Chapter 4: The Morning After
The light came in like a slow tide, gold spilling across the sheets in lazy increments, turning the deep mahogany of Kash's bedroom into something almost sacred. Amber lay still, her body aching in places she'd forgotten she had, the sheets tangled around her legs like they were trying to keep her there.
She needed to leave.
The thought arrived before she was fully awake, a reflex honed over years of mornings just like this one—different beds, different men, same quiet exit. She'd perfected the art of the soft retreat: sliding out from under an arm, gathering clothes in silence, disappearing before anyone had to pretend they wanted her to stay.
Kash was still asleep. His breathing was deep and even, his face relaxed in a way she hadn't seen before. The scratches she'd left on his back were vivid in the morning light—red streaks across brown skin, a map of everything they'd done.
She swallowed hard and began the slow process of extraction.
One leg out from under the sheet. A careful shift of her hips. She held her breath as she lifted his arm—heavy, warm, possessive even in sleep—and moved it to the pillow beside him.
Almost there.
"Where you going?"
His voice was rough with sleep, but there was nothing hazy about the way his hand shot out and caught her wrist.
Amber froze. "I was just—"
"Running."
"I wasn't running."
"You were doing that thing where you try to disappear." He tugged her back toward him, and she didn't resist. Couldn't, really. Not when he was looking at her like that, all dark eyes and knowing. "I've seen it before. You're not subtle."
She landed against his chest with a soft oomph, her face pressed into the warm curve of his shoulder. He smelled like sex and sleep and something woodsy that she couldn't name.
"I have to work," she said into his skin.
"You told me you were taking the day off."
"I changed my mind."
"Liar."
"I'm not—"
He kissed her forehead. Just a press of lips, soft and unhurried, and it undid something in her chest.
"Amber."
"What?"
"Stop."
She went still. "Stop what?"
"Stop trying to leave before I wake up. Stop assuming I'm going to be different when the sun comes up." His hand found her chin, tilting her face toward his. "I'm not."
She searched his expression for the lie. The performance. The polite distance that men always wore when they wanted you gone without having to say it.
She found none of it.
"That's what they all say," she whispered.
"I'm not them."
"I know." She did know. That was the problem. "That's what scares me."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted, rolling her onto her back, and braced himself above her. The sheet fell away, leaving them both bare, the morning air cool against her skin.
"Tell me why," he said.
"Why what?"
"Why you run."
Amber turned her head, staring at the window instead of him. The city was waking up out there—cars, people, lives moving forward. She felt stuck in place.
"My dad left first," she said. "Then my mom died. Then every person I ever let close enough to matter found a reason to go." She shrugged, a hollow gesture. "At some point, you stop giving people the chance to leave you. You just leave first."
Kash's jaw tightened. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You say that now."
"I'll say it tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that." He lowered his head, pressing his mouth to her collarbone. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily."
Amber laughed, but it came out broken. "You don't even know me."
"Then let me."
He kissed a path down her chest, slow and deliberate, and she felt her body respond despite the voice in her head telling her to run. His lips found the bruise on her hip—a dark mark shaped like his fingers—and he lingered there, pressing soft kisses to the tender skin.
"Sorry about this," he murmured.
"You're not sorry."
"I'm a little sorry."
"You're not."
He grinned against her skin. "You're right. I'm not."
She reached for him, threading her fingers through his hair, and he looked up at her with something that made her chest ache.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing. Just looking."
"At what?"
"You."
He crawled back up her body, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close. He was already hard against her thigh, and she could feel the heat of him, the weight.
"Again?" she asked.
"Unless you have somewhere to be."
"I don't."
"Good."
This time was different.
Slower. Quieter.
He entered her with a carefulness that bordered on reverence, and Amber gasped at the stretch of it—her body still sore from the night before, still swollen and sensitive. He moved like he was memorizing her, each thrust measured and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Tell me if I hurt you."
"You're not hurting me."
He kissed her then, soft and open, and she melted into it. The rhythm was unhurried, the kind of pace that made her feel every inch of him. She felt the orgasm building in her belly, slow and steady, and when it crested, it was gentle—a quiet wave instead of a crash.
Kash followed a moment later, burying his face in her neck as he shuddered through it. For a long time, neither of them moved.
"Holy shit," she whispered.
He laughed, breathless and warm. "Yeah."
"I think my legs stopped working."
"Mine too."
They lay there for a while, tangled and sticky, the morning light growing brighter around them. Eventually, Amber's stomach growled loud enough to make Kash snort.
"I'll make breakfast," he said.
"You cook?"
"I can figure it out."
"That's concerning."
"I'll order in. Same thing."
He rolled off the bed and padded toward the bathroom, and Amber watched him go—the lines of his back, the scratches, the way he moved through his own space with an easy confidence. He glanced back at her from the doorway.
"Stay," he said. It wasn't a question.
She should have said no. Should have given him the speech about how this was fun but she wasn't looking for anything serious. Should have protected herself the way she always did.
Instead, she nodded.
"Okay."
The bathroom door clicked shut, and Amber stared at the ceiling, her heart doing something complicated in her chest.
She was in trouble.
By the time Kash emerged—showered, dressed in sweatpants that hung low on his hips, his beard freshly oiled—Amber had managed to find her underwear and one of his t-shirts. It hung to her thighs, soft and worn, smelling like him.
He froze in the doorway, his eyes raking over her.
"That's mine," he said.
"Obviously."
"I like it."
"Good."
He crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair.
"I cleared my whole day," he said.
"What?"
"I canceled everything. Meetings, calls, the whole thing." He pulled back to look at her. "When you woke up, I wasn't going to let you disappear. I already decided that."
Amber blinked. "You cleared your day?"
"Before you even opened your eyes."
"That's—"
"Presumptuous?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe." He shrugged, unapologetic. "But I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to run from me."
She felt the weight of his words settle into her bones. It was terrifying. It was also, if she was honest, the best thing anyone had ever said to her.
"I don't know how to do this," she admitted.
"Do what?"
"Stay."
He cupped her face in his hands, gentle but firm.
"Then I'll teach you."
Amber let the words hang between them, his hands still cradling her face like she was something precious. The morning light had shifted, brighter now, cutting across the floor in sharp angles.
She should have felt grateful. She should have leaned into the tenderness.
Instead, she felt something else clawing at her chest. Something hungrier.
"Kash."
"Yeah?"
"Last night." She swallowed, her throat dry. "The way you—" She stopped, suddenly unsure.
He waited. His thumb traced her cheekbone, patient.
"I don't know how to say this without sounding—" She laughed, nervous and sharp. "I've never asked anyone for this."
"Asked for what?"
She pulled back just enough to look at him fully. His eyes were steady, curious, not a trace of judgment.
"Last night was different," she said. "The way you handled me. The way you talked to me. The things you did." She felt heat crawl up her neck. "I didn't know I wanted that."
Kash's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. Interest. Heat.
"And now?" he asked.
"Now I can't stop thinking about it." She pressed her palms flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her fingers. "I want you to do it again."
"Do what?"
"Don't make me spell it out."
"I'm not making you do anything." His voice dropped, lower now. "But if you want something, you have to ask for it."
She bit her lip. The words were there, sitting on her tongue, filthy and desperate. She'd never said them out loud before. Never admitted that she wanted to be handled like that, used like that, taken apart piece by piece.
But Kash was still looking at her with that patient, knowing gaze. Like he already knew what she was going to say. Like he was just waiting for her to catch up.
"You made me want shit I never thought about," she said finally. The words came out rough, unfiltered. "Things I would've judged other people for. Things I never let myself think about because I was too busy being strong and independent and—" She broke off, shaking her head.
"Keep going."
"I need you to slut me out again." The words rushed out before she could second-guess them. "Take full advantage. Do whatever you want. However you want. As much as you want."
Kash went very still.
She watched his jaw tighten, watched his chest rise with a slow, controlled breath. For a moment, she thought she'd pushed too far. That he'd pull back, tell her to slow down, remind her they barely knew each other.
Then his hands dropped to her hips.
"You sure?" he asked. The question was simple, but his grip was already tightening, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her bones.
"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."
He kissed her.
It wasn't the soft, reverent kiss from earlier. This one was hard, claiming, his tongue forcing its way past her lips. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand sliding up her back to fist in her hair.
"Turn around," he said against her lips.
She did.
He spun her toward the window, and she caught a glimpse of the city—mid-morning now, cars and people and lives moving forward without them. Then his hand pressed between her shoulder blades, bending her forward until her palms hit the glass.
Cold. Bracing.
"Look at yourself," he said.
She lifted her head. The window was tinted just enough to reflect them both—her in his t-shirt, him behind her in sweatpants, already hard.
"You see that?" He stepped closer, his body flush against hers. "That's what you look like when you ask for what you want."
She shivered. "Kash—"
"Shh." He reached around and tugged the t-shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. "You wanted me to take advantage. So stop talking."
He yanked her underwear down, and she stepped out of them, her legs already trembling. Then his hand was between her thighs, fingers sliding through the wet heat there.
"Already?" He laughed, low and dark. "You really did mean it."
"Shut up."
He smacked her ass—sharp and sudden—and she gasped.
"Did I say you could talk back?"
No. He hadn't. And the realization sent a thrill straight through her.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"That's better."
He pulled his hand away, and she heard the rustle of fabric as he shoved his sweatpants down. Then he was behind her again, the heat of him pressing against her back.
"Bend over more," he said. "Hands flat."
She obeyed, adjusting until her cheek pressed against the glass, her breath fogging the surface. The city sprawled below, indifferent, and she felt exposed in a way that made her core clench.
He didn't waste time. His fingers found her again, checking, teasing, before he pulled away. Then the blunt head of him pressed against her entrance.
"You ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
He pushed inside her in one slow, relentless thrust.
Amber cried out, her fingers splaying against the glass. She was still sore from the night before, still sensitive, and the fullness of him was almost too much. Almost.
"Fuck," he grunted. "Still tight."
He started moving—hard, fast, no warm-up. Each thrust pushed her harder against the window, her breasts flattening against the cold glass, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"This what you wanted?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Yes—"
"This?" He slammed into her, punctuating the word.
"Yes—fuck—yes."
He grabbed her hips and pulled her back to meet him, setting a brutal rhythm. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, obscene and perfect. Amber's mind went blank, thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
"You're gonna take it," he said. "All of it. You asked for it."
"I asked for it—"
"So take it."
He reached around and found her clit, rubbing rough circles while he fucked her. The dual sensation sent her spiraling, pleasure and pain bleeding together until she couldn't tell the difference.
"I'm gonna come," she gasped.
"Not yet."
He stopped rubbing, and she nearly screamed in frustration.
"Please—"
"You'll come when I say you can come." He pulled out slowly, then slammed back in. "That's how this works."
She was going to die. Right here, pressed against his window, she was going to die.
He fucked her for what felt like hours—changing angles, changing pace, keeping her right at the edge without letting her tip over. Her legs shook. Her arms ached. She didn't care.
Then he pulled out completely.
"Knees," he said.
She turned and dropped without hesitation, the hardwood floor hard against her knees. He was standing over her in the gray light, his cock wet and gleaming.
"You know what to do," he said.
She did.
She took him in her mouth, working him with her tongue and lips, tasting herself on his skin. He fisted her hair and guided her, not rough but firm, controlling the pace.
"Look at me," he said.
She lifted her eyes. He stared down at her like she was something he'd made, something he owned, and the thought should have terrified her. Instead, it made her wetter.
"Good girl," he murmured. "You look good like this."
She moaned around him, and he shuddered.
"Okay," he said, pulling her off. "Bed. On your back."
She scrambled to obey, somehow finding her way to the mattress. He followed her down, settling between her legs, and pushed inside her again.
This time, he was slower—letting her feel every inch, every stroke. He kissed her while he moved, deep and claiming, and she wrapped her arms around his neck like she'd drown without him.
"You're something else," he said.
"So are you."
He buried his face in her neck and started moving faster, harder, chasing his own release. Amber felt the pleasure building again, unstoppable now, a wave she couldn't control.
"Come for me," he said. "Now."
She did.
Her body arched off the bed, clenching around him, and he followed a heartbeat later, spilling into her with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from his chest.
They collapsed together, breathless and shaking.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then Amber laughed.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing. Just—" She turned her head to look at him. "That was insane."
"Yeah."
"I feel like I should be embarrassed."
"You're not."
"No." She grinned. "I'm really not."
He propped himself up on one elbow, staring down at her. The morning light caught the planes of his face, the smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"So," he said. "Breakfast?"
"I thought you cleared your whole day."
"I did."
"Then why are you asking about breakfast?"
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"Because I'm going to need my strength."
She laughed again, and it felt like the first real laugh she'd had in years.