The ride to Kyle's house was silent — that kind of silence that wasn't exactly comfortable, but not cold either.
Raye sat in the passenger seat, her fingers tangled nervously in her lap. The hum of the car engine filled the space between them, the soft flicker of the evening light painting the side of Kyle's face gold.
He didn't speak, but his grip on the steering wheel said enough. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the road like they held everything he couldn't say out loud.
When they pulled into his driveway, Raye blinked in surprise. The house was big — not just big, but modern, clean-lined, and quiet. It looked like the kind of place that was supposed to feel full… yet didn't.
"Wow," she murmured. "You live here alone?"
Kyle cut the engine, glanced at her, and simply said, "Yeah."
Inside, the house smelled faintly of cedar and something expensive she couldn't name. He led her up a short hallway to a guest room — minimal, but comfortable. Raye set her bag down, feeling awkward as he lingered near the door.
"Thanks," she said finally, her voice small.
He turned slightly, his back still half toward her. His fists clenched once at his sides before he answered, "You don't have to thank me. You looked like you were about to break down."
Her chest tightened. "I wasn't—"
But her voice cracked, and the rest of the sentence died in her throat. She turned her head away quickly, pressing her hand against her eyes, but the tears still fell. The weight of the last week — the humiliation, the suspicion, the loneliness — came crashing down again.
Raye sat on the edge of the guest bed, knees pulled to her chest, trembling slightly.
The soft fabric of the t-shirt he'd brought slipped from his hand and fell beside him.
She buried her face deeper into her folded arms, letting the weight of the past week press down.
Four days.
Four humiliating days.
Four days she hadn't stopped thinking about how quickly everything had spiraled.
Kyle froze for a second. His usual smirk, his detached coolness, slipped away. He exhaled sharply, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered under his breath, "Damn it…"
Kyle stayed at the door for a moment, silent, watching. The way she slumped like she was about to disappear made something in him tighten.
Then he moved. Slow but sure. He walked toward her, the sound of his steps muffled against the carpet.
Not anger. Not exactly. Something sharper. Protective. Possessive. The kind of tension only someone used to taking control could feel.
He stepped forward quietly and perched on the edge of the bed, close enough that she could feel his presence, far enough that he wasn't crowding her.
"Don't cry again," he said quietly. "Not because of them. Not because of anyone."
Raye peeked up through strands of her hair, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "Why… do you care?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Kyle exhaled, slow, deliberate, like he was measuring his words. He reached out, brushing a damp lock of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered, tracing a path down to her jawline. "Because… I don't like seeing you like this. I don't like anyone hurting you. And… because it's you."
The way he said it — clipped, serious, not overdone — made her heart jump. And then, without thinking, he leaned in. His lips brushed hers, light at first, a teasing feather of contact that sent a shiver down her spine.
She gasped softly, eyes wide. He pulled back almost immediately, jaw tight, eyes dark with restraint.
That restraint? It made her pulse thunder louder. She felt a heat bloom inside her chest, a need she hadn't expected.
Raye didn't wait.
She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, and pressed her lips to his again. This time, she was insistent.
Her hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading through damp strands of his hair. When she realized he wasn't resisting — only responding — she shifted, straddling his lap, letting her weight rest against him.
Kyle's hands went to her waist, gripping firmly, pulling her closer, his lips devouring hers with a dangerous intensity. He was quiet now, controlled, serious — but every flick of his tongue, every brush of his lips, spoke of that storm beneath the surface. Bad-boy energy, yes, but laced with something… vulnerable. Something only she had access to.
Her heart hammered.
The warmth of him, the heat radiating through his body, the way his breaths mingled with hers — it was dizzying, intoxicating. His forehead pressed against hers briefly, and she could feel the taut muscles of his jaw under her fingertips. He didn't say a word, but the tension in him spoke volumes.
Finally, he pulled back just enough to let their foreheads rest together. His lips brushed hers again, soft, deliberate, and he whispered, voice rough and low, "Don't ever think you're alone in this."
Raye swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling. "I… I'm not used to anyone caring like that," she whispered back, voice shaking.
Kyle's eyes softened slightly — just for her — before darkening again with that bad-boy edge. "I'm not everyone, Raye. And you're not someone I let be hurt."
Her lips parted, breathless. She leaned in impulsively, heart racing, and kissed him again.
This time, it was hers. Bold. Fierce.
She climbed fully onto his lap, straddling him, feeling every solid inch of him pressed against her. His hands moved along her back, gripping, steadying, and somehow making her feel anchored in a world that had been chaotic for days.
When they finally broke apart, gasping lightly, their foreheads touched, and silence hung between them — thick, heavy, intimate. Kyle's eyes scanned her face like he was memorizing every curve, every freckle, every nuance.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't joking.
He was dangerous, possessive, all of him here for her.
Raye's lips curved into a small, shaky smile. She could feel the warmth of his chest under her hands, the thrum of his pulse against her own. Somewhere deep in her chest, she knew nothing would ever feel the same again.
Kyle's voice cut softly through the silence, a low rumble that made her shiver. "Stay close. Don't cry again like that."
Raye whispered, "Why… why do you care?"
She asked for the fourth time this evening .
Not like she didn't understand what he had said but she needed that assurance and something about his words made her feel calm and safe again .
He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes locking with hers. "Because when it comes to you, I don't let anything or anyone hurt you. Not ever. Got it?"
Her heart fluttered violently. "Got it," she breathed.
Then, as if drawn by some magnetic pull, their lips met once more. And in that moment, it wasn't about protection or anger — it was just them, caught in the intensity of a connection that neither could deny.