumb. “Ten weeks.”

“Give or take.”

“I didn’t expect to feel this way,” I admitted.

“What way?”

“Like I’d come apart if anything ever happened to it.”

Her face shifted, softened. “Me too.”

I moved closer without thinking. Our shoulders brushed. I could feel her warmth through the cotton, the weight of her body barely touching mine. The lamp cast everything in gold.

“And you don’t want to lose it,” I said quietly.

She shook her head. “No. I really don’t.”

“You won’t. I feel it. I swear to God, I do.”

She let out a long breath, and her head fell against my shoulder.

A moment passed like that. Then another. Her fingers found my hand. Held it. Traced slow patterns across my palm.

“My body’s already changing,” she said, almost like a confession. “My breasts are sore all the time. My hips feel wider. I cry over the dumbest things, like dog food commercials and cereal boxes. And if I don’t eat every few hours, I feel like I could kill someone.”

I smiled into her hair. “Sounds terrifying.”

“It is.” She turned her face toward me, cheek resting against the pillow. “But it’s mine. And now it’s yours too.”

She looked at me for a long moment. Then her voice dropped.

“And then there are the cravings.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Pineapple. Buttered noodles. Peanut butter straight from the jar.”

I managed a smile, but it faltered as her gaze intensified.

“And other things,” she added.

Her words sent a surge of heat through me. I leaned in closer. “What other things?”

She hesitated. Instead of answering, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. Her face became serious again, almost concerned. “You do look exhausted, Michael.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well, I told you.”

“Because of me?”

“Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw you walking away.”

Her fingers hovered at my jaw. “I’m not walking anywhere.”

Her palm cupped my face, warm and sure. I turned into it without thinking, and pressed my mouth against her wrist. She shivered. And in that moment, everything tilted.

“Lisa…”

She didn’t answer. She just leaned down and kissed me.

It started soft – a question more than a claim – but it broke open fast, deep. Ten days of silence poured out of us all at once: anger, relief, hunger, maybe love, none of it sorted. My hands found her waist, the curve of her back, her hair sliding through my fingers like water.

The shirt shifted between us, soft fabric against skin. The sound of the sea filled every space our breath couldn’t.

When I opened my eyes, she was watching me, her mouth parted, her expression raw and frightened and sure all at once.

“You sure?” I asked.

Her voice was low and steady. “More than sure.”

She moved first. One small shift, and the space between us was gone. Her mouth found mine, soft at first, then almost desperate. I caught her waist and pulled her closer, the shirt twisting between us. The kiss deepened, broke, started again. The taste of her was heady – intoxicating.

We pulled back and stared at each other in amazement. It was too much. Maybe too soon – and certainly too late to stop.

I went all in and captured her mouth with mine, her lips parting eagerly as our tongues met in a dance of pent-up longing. This time it wasn’t soft; it was intense, each stroke deepening the ache that had built for weeks.

Her fingers curled into my shirt, pulling me nearer, while mine slid up the back of her thighs, under the hem of the cotton, tracing the smooth curve of her hips and the gentle new fullness at her waist. I felt her shiver as my palms grazed her breasts, now fuller, her nipples peaking against the fabric at the lightest brush, drawing a gasp from her.

I kissed down her neck, lingering at the pulse point where her heartbeat raced, inhaling the clean scent of her skin mingled with desire. She pulled me down onto the mattress with her, the shirt parting further, buttons yielding to reveal the flushed expanse of her body: her breasts rising with each breath, the subtle curve of her belly, the inviting heat between her thighs.

I kissed every exposed inch: the soft plane of her stomach; her hips; her breasts, where I lingered, my mouth closing gently over one sensitive peak, teasing with tongue and lips until she arched, a low moan escaping her. Her hands threaded through my hair, guiding me lower still, her body responding with a liquid heat that made my own need throb insistently.

As I trailed kisses downward, the realization finally washed over me. This was what I’d longed for in the quiet, aching nights apart. Not just the act, but the intimacy of tasting her, of losing myself in her essence, of drawing out her pleasure until she unraveled completely.

I parted her thighs gently, settling between them, my hands caressing the soft inner skin as I pulled her skimpy thong down. I lowered my mouth to her core. She was already slick with arousal and the first brush of my tongue against her elicited a sharp gasp, her fingers tightening in my hair.

I savored her slowly at first, tracing the delicate contours with broad, languid strokes, then focusing on the sensitive flesh that made her hips buck subtly against me. Her taste, sweet and uniquely hers, flooded my senses.

“Michael,” she breathed out, “that feels so good… so good… oh God.”

I groaned against her, the vibration drawing another moan, and delved deeper, my tongue circling and flicking with increasing intent, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, thumb teasing the hardened nipple in rhythm with my mouth. I realized I could no longer control myself.

Lisa writhed beneath me, her breathing coming in ragged waves, her body arching as I brought her closer to the edge. Her fingers tightened in my hair, pulling me closer as tension coiled in her core, her moans turning into desperate pleas.

“Don’t stop… please, please,” she gasped, her thighs quivering around my shoulders.

I intensified my efforts, my fingers slipping inside her, moving slowly, deliberately. This was lunacy. And I didn’t want it to stop.

She came with a cry that echoed through the room, her body convulsing in waves of release, her essence coating my tongue as I lapped at her through the aftershocks, drawing out every tremor until she went limp, breathless.

For a moment, we just breathed — her fingers still tangled in my hair, her chest rising and falling. She looked undone in the most beautiful way, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyelids fluttering like she was somewhere between here and somewhere holy.

Then she moved.

Soft at first — her mouth trailing fire along my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. She didn’t speak. Every kiss she left behind felt deliberate. Her teeth grazed my shoulder, not with urgency, but possession. Her hands roamed lower, palms spreading wide against my chest like she needed to feel the shape of me, to press me back into her world.

She eased me onto my back with gentle pressure, her weight following, warm and lithe. The shirt she still wore hung open now, framing the lines of her body. Her breasts brushed against me as she moved, and I felt her exhale when I held her by the hips to steady her.

She straddled me, slow and sure, her thighs tight around my waist, her eyes locked on mine with that unmistakable intensity — only, this time, it wasn’t all fire. There was ache in it too. Wonder. A need to feel something that had nothing to do with power.

She leaned down, lips grazing my chest, then lower. Her teeth tugged lightly at my skin, followed by the warm press of her mouth. She kissed my ribs. My stomach. Every inch of me she could reach, her hands mapping the terrain, pulling my jeans down, my boxers down.

“I’ve missed this…” she murmured against my skin. Her hand wrapped around me then — slow, deliberate – stroking from base to tip with the kind of reverence that made my head fall back against the pillows. She watched my reactions like she needed them, like they anchored her.

The rhythm was patient at first — languid glides that built unbearable pressure — and then she shifted, her grip tightening just slightly, just enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

“…Missed you,” she whispered again.

Then she climbed up, still slow, positioning herself over me without rushing the moment. I felt her breath on my cheek, her hand still wrapped around me, guiding.

“God,” she breathed out, “I need you inside me.”

I held her gaze.

“You have me.”

And then she sank onto me, inch by inch, taking me in with a kind of trembling patience that made every nerve stand on end. She winced, almost in pain, her mouth opening in a silent gasp as I filled her completely, our bodies locking into place.

We didn’t speak for a while. Our bodies did for us.

The rhythm found us. Natural, raw, steady.

She moved over me slowly, her hips rolling, grinding, adjusting to every shift until the friction turned molten. Her palms pressed into my chest, her fingers splaying wide. When she leaned forward, her breasts brushed against my skin, her breath hot at my throat.

“Oh, shit… that’s it,” she whispered. “Deeper. I need to feel all of you.”

I did too. And I gave her everything.

Every thrust answered with a gasp. Her inner muscles clenching around me, coaxing moans from both our throats. The way she took me — all of me — was overwhelming. There was power in it, yes, but also surrender. Not to me. To the moment.

Her hips began to move faster, chasing something neither of us could articulate, her moans growing louder, layered with something far beyond hunger. Her eyes weren’t just flashing with lust — they were glassy, conflicted.

My hand found the space between us, circling her sensitive spot, timing the motion with each thrust until her mouth fell open again, helpless.

“I can feel you everywhere,” she choked out. “It’s like you’re filling every space of me that was empty.”

I kissed her hard then — because I didn’t know what else to say. Because that’s what it felt like to me too.

When I rolled her beneath me, one leg hooked high over my shoulder, she let out a cry that tore through me. Her body arched, met every stroke with more force, more desperation. She wasn’t shy about what she wanted, and I gave her everything I had.

But then she stilled me with her palms, panting.

“Wait… Let me…”

And with care, she slid down my body, kissed a path down my chest, my stomach, her fingers curling around my thighs with unmistakable intent. I groaned as her mouth found me, warm and reverent, her tongue circling the head before she took me deeper, slowly.

I tangled my fingers in her hair, not to guide her or force her — just to hold on. Just to anchor myself to something that still made sense.

“There you go… Oh, yeah…” The words escaped before I could catch them, low and unguarded. My hips lifted into her mouth, helplessly, chasing a rhythm I tried to tame.

“You taste like us,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to breathe the words against me, her lips red, her breath hot. Her eyes locked on mine, glassy and dark.

And then she sank down again – slow, controlled, devastating. My spine arched, muscles taut, every instinct in me screaming to give in.

The heat built fast, blinding. My hips stuttered upward again, rhythm claiming me. But even as the pleasure surged, I held back. No matter how close I got to the edge, I needed her to know she could stop it, stop me, at any time.

So I slowed my thrusts, forced them into a restrained, rhythmic pulse, keeping the movement gentle, careful. My hands loosened in her hair, just in case. I could’ve cried from the tension of it.

“Lise…” It came out like a warning.

She pulled back just as my restraint began to splinter, her lips swollen as she looked up at me, flushed and breathless.

“Not yet,” she said — not teasing, not playful — but almost pleading. Urgent.

She crawled back up over me, the heat of her body brushing every inch of mine until she was astride me again, one hand guiding me, steady and sure.

When she took me back inside her, it was different.

Not just slower, but sacred.

There wasn’t urgency or dominance in her movements. Just rhythm and ache and a quiet desperation that built with every movement. Her hands braced on my chest, mine gripping her thighs, her body working over mine with devastating precision.

“Tell me what this does to you,” she whispered. “Tell me what I make you feel.”

I looked up at her — her face flushed, hair wild, lips parted.

“You make me forget what lonely feels like,” I winced. “You make me want everything.”

Her breath caught. Her hips bucked. She bent forward, crushed her mouth to mine, her movements losing their rhythm as her body chased something deeper.

“I didn’t want to be…” she gasped against my lips, her voice trembling with something she didn’t want to name. “But I can’t stop wanting you. I never could.”

Her climax broke through her like a storm — sudden, wild, shuddering — and she started trembling above me, her muscles pulsing, drawing me to the edge with her. I held her hips, thrusting up as the pressure exploded, spilling into her with a cry of my own, every nerve alight, every sense consumed by her.

We stayed there, joined and shaking, but silent. Until finally, her body melted against mine, all soft breath and warm skin, her cheek resting over my heart.

I wrapped my arms around her, one hand drifting up her back, the other still holding her hip like I couldn’t bear to let go.

Everything had changed. Neither of us said it. But we both felt it.

After a while, I felt her smile against my chest.

“I didn’t plan this,” she whispered.

I let out a soft breath. “Neither did I.”

She was quiet for a beat. Then: “But…?”

I kissed the top of her head.

“But I’m not sorry it happened.”

Her laugh was soft, sleepy. Relieved. Outside, the ocean kept breathing.

I woke to the weight of her still against me, her leg thrown over mine, her breath warm against my collarbone. The sheet had tangled around us sometime in the night, and I could feel every place where her skin touched mine. Looking out of the window, I noticed it was still dark. I had no idea what time it was – nor did I care.

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to break whatever spell had kept us here.

Her fingers twitched against my chest, and I knew she was awake even before her eyes opened.

“Hey,” she said, voice rough with sleep.

“Hey.”

She shifted slightly, wincing. “Damn… I’m sore as hell.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” She looked up at me, hair a wild mess, eyes still soft. “I’m not.”

I brushed a strand away from her face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I should probably eat something before I pass out.”

That made me smile. “I can fix that.”

“You cook?”

“No, but I make breakfast.”

She laughed, and the sound filled something in me I hadn’t realized was empty.

“It’s not even time for breakfast yet.”

“And we should care because..?”

“Right…”

We got up slowly, both of us moving carefully, like we were still figuring out how to exist in the same space without the urgency of last night. She pulled on shorts and kept my shirt, and I found a clean t-shirt in my bag.

The kitchen was flooded with moonlight, the ocean visible through every window. I found eggs in the fridge, bread that was only slightly stale, butter. She sat on the counter and watched me work, bare feet swinging.

“You’re actually good at this,” she said, sounding surprised.

“I’ve had practice. Mother made sure we all knew how to take care of ourselves.”

“Even the famous ones?”

“Especially the famous ones.”

I plated the eggs, added toast and handed her a fork. We ate standing up, her hip against the counter, me leaning against the sink. It felt ordinary in a way nothing between us had felt before.

“What happens now?” she asked after a while.

I looked at her. “What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to go back to how it was before. The hiding. The wondering.”

“Me neither.”

“But I also don’t know how to do this.” She gestured between us. “Whatever this is.”

“Then we’ll take it one day at a time.”

We stood there for a moment, the night still stretching out around us, full of possibility and uncertainty in equal measure. Glancing at the clock, I noticed it was 4 in the morning.  Which meant 6 AM in LA.

“I should call Bill,” I said eventually. “Let him know I’m okay. He’s probably filed a missing persons report by now.”

That made her laugh. “He seems like the type.”

“He is.”

I reached for the phone on the wall and dialed the familiar number. Bill picked up on the second ring.

“You alive?”

“Yeah.”

“She alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“It might be too late for that.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Figured. Call me when you’re coming back.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and turned back to find Lisa watching me, something soft in her expression.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… you’re different here.”

“Different how?”

“Lighter. Like you can breathe better.”

“I can. With you.”

She looked away, but I saw the pleased flush in her cheeks.

One day at a time.