Page 188 of Detectives in Love
I laugh. “Baby, I’m not planning to strain.”
His eyes flash. And when I lean in and whisper, “Please, fuck me, Xavier,” I watch something snap—his expression going feral for a heartbeat before he reins it in, pulling himself back with every shred of self-control.
“Have you ever had penetrative sex with a man before?” he asks, voice hoarse.
I laugh at the wording. “No,” I say. “But I know the gist of it.”
“We should still wait,” Xavier murmurs, almost gently, his hand catching my chin, his thumb brushing along it.
“I don’t want to wait,” I whisper, locking eyes with him, trying to pour every bit of heat I feel into that look.
“Not in the hospital,” Xavier says, his lips curving into a faint smile before brushing against my ear. I shiver as hewhispers, “We don’t have lube or condoms. And if I have you the way I want to—we’ll break the bed.”
The implication knocks the air from my lungs. My breath stutters, cheeks burning.
“Alright,” I manage, barely above a whisper.
Xavier pulls back, his expression softening again. I roll onto my side, pressing my back to his chest, my heart still pounding, and he wraps his arms around me, his hands resting lightly over my stomach. I tug the blanket over us, tucking us into a warm cocoon.
Sleep pulls at me fast, and I’m teetering on the edge of dreams when Xavier’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“You told me you love me last night.”
My heart stumbles. I blink back to wakefulness. “Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “I did.”
He shifts behind me, his arms tightening around my waist. “Did you mean it?”
A surprised snort slips out. “Of course I meant it.” I glance back at him. “That wasn’t even the first time I said it, by the way.”
Xavier presses a kiss into my hair. “This was different. Last night, you said it on your own—without me saying it first.”
I huff a laugh. “I knew you didn’t believe me the first time.”
Xavier hums something noncommittal.
“And by the way,” I continue, “if I remember correctly, last night when I said it, you told me to shut up.”
He chuckles—soft, a little shaky—and pulls me closer. “I thought you were dying,” he murmurs. “It was the worst possible moment to say it.”
I grin, feigning offense. “Well, look who’s talking.” Then I roll onto my back and kiss him. His lips are warm, his breath catching when I pull back just enough to whisper, “I love you, Xavier.”
He freezes. His eyes widen—dark and startled. He just stares at me, like I’m something impossible, like he’s afraid to blink in case I disappear.
I kiss him again, my pulse racing, exhilaration rising in my chest.
And then he says it—quiet, like the words are both heavy and freeing, like they cost him something but give him everything at once:
“I love you, Newt.”
The sound of it steals my breath. My chest tightens. He kisses me—desperate, almost disbelieving—before pulling me into his arms. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, his heartbeat thudding against me. Within minutes, I’m asleep—hurting, exhausted, but so incredibly happy.
***
At ten in the morning, I’m discharged from the hospital with a clean bill of health—though the doctor recommends sleep, rest, and avoiding anything that might strain my psyche. That’s literally what he said.
Xavier, who never left my side, visibly brightens after the conversation. By the time we reach the elevator, I can practically feel the warmth radiating off him.
“You’re in a good mood,” I say as we step inside. His hand lingers at the small of my back.
