Page 161 of Going Viral for Christmas
I reach up and trace the edge of his mouth with a featherlight touch. “Are you always this patient?”
“Only when it counts,” he says. And then, more quietly, “Only with you.”
He kisses me.
Soft.
Searching.
His mouth moves over mine, tasting a secret he doesn’t want to lose. His hand cradles my cheek while the other slips to my waist, holding me as if I might disappear if he lets go.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do. But we’re shifting together, moving from the fort to the rug in front of the fire. Pillows tumble as we go, but we don’t care, too lost in this heart-bonding moment.
No words escape us.
Soren’s hands slide under the hem of my shirt and lift, his eyes darkening when he sees my bare skin. He kisses a path down my throat, across my collarbone, the swell of my breast. Every press of his mouth makes my body arch closer, but he doesn’t rush.
He undresses, it’s somehow more intimate than anything else we’ve done. There’s no performance here. No bit. Only us.
“Still scared?” He hovers above me, gaze drinking me in.
“Yes,” I whisper. “But I want this. I wantyou.”
His mouth captures mine again, and this time, it deepens, tongues brushing, breaths mingling. He’s heat and promise, and when his hard length lines up against me, my hips lift instinctively. Soren groans, a sound full of restraint. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer.
Closer.
When Soren finally enters me, it’s a communion. He’s tracing devotion into every inch from the inside out.
There’s no frantic pace. No rough urgency. Only a rhythm that’s made entirely of sweet tension and unbearable closeness–a brewing storm that builds with every stroke, and whispered name, and kiss pressed to sweat-damp skin.
As I fall apart this time, it’s quiet. But it’s the loudest I’ve ever felt.
Bells,
You don’t even see it, do you? How the icy walls you’ve built—brick by careful brick—are starting to melt? How your armor is slipping in little places and letting me in?
Don’t mistake it for weakness. It’s the bravest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
You’ve spent years being strong because you had to. You’ve carried so much expectation, doubt, and criticism on your back until it bent you into someone who thought she had to stand alone.
And yet here you are—choosing to trust me, even just in fragments. Letting me close enough to hold your fear, your fire, your beautiful, chaotic mess.
Do you know what that does to me?
It destroys me. And remakes me.
I told you, I don’t take that lightly, Bells.
Each shaky exhale, every stolen glance, and all the kisses you let me steal—it’s not just affection alone. It’s proof you’re letting me see who you really are. The Ava beneath the perfect smile, the viral clips, and the curated confidence. The woman who trembles when the room gets too loud, who makes jokes to hide her panic, who still shows up andshines anyway.
I’m proud of you. God, I’m so proud of you.
You’ll never hear me say that enough, because you deserve to know it in your bones. You don’t need me to fight your battles—you’ve already won more than most. But if you ever need someone to stand beside you when your knees want to give out, I’ll be there. Not as armor. Or even as a shield. Just as the man who is grateful down to his soul that you’d even let me close to you.
So when tonight’s event gets overwhelming, remember this: you don’t have to carry it all. You don’t have to smile if it hurts.
No longer will you carry yourself all alone anymore. I’ve got you, Bells.
