Lahat ng Kabanata ng Breaking The Ice Between Us : Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 100

My hand had slid from his throat into his hair, fingers curling tight as I yanked without holding back—digging in like I wanted to rip him apart. It had to hurt—I was practically pulling at his skull—but Captain didn’t flinch, didn’t make a damn sound. He just kissed me harder, rougher, like he was devouring me from the inside out. His chest was crushed to mine, all burning skin and slick muscle, our bodies glued together with sweat. We were a mess—filthy, feverish, smeared with cum across our abs, panting into each other’s mouths like we couldn’t get enough. Like we didn’t care if we drowned in it. Every breath felt like it came from the other person, every inch of me pressed against him like I was trying to crawl inside his skin. Just a tangle of teeth, tongues, and want—raw and fucking relentless. We’d kept kissing until I couldn’t even feel my lips anymore—just a numb, pulsing ache. The air had turned cold around us, sharp against my damp skin, raising goosebumps down my arms a

The afternoon drifted into evening without either of us really noticing. Or maybe we noticed, but neither of us cared. There was a kind of softness hanging in the air, that delicate hum of comfort you rarely get with another person unless something deep—unspoken—was starting to form. Captain had finally moved from the kitchen table and flopped lazily onto the couch, his socked feet propped on the coffee table, arms stretched out wide as if he owned the world—or at least this apartment. He looked absurdly comfortable, like a lion sunbathing on a rock, muscles loose, expression relaxed. I had ended up beside him, sitting cross-legged with a throw pillow in my lap, thumbing through a comic book I’d found tucked under the coffee table. He’d raised an eyebrow at first—probably surprised I’d even noticed it—but he hadn’t said anything. Just smirked and told me not to judge the art style before the second issue. We didn’t talk much. Not in a bad way. Just in the way people do when they do

The bar was dim, but not dingy. Warm amber lights glowed along the edges of the wooden ceiling beams, and everything smelled faintly of citrus and clean sweat. Not like those sleazy college bars with sticky floors and neon signs that buzzed too loud. This place had character. It had been around long enough to earn some dust and a few cracks, but it wore them like badges, not flaws. And Captain? He walked in like he belonged there. I mean, really belonged. Not in the “I’ve been here once or twice and pretend to know what I’m doing” kind of way—but in the way a regular does. Like he knew where the light switches were. Like the room recognized him and adjusted around his presence. He didn’t hesitate. Not at the entrance, not when weaving through the handful of other early-evening patrons, not when he dropped down onto a barstool like he’d sat in that exact seat a dozen times before. I hovered for a second behind him, awkward and out of place, like I was tagging along on a scene from

The morning punched me in the face. Not literally, but it might as well have. My head throbbed like I’d spent the night headbanging at a rock concert, which, unless “kissing your situationship and spiraling emotionally” counted, I definitely had not done. I groaned and flopped over, half expecting the bed to be Captain’s. But nope. This was my bed. The slanted ceiling, the slightly stiff mattress with the one annoying spring that always jabbed my hip if I rolled too far right, the musty smell of my not-yet-laundered hoodie tangled around my legs. I blinked up at the ceiling, trying to remember when exactly I got home. Captain had dropped me off… kissed me. That part I remembered with painful clarity. Then I’d wandered inside, grinning like a damn idiot, and then— The phone call… Whiskey. Right. I’d poured myself a shot. Maybe two. Okay, four. Just enough to take the edge off. Or that was the idea. Now, I had a hangover, my tongue felt like carpet, and my brain was about as

I was halfway through my coffee when the door to the station creaked open again. I didn’t look up at first—didn’t think I needed to. Just another random person, probably here to report a stolen bike or argue about a parking ticket. But then I heard Mason shift beside me, and something in the air changed. The kind of shift you feel in your gut before your brain even catches up. I looked up. And my whole body went cold. He walked in—head slightly bowed, brows furrowed, phone in hand. That same stupid leather jacket hanging off his broad shoulders. The one I’d curled my fingers into just days ago. Captain. My Captain. My stomach dropped. His eyes met mine. And for a second—just a heartbeat—we both froze. “What the hell...” I whispered, standing up before my legs could even think it through. “Captain?” He blinked, visibly taken aback to see me here. “Andrew?” I took a step toward him, my voice hollow, choked with confusion. “What are you doing here?” Before he could answer,