Sleeping With Him
“Remi…” I called out, voice low, unsure.
“It’s just—” she stopped, her hands trembling against the edges of the blanket.
And then she broke.
A soft, painful sound tore from her as she buried her face in her hands. Shoulders shaking. The fire crackled quietly behind us. Outside, the storm slammed into the windows like it wanted in.
I moved closer. Careful. Slow.
My hand hovered over her head for a second too long before I finally rested it there, fingers sifting gently through her hair.
“I’m not trying to make you cry,” I said. “I just—”
“I know,” she whispered. “That’s the worst part. Because when I say all these out of anger, when the anger subsides. The tears come and the feeling I am trying to hold back just comes flushing in again.” she angrily wiped the tears away from her face and my heart broke at it.
I didn't want her to cry. Not for me.
Gosh Rowan, you were such a dick. I said to myself.
Thunder cracked overhead. The lights flickered once. Then again.
She sat up straighter, wiping her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. “You want to know when I fell for you?”
I didn’t speak. Just nodded.
She laughed—a bitter sound. “I was nineteen. Working a shift at that coffee shop on 6th. You used to come in like clockwork. Same order. Same coat. Always buried in your phone. Barely looked up.”
I blinked. “That was you?”
She smiled through her tears. “Of course it was me.”
I shook my head slowly. “I…never did take note. I just know there was a girl who gave me a sweet smile. I remembered that. And it was the last thing I remembered when I had the accident. I…didn't know it was you. You remember everything.”
“Because I loved you,” she said simply. “I saw you and thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Stupid, right?”
“No,” I said softly. “Not at all.”
She went on, voice steadier now. “When I found out we were going to be married, I thought… this is fate. The universe, aligning. And for a while, I was happy. Or I convinced myself I was.”
The wind howled through the chimney.
She looked at me then. Really looked.
“But deep down, even before the vows, I knew I’d never be truly happy with someone who didn’t see me.”
I knelt before her, tentatively reaching her face and placing my hand on her cheek.
“I see you now,” I said without thinking.
She flinched, but didn’t pull away.
Her eyes were still wet. Her cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire and maybe something else.
And then, without another word, she leaned in.
Just a breath between us.
And kissed me.
Soft at first. A question.
Then fuller, deeper.
My hand moved to her jaw, fingers sliding along her cheek as I kissed her back like I’d been waiting years to remember how.
But she pulled away suddenly, eyes wide, breathing hard.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Then why did you?” I asked, stepping toward her again, heart pounding.
***
Remi’s POV
I did not have an answer to why I kissed him. But my heart wanted me to.
It was a part of me that hadn’t fully healed. My first love. My first crush.
My first heartbreaker.
He looked at me with that sorrowful expression again—soft and wounded. I could see it clearly now. The remorse in his eyes, like he knew the weight of every scar he’d left on me, even without remembering how he made them.
I looked away, sniffing. “You... I don’t know why I kissed you. I don’t have an answer to that.”
But I did.
It was easy to admit it—at least to myself.
I still love Rowan.
I heard him shift. His footsteps padded across the rug as he came closer. The fire crackled between us, and for a second I told myself to move away. To stop whatever was building again in the silence.
But I didn’t.
And neither did he.
His hand came to my jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of my cheek gently.
“Remi,” he whispered, voice low. “Don’t run from this.”
“I’m not—”
He kissed me.
This time, with no hesitation.
His lips pressed into mine like he’d been holding back for far too long, like regret and longing had finally boiled over.
I gasped softly, and he took that moment to deepen the kiss, his other hand sliding around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve stopped this.
But I didn’t.
His mouth moved against mine like he knew it already. Like it was muscle memory. Like somewhere in his soul, he remembered me.
And then—he pinned me gently against the wall.
The cold surface behind me contrasted with the heat building in my chest.
His mouth left mine only to trail down my jaw, my neck. His hands gripped my hips, not forcefully—but like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.
“Rowan…” I whispered, unsure if I was pleading for him to stop or begging him not to.
He pulled back just long enough to search my face. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
I didn’t say a word.
Instead, I kissed him again.
Fingers tangled in his shirt, I pushed it off his shoulders. He moved quickly, lifting me like I weighed nothing, carrying me to the couch beside the fire.
He laid me down gently, hovering above me, his lips never straying too far.
Clothes peeled away slowly—desperate, but careful. Like neither of us wanted to rush but also couldn’t bear another second of space between us.
Skin to skin.
Hands roamed.
My fingers traced down his chest, memorizing the new him, the unfamiliar scars. His mouth found the spot just below my collarbone, and my back arched without warning.
God.
I hated that he still knew exactly what made me unravel.
He whispered my name like a prayer. Like a sin.
But then—
I froze.
Right when the heat was at its peak, when the world had narrowed to nothing but him. When his lips were on my thighs.
I pulled away.
“Wait,” I breathed, chest heaving.
He stopped instantly. His brows furrowed, hands still braced on either side of me, lips parted.
“Remi—”
“I can’t.”
His whole body tensed. I felt it beneath my palms.
“I want to,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “God, I want to. But this… us… it’s not fixed. It’s still broken. And if we do this now, I’ll pretend it means something more. And if it doesn’t—if this is just another moment that slips away—”
“It’s not,” he cut in.
“But I don’t know that,” I said, sitting up slightly. “I want to trust you, Rowan. But I’m not ready. I still look at you and see pain. And I won’t pretend that sleeping with you fixes that.”
His jaw clenched. But he nodded. Slowly.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He looked at me for a long time. Then reached for the throw blanket
beside us and handed it to me without a word.
I wrapped it around my shoulders, eyes stinging.
“I’ll start the fire back up,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he turned away.
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