Chapter 23: Kicking & Consequences
The knock seemed to vibrate through the door and into Lexi’s bones. Ace’s body went still above her, his breath hot against her cheek. In the silence that followed, the world rushed back in—the smell of sex, the ache between her legs, the terrifying awareness of her father standing just a few feet away.
“Just a sec!” Lexi called out, her voice embarrassingly high. She scrambled from under Ace, grabbing her discarded sweatshirt and yanking it over her head. It was inside out. She didn’t care. Ace was already off the bed, moving with a lethal, silent grace. He snatched his jeans from the floor, stepped into them, and zipped them in one smooth motion. He tossed her the leggings. His t-shirt and jacket followed.
“Breathe,” he mouthed, his own face a mask of calm.
She pulled on the leggings, her hands shaking. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, knowing it was hopeless. Ace pulled his shirt on, ran a hand through his own hair, and gave the room a quick scan. The condom wrapper was by the bed. He bent, picked it up, and stuffed it in his pocket. He met her eyes, gave a single, slow nod.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and opened the door just enough to peer out.
David stood there, changed into sweatpants and a worn Northwood University hoodie. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual, but his gaze was sharp. It moved past her, into the room, landing on Ace, who was now leaning casually against her desk, arms crossed.
“Food’s here,” David said, his voice flat. His eyes flicked to Lexi’s flushed face, her swollen lips. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Everything okay in here?”
“Fine,” Lexi squeaked. “We were just… talking. About homework.”
David’s eyebrow lifted infinitesimally. “Homework.” He said the word like it was in a foreign language. His gaze fixed on Ace. “On a Friday night. Dedicated.”
Ace pushed off the desk, his movements deliberately slow and non-threatening. “Chemistry’s a bear, Mr.Thompson. Lexi was helping me with the periodic table.” He didn’t smile. He just held David’s stare, a calm, steady challenge.
The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on. Lexi could smell the garlic and ginger from the Thai food, mingling unnervingly with the scent of her own arousal still clinging to the air in the room.
Finally, David gave a short, almost imperceptible nod.“Well. The table’s set. Don’t let it get cold.” He turned and walked back down the hall, his shoulders stiff.
Lexi shut the door and leaned against it, pressing her palms to her burning face. “Oh my god.”
“Hey.” Ace was in front of her in two strides. He pried her hands from her face. “It’s fine. He knows. So what?”
“He knows,” she whispered, horrified. “He knows we were just… and he heard you… the bed…”
“He’s not an idiot, Lex. And he didn’t hear anything over the TV.” Ace’s thumbs stroked her cheeks. “He’s just being a dad. It’s his job to hate me a little bit.Come on.Food. We’re gonna go out there, act normal, and eat. You’re starving. I can hear your stomach from here.”
He was right. The adrenaline crash had left her hollow and shaky. She let him guide her out into the hallway.
The living room was dim, lit only by the flickering blue light of the TV, where a paused action movie showed a car mid-explosion. The coffee table was covered with white takeout containers, their lids folded back. Dede was already on the large sectional, her feet tucked under her, a blanket over her lap. She’d changed into soft-looking leggings and an oversized sweater that stretched over her bump. She looked cozy, domestic.
“There they are,” she said, her voice warm. “I got the Drunken Noodles for you, Lexi, extra spice. And the Panang Curry for you, Ace. David’s claiming the Cashew Chicken.”
David was in the armchair, not the couch, a plate balanced on his knees. He didn’t look up as they entered, just used the remote to unpause the movie. The explosion roared to life, filling the room with sound.
It was a careful, negotiated peace. Lexi and Ace filled their plates and sat on the opposite end of the long sectional from Dede. A careful three feet of buffer zone. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of forks and the movie’s cacophony.
Dede was the first to speak. “So, Ace. Lexi mentioned you’re thinking about community college in the fall. For what?”
Ace swallowed a bite of curry. “Automotive tech, probably. Maybe business after. Undecided.”
“Smart,” Dede said, nodding. “A trade is solid. You’ve got your own place, right? Your grandmother’s house?”
“Yeah. Frees me up to focus.”
David took a long drink of his water. “No more… siblings at home to worry about?” His tone was carefully neutral, but the question was a probe. He’d heard the outlines of Ace’s past.
“They’re with my aunt now. It’s better.” Ace’s answer was clipped, final. A door gently closed.
“Good,” David said, and it sounded like he meant it. He shifted his gaze to the TV.
The conversation lulled again, but the tension had eased a fraction. Dede reached for a spring roll, her movements graceful. “David, pass the chili oil, please?”
As he leaned forward to grab the little jar from the table, Dede let out a small, sharp gasp.
David froze, his hand hovering.“What? What’s wrong?”
Dede’s eyes were wide. She grabbed his retreating hand and pressed it firmly against the side of her belly, under the swell of her sweater. “Wait,” she whispered. “Just wait.”
David’s entire attention zeroed in on her. The movie, the food, the teenagers on the other end of the couch—all of it vanished. His face, so hard and closed a moment before, underwent a transformation. His brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes searching Dede’s. He held his breath.
Then, a slow, wondrous smile broke across his features. “Was that…?”
“That was a kick,” Dede said, her own smile radiant. She kept his hand pressed to her. “A big one. He’s practicing his soccer moves in there.”
David let out a laugh, a short, surprised burst of pure joy. He left his hand there, his thumb moving in a gentle circle. The protective, possessive anger from earlier was gone, replaced by a naked vulnerability that made Lexi’s throat tighten. She watched her father, this formidable, wounded man, utterly captivated by the fluttering life beneath his palm.
Ace saw it too. He saw the opening. While David was mesmerized, blind and deaf to anything but Dede and the baby, Ace turned his head. He leaned in close to Lexi, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice was a low, warm vibration that only she could hear, laced with a teasing, possessive promise.
“Your turn next, little mouse.”
The words, the heat of his breath, sent a lightning bolt of sensation straight through her core. She stiffened, a flush creeping up her neck. She didn’t dare look at him. She kept her eyes glued to her father’s transformed face, her heart hammering against her ribs. The contrast was dizzying—her father, miles away in a moment of profound, gentle connection, and Ace, right here, anchoring her in a pulse of raw, intimate heat.
David finally pulled his hand away, but the awe lingered on his face. He looked from Dede’s smile to the TV, but his eyes were unfocused. He picked up his fork, but he didn’t eat. He just sat back in his chair, a man who had momentarily touched a miracle.
The movie played on, explosions and gunfire filling the room with meaningless noise. Lexi risked a glance at Ace. He was looking at the screen, a faint, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He didn’t look at her. He just reached over, his hand finding hers where it was buried in the blanket between them. His fingers laced through hers, a firm, unbreakable clasp.
He gave her hand a single, reassuring squeeze. A silent message: See? We’re fine. This is all fine.
But as Lexi watched her father stare blankly at the television, his mind clearly light-years away on a tiny, kicking future, and felt the firm, possessive grasp of the boy beside her, she knew nothing was simple. The ground beneath her feet felt softer now, shifting, capable of opening up into something wonderful or terrifying at any moment. She held Ace’s hand back just as tightly, anchoring herself to the one solid, unpredictable thing she was sure of in the quiet, neon-lit dark.
She held Ace’s hand back just as tightly, anchoring herself to the one solid, unpredictable thing she was sure of in the quiet, neon-lit dark.
The movie credits began to roll, casting moving shadows over the emptied takeout containers. A collective tiredness settled into the room, the earlier adrenaline of David’s anger and Dede’s revelation fading into a contented quiet. Lexi stretched her legs, her foot accidentally brushing her father’s shin. He didn’t flinch, just rubbed a hand over his face.
“That was actually not terrible,” David conceded, nodding toward the television.
“Told you you’d like the car chase,” Dede said, smothering a yawn behind her hand. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position for her back.
Lexi felt the moment crystallize, fragile and fraught. The peace felt temporary, a thin sheet of ice over everything unspoken. She glanced at Ace, who was already looking at her, a silent question in his blue eyes. The thought of him leaving, of the night ending and her room feeling too large and too quiet, propelled the words out before she could second-guess them.
“Dad?” she started, her voice softer than she intended. He turned his head. “It’s… it’s really late. And it’s started raining.” She gestured weakly toward the window where a soft patter had begun. “Is it… would it be okay if Ace just stayed the night?”
The air in the room changed instantly.
David’s relaxed posture stiffened. His eyes, which had been soft with post-film haze, sharpened and locked onto Ace with a force that was almost physical. The glare was pure, undiluted paternal instinct, a silent assessment of threat and consequence. It was the look of a man who had just heard the echo of a creaking bed frame and now saw a challenge to his domain.
Ace’s spine straightened under the weight of that stare. He dropped Lexi’s hand.
“It’s cool, I should go,” he said hurriedly, already beginning to stand. The leather couch creaked in protest. “I don’t mind the rain. The Mustang needs a run anyway.” His words were a retreat, an immediate concession to the older man’s territory.
Dede watched the shift, her intelligent eyes missing nothing. She saw the rigidity in David’s shoulders, the defensive set of Ace’s jaw, the way Lexi seemed to shrink into herself. Without a word, she reached over and placed her hand on David’s thigh, just above his knee. Her fingers pressed down, a firm, calming squeeze.
David’s gaze flicked from Ace to her. Her expression was placid, but her eyes held a gentle command, a reminder. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod towards Lexi, whose face had flushed with a mixture of hope and dread.
He held Dede’s gaze for a long three seconds. The tension in his jaw released a fraction. He let out a long, loud sigh that seemed to deflate him, surrendering to a reality he was still learning to navigate. He looked back at Ace, who had paused, halfway to standing.
“The couch folds out,” David said, his voice gruff but devoid of the earlier heat. “Sheets are in the hall closet. Don’t make a racket in the morning.”
Ace slowly sank back down. “Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Thompson.”
“Don’t thank me,” David muttered, pushing himself up from the armchair. “Just don’t make me regret it.” He offered a hand to Dede, pulling her up with a care that contrasted his tone. “We’re turning in. Lock up if you’re still down here.”
He didn’t wait for a response, just guided Dede toward the hallway, his large hand resting protectively on the small of her back. Their soft footsteps receded, followed by the click of their bedroom door closing.
Lexi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The sound was shaky in the sudden quiet. Ace was still for a moment, then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ran both hands through his dark hair.
“Christ,” he exhaled, a low laugh bubbling underneath. “I thought he was gonna actually murder me with his brain for a second there.”
“He considered it,” Lexi whispered, moving closer to him on the couch. She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse through his t-shirt.
Ace turned his head, his lips brushing her temple. “You’re brave, you know that? Asking him like that.”
“I’m stupid,” she corrected, closing her eyes. “But I didn’t want you to leave.”
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her tight against his side. They sat like that, listening to the rain intensify against the window. The blue light from the silent TV played over their still-joined hands, over the discarded blanket, over the ghost of the evening’s tensions slowly dissolving into the comfortable dark.
The blue light from the silent TV played over their still-joined hands, over the discarded blanket, over the ghost of the evening’s tensions slowly dissolving into the comfortable dark.
“He’s trying,” Lexi whispered into the hollow of Ace’s shoulder.
“I know,” he murmured, his breath stirring her hair.
The rain pattered a steady rhythm against the window, sealing them in.
Lexi shifted, reaching for the remote. The screen blinked to a menu, casting her face in a soft, digital glow. She scrolled, selecting an old horror film she knew was all atmosphere and no real scare. It was just noise, a cover for the quiet reckoning humming between them. She settled back, pulling the worn blanket over them both, and molded her body against his side. His arm tightened around her, his hand splayed warm and heavy on her ribs.
For a while, they just watched. The black-and-white images flickered, shadows dancing across the room. Ace’s thumb began a slow, absent stroke against the thin cotton of her shirt. It was an idle motion, but it sent a direct line of heat straight to her core. She tilted her head back to look up at him. His eyes were on the screen, but his jaw was tight.
His hand moved lower, from her ribs to the flat plane of her stomach. His touch was possessive, his palm pressing firmly through the fabric. She held her breath. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her soft joggers, slipping beneath. He traced the line of her hip bone, a calloused fingertip stroking the sensitive skin there. A shuddering sigh escaped her.
“Ace,” she breathed, not a protest, but a confession.
His gaze dropped to hers. In the reflected light, his eyes were dark, unreadable pools. He said nothing, just held her look as his hand journeyed lower, slipping past the elastic of her underwear. His fingers found her hot, slick flesh already aching for him.
“Fuck, Lexi,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. “You’re always so wet for me.” His middle finger slid through her soaked folds, a slow, maddening exploration that made her hips buck upward. He found her clit, circling it with a pressure that was just shy of rough, and she gasped, her fingers digging into his thigh.
“Please,” she whimpered, the word swallowed by the movie’s dramatic score.
He kissed her, a deep, consuming plunge of his tongue that mirrored the thrust of two fingers inside her. She cried out into his mouth, her body clamping around him. He fucked her with his hand, his palm grinding against her as his fingers curled, seeking that perfect, devastating spot. It was too much and not enough. She tore her mouth from his, panting. “Need you. Now.”
He withdrew his hand, wiping her wetness on his own jeans. He shoved the blanket to the floor. In the frantic, silent scramble, he got her joggers and underwear down her thighs. He unbuttoned his own jeans, freeing his thick, hard cock. The sight of it, flushed and straining in the erratic light, made her mouth water.
He reached for his discarded jacket, fumbling in the pocket. His hand emerged empty. He patted his other pockets, a frantic, hurried search. His expression shifted from desire to sharp, visceral frustration. “Shit.Fuck. No. Lexi, I’m out.” He started to pull back, his body trembling with the effort. “We have to stop.”
“No!” The word was a sharp, desperate cry. She reached for him, her hands closing around his hard forearms. “Don’t stop. Please, Ace, I can’t. I need you. Just… just pull out. You can pull out. I trust you.”
He was shaking his head, his eyes screwed shut. “It’s not safe. It’s so fucking stupid. We can’t.”
“We can,” she begged, arching her back, pressing her bare hips up against him. She felt the slick, hot head of his cock brush against her entrance and a sob of pure want broke from her throat. “Please. Please, I’ll do anything. Just fuck me. I need to feel you.”
Seeing her like that—desperate, begging, her emerald eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears of need—shattered the last of his resolve. A raw, guttural sound tore from his chest. He grabbed her hips, his fingers biting into her skin. “You’re sure?” he demanded, his voice ragged.
“Yes.God, yes. Now.”
He didn’t wait. He guided himself to her and plunged in, one brutal, deep thrust that buried every massive inch of him inside her, raw and unprotected. The feeling was obscene, a friction so complete and forbidden it stole the air from her lungs. He was so deep, so thick, stretching her fuller than he ever had before. There was no latex, just slick, burning heat and the overwhelming sense of him claiming her utterly.
“Christ,” he snarled, holding himself there, immobile, as they both felt the shocking intimacy. Then he pulled back and drove into her again.This was not like before. This was pure, unvarnished hunger. He fucked her with a hard, pounding rhythm that rocked her body into the couch cushions. The old leather creaked in a frantic, protesting tempo. Each thrust was a piston stroke, brutal and efficient, the slap of skin on skin a stark, vulgar counterpoint to the movie’s dialogue.
“Is this what you wanted?” he grunted, his voice thick with strain. “My bare cock fucking this tight little pussy raw?”
“Yes!” she screamed, the word mangled. Her legs flew up, locking around his lower back, heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper still. The angle changed, and he hit a place that made her vision whiten. The coil in her belly snapped, violently and without warning.
Her orgasm ripped through her, a convulsive, screaming wave that clamped her cunt around him in a series of vicious, milking spasms. The sensation was too intense, too perfect. He cried out, a sound of pure surrender.
“Lexi—fuck, I’m gonna—“
He tried to pull out.He truly did. But her inner muscles were clutching him, dragging him back in as her hips jerked uncontrollably. With one final, shuddering thrust, he lost the battle. He buried himself to the root and came. A hot, pulsing flood erupted deep inside her, wave after wave of his release filling her up. She felt every jet, every throb of his cock as he emptied himself into her trembling body.
He collapsed on top of her, his weight crushing her into the couch, both of them slick with sweat and gasping for air. The movie played on, oblivious.
The reality descended on him first. She felt it in the sudden rigidity of his muscles, in the way his breathing hitched from exhaustion into something else. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking down at where they were still joined. His expression, slack with pleasure just seconds ago, hardened into something awful.
He pulled out of her. The aftermath, hot and wet, immediately began to seep out onto the leather cushion beneath her. The evidence was undeniable.
“Goddammit,” he whispered, the words laced with venom. He shoved himself off her and stood up, stumbling back as he fumbled to tuck his soft, spent cock back into his jeans. He zipped them with a sharp, angry sound.
Lexi lay there, exposed and throbbing, the blissful haze evaporating under the cold wash of his fury. She pulled her joggers up with weak, uncoordinated hands.
“Ace,” she started, her voice small.
“Don’t.” He whirled around, running both hands through his hair, pulling at the roots. His back was to her, shoulders tensed. “Don’t say a fucking word, Lexi.”
He turned back, and his face was a mask of frustration and fear. “What the hell was that? ‘Just pull out’? Are you fucking kidding me? Look at me!” His voice was a harsh rasp, gesturing at his own disheveled state, at her on the couch. “I came inside you.Do you get that? All of it.”
“I know,” she said, shrinking back. “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay!” he exploded, his controlled volume making the outburst more violent. “This can’t keep happening! We got lucky before. We won’t keep getting lucky.” He paced the length of the coffee table, a caged animal. “I love you. You know that, right? I am in love with you.”
The declaration, coming in this moment, felt like a blow. “I love you, too,” she whispered.
“Then fucking act like it!” He stopped, glaring at her. “I want a future with you. A real one. A house.A marriage. Kids, someday, when we’re ready. Not because we were stupid and horny on your dad’s couch!” He slammed a fist softly against his own thigh. “Not like this. I won’t trap you like this. And I won’t let you trap yourself.”
He looked at her, really looked, and the anger bled into something worse: a pained, desperate helplessness. “Every time you beg me, I break. I can’t fucking help it. But I can’t… I can’t be the guy who knocks you up at eighteen because I have no self-control. What kind of future is that?”
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the drone of the television. The cozy dark of the room had turned accusatory. Lexi pulled her knees to her chest, the wetness between her legs feeling cold now, a shameful secret. She had no answer. Her wanting him, her need to feel that raw connection, had overridden every sensible thought. And now he was looking at her like she was a problem he didn’t know how to solve.