Chapter 06: Illicit Affair, part 2

The sand was cool beneath us, soft enough to sink into, and the ocean stretched wide and endless in front of us. We sat closer than we had before—not quite touching, but the space between us felt deliberate, fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it.

The waves filled the silence, steady, pulling the world into something small and quiet. For once, it wasn't heavy. It was... comfortable.

Then Conrad's voice cut through, low, almost thoughtful.

"What's your deal, S?"

I turned, brow furrowing. "S?"

He smirked faintly, eyes still on the horizon. "Yeah. S. From Stephanie."

I let out a short laugh, nudging him with my shoulder. "I know, dumbass. I mean... you're the first one to call me that."

Finally, he looked at me, lips twitching. Then, with exaggerated drama, he placed a hand over his chest. "I'm flattered. An honour, really."

I rolled my eyes, biting back a grin. "Don't let it get to your head."

He tilted his head, smirk deepening. "Too late." He leaned back on his hands, eyes still on me. "No, really—what's your deal, S? Where are you from, anyway?"

I squinted at him, half-teasing. "You ask like you actually want to get to know me."

His eyes cut back to mine then, sharper, steadier than I expected. "I do," he said simply. "That's why I'm asking."

The honesty in his tone caught me off guard. No smirk. No shield. Just Conrad.

I fiddled with the hem of my dress, staring out at the waves instead of him. "Small town, middle of nowhere. Not the kind of place anyone remembers."

He hummed, eyes flicking toward me. "So you ran away to college to escape the boring suburbs?"

I laughed softly. "Something like that."

The sound of the waves filled the space between us. I could feel him watching me, waiting for more.

"And your parents?" he asked, voice quieter this time. "Do they visit you? Call too much?"

I froze. My gaze stayed fixed on the ocean, the horizon blurring. For a long moment, I didn't answer.

When I finally turned to him, his expression had shifted—open, careful, like he already knew the weight of what I was about to say.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "They're not even really my parents," I said finally. "They adopted me when I was little. And then, the second I turned eighteen, they just... stopped. Said they'd 'done their part.'" I let out a shaky breath, staring at the waves so I wouldn't have to see his face. "So yeah. It's basically me against the world now."

Silence stretched. I expected pity or awkwardness. But when I finally looked over, Conrad's expression was steady, soft in a way that made my chest ache.

He lifted a hand, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheek, grounding me. He looked down for a moment, then back at me, his voice quiet.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have pushed."

I shook my head. "No. Weirdly... it doesn't hurt saying it to you. Not the way it usually does."

His eyes lingered on me, steady and searching, before his hand lifted, threading gently through my hair. His fingers brushed along my temple, tucking a strand behind my ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. The touch was careful, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

"My mom died."

Not too. Just... died. Simple. Brutal. Final.

I turned toward him, my breath caught. "Conrad..."

His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, the waves reflecting in his eyes. "Susannah. She was... the glue. The thing that kept everything from falling apart. And when she was gone..." His jaw tightened, his voice almost breaking. "So was the glue."

Silence fell again, heavier this time, filled only by the crash of the ocean. My chest ached for him in a way I couldn't explain.

I reached across the space between us, finding his hand in the sand. My fingers slipped through his, lacing tight, grounding him the way he had just grounded me. "I'm sorry," I whispered. My thumb brushed across his knuckles, slow, certain. "I can't imagine what that felt like. But... thank you for telling me."

Finally, his eyes met mine again. Raw, unguarded. "I don't really talk about it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Not with anyone. But this..." He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like he couldn't quite find the words. "With you, it just... feels different. Lighter. Like it doesn't have to crush me."

Something in my chest ached at the honesty in his voice. Slowly, I reached up, letting my fingers trace along his jaw before settling against his cheek. His skin was warm, rougher than it looked. He leaned into the touch almost instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second, like he hadn't let anyone hold him this way in a long time.

"You don't have to carry it alone," I whispered. "Not right now. Not with me."

His eyes stayed on mine, steady but vulnerable. He swallowed hard, almost like he was fighting himself.

"Sometimes," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, "I think they don't really want to know what's going on with me. Not the truth. It's easier for everyone if I'm just... the moody one. Quiet. The background character." He huffed out a breath, sharp and self-deprecating. "But with you... I don't feel like I have to play that part."

My chest ached. I tightened my grip on his hand, my voice soft but steady. "You're not a background anything, Conrad. And if the people closest to you can't see that..." I trailed off, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Then that's on them. Not you."

He looked at me then—really looked—and something in his expression shifted. Open. Raw.

"I don't get it," he said quietly. "It's only been two days, and somehow... you already make it feel different."

My chest tightened. "Different how?"

He let out a slow breath, his voice low, rough. "I didn't think anyone could get past the walls I built. And then you show up... and it's like they were never there. And that—" He broke off, shaking his head. "That scares the hell out of me."

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering. "Why does it scare you, Conrad?"

His gaze locked on mine, unflinching, like he needed me to understand. "Because I'm already starting to feel too much."

His words sank deep, tightening something in my chest until I couldn't breathe. For a moment, I just stared at him, caught in the weight of what he'd said. The world felt too quiet, too still—waves crashing in the distance, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat.

Then I leaned in.

At first, it was soft. The kind of kiss that lingered, unhurried, holding more than it asked for. It wasn't just heat—it was safety. For some reason, both of us found it there, in each other, like the world had quieted just enough to let us breathe.

But the longer it lasted, the more it shifted. His fingers curled into my hair, mine clutched at his shirt, and the safety gave way to something hungrier, something reckless. I climbed onto his lap, knees sinking into the sand as his hands gripped my thighs, pulling me closer. The kiss deepened, turned urgent, desperate, like we'd both been waiting for this without even knowing it.

His hands slid under my dress, tugging at the fabric until it bunched around my waist. His touch was hot against my skin, rougher now, desperate. He kissed me hard, then slowed just enough to let his mouth drag along my throat, my shoulder, lower.

And then his fingers found the straps of my dress. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed one down my arm, then the other, his lips brushing the newly exposed skin.

A low laugh vibrated against my collarbone. "You realise," he murmured, voice hoarse but teasing, "we're about to have sex on the beach."

"Then stop talking about it," I whispered, tugging him closer, "and show me how bad you want it."

His eyes darkened—restraint snapping clean in two. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me into a bruising kiss as his other hand caught my waist. In one motion, he shifted us, and then I felt him—hot, hard—sliding inside me.

The breath tore from my lungs, my nails digging into his shoulders. A choked curse fell from his lips as his forehead pressed to mine, the sand shifting beneath us with every movement.

"Steph—fuck—" he groaned, his grip on my thighs tightening as he guided me, forcing me to take him deeper.

I gasped, moving instinctively, up and down against him, the rhythm messy, chaotic. The waves crashed around us, but they weren't nearly loud enough to drown the sounds ripping from my throat. Conrad's hand shot up, covering my mouth, his eyes locking on mine, wild and desperate.

"You have no idea how hard it is not to lose it when you sound like that," he rasped, every word breaking.

My muffled cry vibrated against his palm, my body clenching tighter around him, driving him closer to the edge. His control slipped more with every roll of my hips, his thrusts meeting mine until there was nothing but heat, salt air, and the reckless way we moved against each other—wild, desperate, unstoppable.

The rhythm broke apart, turned frantic, desperate, like neither of us could hold on any longer. Every thrust, every gasp, every muffled cry against his hand pushed us closer to the edge until it all came undone at once. My body tightened, shattered around him, and his control snapped—his groan guttural and raw as he spilled into me, buried so deep it felt like there'd never be a place where he ended and I began.

The crash of the waves roared louder than my pulse, louder than his ragged breathing in my ear, louder than everything but us.

For a long moment, we just stayed there—me slumped against his chest, his hand still tangled in my hair, both of us shaking, gasping, wrecked. The salt air clung to our skin, the sand stuck to every inch of us, and still I didn't want to move.

Finally, Conrad's hand slipped from my mouth to my cheek, his thumb brushing lazily across my flushed skin. His forehead pressed to mine, his breath still uneven.

For a second, neither of us said anything. The world was just the ocean, our heartbeats, the messy tangle of our bodies.

Then, low and wrecked, he let out a shaky laugh. "We're insane."

I huffed against his jaw, still catching my breath. "Pretty sure the sand is going to haunt me forever."

He smirked, pressing a kiss just below my ear. "Worth it." His thumb traced lazy circles on my hip, like he wasn't ready to let me go yet.

Heat flushed through me again—not just from what we'd done, but from the way he said it. Like he meant it.

His gaze lingered on mine, steady, too steady, the kind of look that pressed a little too deep, like he might actually say something that would undo me.

So I cut through it with a crooked grin. "You realise we just had sex twice in, what—four hours?"

Conrad's brows lifted, amused. "That a complaint?"

I snorted. "More like a public service announcement. At this rate, I'll need physical therapy."

He laughed under his breath, that low, wrecked sound that sent a fresh shiver through me. "You're acting like you didn't start half of it."

"Half?" I shot back, mock offended. "Please. Pretty sure I carried the team."

That earned me a smirk, sharp and lazy. He leaned closer, brushing his thumb across my jaw. "Trust me, S—you don't know what carrying the team looks like. Yet."

I swatted at his chest, laughing despite myself. "Cocky much?"

"Confident," he corrected smoothly, his mouth curving just enough to make me want to kiss him all over again. "And from the way you keep looking at me, I'd say you like it."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips. "You're ridiculous."

He smirked, brushing a final kiss to my jaw. "Good thing you like ridiculous, S."

I glanced at the time on my phone, the glow of the screen sharp against the night. Nearly four. My stomach flipped.

I smirked, tilting my head at him. "What do you say, Connie baby? Ready to head back?"

His brows shot up, laughter breaking loose before he could stop it. "That has to be the cockiest nickname anyone's ever given me."

I grinned, brushing the sand off my dress as I stood. "Good. It suits you."

He rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away. "Unreal," he muttered, shaking his head as he bent to grab his shirt from the sand.

I slipped my sandals back on, still smirking. "You'll survive."

"Barely," he shot back, voice low but playful, as his hand found mine again.

...

The car was quiet except for the hum of the engine, headlights slicing through the empty streets. My body was still buzzing, my skin still tingling from the beach, when a familiar melody spilt softly from the speakers.

I blinked, then smiled. Unwritten.

Without hesitation, I reached out and turned the volume up. The beat swelled, filling the Range Rover, and before I knew it, I was singing — out loud, shameless, every word tumbling free. My voice wasn't perfect, not even close, but something about the hour, about the way the night still clung to us, made me not care at all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I felt him watching.

When I glanced his way, Conrad's hands were steady on the wheel, but his gaze kept sliding to me, softer than I'd ever seen it. Not smirking, not teasing. Just... watching. Like he was memorising me.

I turned, raising a brow, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"Done staring?"

Conrad didn't flinch, didn't look away. His mouth curved just slightly, that almost-smile of his.

"Not even—"

My phone lit up, buzzing against my thigh. The name on the screen made my stomach drop.

Belly.

When I finally looked up, Conrad was already watching. His jaw flexed, the muscle ticking, his lips pressed into the faintest line. He didn't say anything—didn't have to. The look in his eyes said enough.