The apartment gradually quieted.
One by one, the girls drifted off—giggling and whispering goodnights as they claimed the guest rooms down the hall. Isabella and Camila took the bigger one, already arguing over who got the left side of the bed. Aveline and Ayla shared the smaller room, their voices fading into soft murmurs about tomorrow's plans. The hallway lights dimmed. The living room fell silent except for the faint hum of the city far below.
I lay in Kieran's bed—alone for now—heart thudding unevenly against my ribs. The sheets smelled like him: clean cotton, faint cedar, something warm and male. My portable oxygen concentrator sat on the nightstand, cannula in my nose, soft hiss the only sound besides my breathing. The city lights filtered through half-closed blinds, painting silver stripes across the white comforter.
I waited.
Every creak of the building made me tense. Every distant elevator ding sent my pulse skipping. I kept replaying his whisper from earlier: *Later. When they're asleep. I'll show you exactly how much I want you.*
The door opened—quiet, careful.
Kieran stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. He'd changed—black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, barefoot. No white coat. No doctor armor. Just him: tall, lean, hair slightly messy from running his hands through it. He locked the door—slow, deliberate—then turned to me.
Our eyes met.
For a moment neither of us moved.
He crossed the room in three quiet strides, sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped. His warmth immediately reached me.
"You're still awake," he said softly. His voice was rougher than usual—low, almost hesitant.
I nodded, cheeks already heating. "I… couldn't sleep."
He exhaled—slow, shaky. "Don't worry. I'll help you . How do you feel here? In my house? "
He started to come near me.
"It's amazing and beautiful. I wish—"
I stopped, eyes watering. He stopped too, eager to know more.
"What happened? "
He asked worridly.
"I wish I could stay here forever "
Tears started falling.
Reaching the bed, he started to crawl towards me and when he reached near me, he hugged me tight.
" You will be with me, always. I will always love you."
Silence stretched—thick, charged. He kept holding me in his arms, it was so warm and caring that I felt that he will never let go.
Then I broke the silence.
I whispered. My cheeks were already warm. "I kept thinking about… everything. About my friends and their boyfriends. How they have each other. How they can just… be close whenever they want. Touch. Kiss. More. They just,,,, "
Kieran's thumb stroked the back of my hand, slow and soothing.
"Tell me," he said gently.
I swallowed. "They talk about it like it's normal. Like it's easy. Isabella and Sebastian sneak around because her parents don't know. Camila and Ethan live together — they sleep tangled up every night. Aveline's boyfriend is shy but he's always touching her. Even Ayla… she had that one night with her gym guy and she still talks with him. They all have someone who wants them. Who touches them. And I… I just lie down wondering if I'll die without ever knowing what that feels like."
My voice cracked on the last words.
Kieran's eyes darkened — not with pity, but with something deeper. He lifted my hand and pressed a slow kiss to my palm.
"You won't," he said quietly. "Not if you want me."
I looked at him — really looked. His ears were already faintly pink.
"I want you," I whispered. "So much it scares me."
He exhaled shakily. Then he leaned in and kissed me.
It started gentle—lips brushing, learning again. Then deeper. Hungrier. His tongue slipped past my lips—soft, tentative at first—then bolder, tasting me like he was starving. I moaned into his mouth—small, needy. My hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in.
He groaned—low, raw—and shifted, easing me back against the pillows. He hovered over me—careful not to put weight on my chest—kissing me harder now, tongue stroking mine in slow, wet glides.
When we broke apart, both panting, he rested his forehead against mine.
"Your okay baby ?" he whispered.
I nodded frantically. "More. Please."
He kissed down my neck—soft, open-mouthed—while his hand slid under my sleep shirt. Warm palm on my bare stomach, then higher. He cupped my breast—gentle, reverent—thumb brushing my nipple. It hardened instantly. I gasped.
"So sensitive," he murmured against my throat. "I love you, baby."
He pushed the shirt up—slow—until my breasts were bare. He stared—eyes dark, reverent—then lowered his head. His mouth closed over one nipple—warm, wet, sucking softly. Tongue flicking. Teeth grazing just enough to make me arch.
"Kieran—" I whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair.
He switched sides—same slow worship—while his other hand slid down my stomach, under the waistband of my sleep shorts. Fingers found my folds—already slick, swollen.
"You're dripping again," he groaned against my breast. "Just from this?"
I nodded—shy, desperate, biting my lips. "I can't help it… you make me…"
He kissed lower—down my stomach, over the faint scars from old IVs, reverent. When he reached my shorts he paused—looked up at me.
"Tell me what you want tonight," he murmured. "Anything. I'll give it to you."
I bit my lip, shy but aching. "I want… your mouth again. I want to feel you."
"As you wish "
He said.
He slid the shorts down—panties with them—until I was bare. He parted my thighs gently, settled between them. His breath ghosted over my sex first—hot, teasing.
Then his tongue—flat, slow—dragged up from entrance to clit.
I cried out—soft, broken.
He groaned—deep, hungry—and licked again. Slower. Savoring. Tongue swirling around my clit in tight circles, then dipping inside me—fucking me with soft, wet thrusts.
My hips rocked—shameless, needy. Fingers clutched the sheets.
"Kieran—oh god—"
He sucked my clit into his mouth—gentle, then harder—tongue flicking fast. One finger slid inside—slow, shallow—curling upward. Then two. Scissoring gently.
The pleasure built—sharp, bright, overwhelming. My thighs trembled. My heart was beating faster than ever. Monitor beeped faster.
He lifted his head just long enough to rasp, "Breathe, baby. Slow. I've got you."
Then dove back—tongue relentless, fingers curling, thumb pressing my clit in perfect rhythm.
I shattered.
The orgasm hit hard—back arching, thighs clamping around his head, a choked cry ripping from my throat. My inner walls pulsed around his fingers—gushing wetness over his hand, his chin. Stars burst behind my eyes. My whole body shook—tears leaking, pleasure so intense it almost hurt.
He eased his fingers out slowly—careful, reverent—like he was afraid to break the fragile spell. My thighs trembled, slick and sensitive, inner walls still fluttering with soft aftershocks.
I lay there panting, sleep shirt rucked up around my ribs, breasts bare and flushed.
The portable oxygen concentrator hissed quietly beside the bed, cannula still in place, heart monitor beeping faster than it should but not dangerously so.
Kieran lifted his head—lips glistening, chin wet with me, eyes dark and fever-bright. He looked wrecked—hair messy from my fingers, breathing ragged, cheeks flushed deep red. But he didn't rush. He never rushed.
"Still with me, baby?" he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling.
I nodded—tears slipping from the corners of my eyes. Not sadness. Just… too much. Too good. "Yes," I breathed. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He exhaled sharply—like my words punched the air out of him. Then he crawled up my body—slow, careful, never putting weight on my chest. He settled half beside me, half over me, one forearm braced beside my head, the other hand cupping my cheek.
"You're crying," he murmured, thumb brushing a tear away. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," I whispered, shaking my head frantically. "It's just… I've never… no one's ever made me feel like this. Like I'm…on cloud nine."
His eyes softened—pain and tenderness flashing through them. He leaned down and kissed me—slow, deep, tasting myself on his tongue. I moaned into his mouth—small, needy. My hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in, pulling him closer.
When we broke apart, both panting, he rested his forehead against mine.
"I want to give you everything," he said, voice rough. "But we go slow. Always slow. Your heart comes first."
I nodded—tears still falling, but smiling now.
He kissed me again—gentler this time—then trailed his mouth down my throat, over my collarbone, back to my breasts. He took one nipple between his lips—sucking softly, tongue flicking—while his hand slid down my stomach again. Fingers found my clit—still swollen, hypersensitive—and circled lightly.
I gasped—hips jerking.
"Too much?" he asked immediately, lifting his head.
"No," I whimpered. "More. Please… more."
He groaned—low, helpless—and slid two fingers back inside me—slow, shallow, curling upward to that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. His thumb stayed on my clit—small, perfect circles. His mouth returned to my breast—sucking harder now, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch.
"Kieran—" I moaned, voice high and broken. "I'm… I'm close again—"
"Good girl," he rasped against my skin. "Come for me again. Let me feel you squeeze my fingers. Let me hear you."
He curled harder—faster—thumb pressing firm. My thighs shook. My back arched. The monitor beeped wildly.
I shattered a second time—harder, deeper. A raw, desperate cry tore from my throat as my inner walls clamped down on his fingers—pulsing, fluttering, gushing fresh wetness over his hand. My whole body convulsed—tears streaming, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
He rode me through it—slower strokes, gentler circles—until I collapsed, whimpering, oversensitive.
He eased out carefully—fingers glistening—then brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, eyes locked on mine. The sight made fresh heat coil in my belly.
"You taste like heaven," he whispered.
I reached for him—shy, trembling—fingers brushing the thick ridge in his sweatpants.
He groaned—deep, guttural—and caught my wrist gently.
"Not tonight," he said, voice strained. "I want to. God, I want to. But I won't risk you. Not until I know your heart can take it."
I nodded—disappointed but understanding. Tears slipped free again.
He kissed them away—soft, reverent—then gathered me against his chest. Skin to skin now—my bare breasts pressed to his t-shirt, his arms tight around me, one hand stroking my hair in slow, endless circles.
"You're perfect," he whispered against my temple. "So fucking perfect. I love you, Blossom. More than I know how to say."
My heart—weak, failing—felt full. Overflowing.
"I love you too," I whispered back, voice small but sure.
He held me tighter—chin resting on my head, heartbeat steady under my cheek.
"Sleep now," he murmured. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
I drifted off like that—safe, sated, loved—his arms around me, his scent in my lungs.