Chapter 4 Late Night Confessions

Her POV

I should've gone to sleep.

But something about his text-"You up?"-made it impossible to close my eyes.

A stupid, two-word message. Just enough to wreck me.

So I found myself walking barefoot down the hall of my dorm floor, hoodie zipped up halfway, shorts barely peeking out underneath. I looked casual, like this was normal. Like I hadn't just stood in front of the mirror for five minutes debating if lip balm counted as "trying too hard."

I didn't knock. I never did.

I slipped inside his room like I belonged there.

Eli sat on his bed, phone in hand, dark curls messy like he'd been running his fingers through them all night. His hoodie was off, just a white tank stretched over his chest, gray sweats hanging low on his hips.

Dangerous.

He looked up and smiled, lazy and slow. "Hey."

"Hey." I shut the door behind me. "What's up?"

He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"That's new."

"I've got stuff on my mind."

I sat on the edge of the bed, close-but not close enough to touch. "Like what?"

He was quiet for a second. Then two. He put his phone face down on the nightstand and looked at me like he was trying to decide something.

"Can I ask you something?" he said finally.

I nodded. "Of course."

"Why haven't you ever kissed me?"

That knocked the breath out of me.

My heart skipped a beat-or maybe two. I laughed, light and unsure. "What kind of question is that?"

"A real one." His eyes didn't leave mine. "You flirt with me. I flirt back. We do this dance. But nothing ever happens. Why?"

I swallowed hard. "Because... we're friends."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Friends don't look at each other like we do."

I tried to speak. I really did.

But the words got caught somewhere behind my teeth. Because he was right. I did look at him differently. I'd looked at him that way since the night he walked me home in the rain, jacket over my shoulders, laughter dancing between us like sparks.

"You don't get it," I whispered. "If I kissed you, I wouldn't stop."

That did something to him.

He moved closer. His fingers brushed my jaw, feather-light. "Then don't."

The kiss was slow. Barely there. Just lips grazing lips, a question waiting for an answer. I leaned in, deepened it, let my hand rest on his chest where his heart was racing hard beneath my palm.

When we pulled back, we were both breathing heavy.

"I've wanted to do that since freshman year," he murmured.

"You should've said something."

"I was scared I'd ruin it."

I cupped his face, traced my thumb over the curve of his bottom lip. "It's already ruined."

Then I climbed onto his lap.

He groaned low in his throat, hands gripping my waist like he didn't know whether to stop me or pull me closer. I didn't give him the choice. My lips were on his neck, then his jaw, then his mouth again. I kissed him until I forgot my own name.

Clothes slipped off, slowly-like we were peeling back layers of everything we'd hidden.

The way he looked at me when he pulled my hoodie over my head? Like I was something sacred.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, voice thick.

I let the compliment settle between us, warm and golden. Then I leaned in, kissed his shoulder, and said, "Show me."

And he did.

He laid me down gently, hovered over me like I might break. His touch was soft at first-teasing, slow strokes along my thighs, my waist, the dip between my breasts. But when I whispered his name, when I arched into him like I couldn't take it anymore, he gave in.

His fingers found me and I gasped-needy, wet, open. He moved with intention, drawing sounds from me I didn't know I could make.

"You're killing me," I whispered.

"Then die with me."

I laughed-just a little-until the laugh turned into a moan. Until he slid inside me and nothing else mattered.

We moved like we'd done this before. Like we'd been made for this. Like our bodies had spent years memorizing the shape of this moment.

It was slow at first-deep, stretching, intimate. His hand laced with mine, our foreheads touching, his lips brushing mine with every thrust.

Then it got rougher. Our hips snapped. My moans grew louder, his name falling from my mouth like prayer.

"Eli-fuck-don't stop-"

"I'm not," he groaned. "I can't."

We came apart together, tangled and breathless, the tension that had haunted us for years finally erupting like fireworks in the dark.

After, we lay there-silent, wrapped in each other, hearts pounding.

"I meant it," he said into my hair.

"Meant what?"

"That I couldn't sleep... because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

I smiled. Soft. Vulnerable. Real.

I'd been thinking about him too.