A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 40: CHAPTER FORTY

KYLE

But even through the haze of longing, I remembered where we were. The people around us. The bar. The public eyes.

Barely resisting the urge to claim her right then and there, I maneuvered us through a dimly lit hallway, my grip on her firm but careful. The staff restroom door was unlocked, and I barely registered the opulence inside—the gold detailing, the marble floors, the soft glow of the overhead light. None of it mattered.

The only thing I saw was Ashley.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from my kisses, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The way she shivered when I lifted her onto the cool countertop sent a fresh bolt of hunger through me, my fingers tightening instinctively on her hips.

Neither of us spoke.

We didn’t need to.

Words would only shatter the fragile illusion we’d built around ourselves tonight, the thin veil separating us from the weight of reality.

And right now, I needed this moment.

I needed her.

I kissed her again, harder this time, raw with all the desperation I could never put into words. No matter how long we’d been apart, no matter how much time had passed or how much I’d failed her before, one thing had never changed—I could never get enough of her. I never would.

One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head so I could deepen the kiss, while the other skimmed along the edge of her thigh, fingers tracing the delicate lace of her underwear.

The hesitation from earlier had melted away, replaced by something hotter, more urgent.

When I stopped at the sensitive dip between her thigh and heat, she let out a frustrated noise, her hips shifting in search of relief.

A smirk ghosted over my lips.

“Shh.” My mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of slow, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, lingering in the places I knew would drive her wild—the spot behind her ear, the delicate hollow of her throat, the sensitive curve of her shoulder.

She trembled beneath me, fingers fisting in my shirt, her breath catching as I took my time savoring her.

"Patience, I murmured against her skin, savoring the way she trembled beneath me.

Tonight wasn’t about rushing.

Tonight was about us.

Even after two years, I still knew Ashley’s body as intimately as I knew my own. Every slow, deliberate touch, every teasing detour, pulled breathless moans from her lips, but it was the sharp, desperate cry that sent heat surging through my veins when I finally slid her underwear aside and dragged my thumb over her clit.

I clenched my jaw, barely biting back a groan. She was already so damn wet for me.

Heat raced down my spine as I stroked her, slow and unhurried, circling and teasing until she was a writhing mess against me, slick coating my fingers. Her breath hitched, frustration lacing the pleasure in her expression as she bucked against my hand, desperate for more.

“Kyle.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, breathless and pleading. “Please.”

Fuck. Nothing in the world had ever sounded as sweet as the sound of my name on her lips.

The moment I finally slid two fingers inside her, a sharp cry tore from her throat. She was so wet, she took them effortlessly, and my gut tightened at the way her body clenched around me, pulling me deeper.

“Oh God.” Her nails dug into my shoulders, sharp enough to leave marks, her thighs trembling around my hand. “I can’t…that’s…fuck…”

Her words shattered into broken gasps as I worked her with steady, relentless strokes, curling my fingers just right, dragging her closer and closer to the edge. Her moans mixed with the obscene sounds of her arousal, filling the small space, drowning out my own ragged breaths.

She was breathtaking like this—head thrown back, body arching into me, utterly lost in pleasure.

The sight of her coming undone, stretched so beautifully around my fingers, nearly shattered what little control I had left. But I held on. This wasn’t about me. It never had been.

It was about her.

It was about worshipping every inch of her, memorizing the way her body trembled, the way her lips parted on breathless moans, the way she shattered against me like she was made for this. For us.

I slammed my fingers back in, curling them just right, hitting that spot that I knew would unravel her completely.

She fell apart instantly.

Her back arched, her nails dug into my shoulders, and her cries—raw and hoarse—echoed through the small space as she spasmed around my fingers. I kept the heel of my hand pressed against her clit, drawing out every last wave of pleasure, until her shudders finally ebbed into soft, aftershock trembles.

My forehead pressed against hers, my chest tight with a fierce, aching mix of lust and something deeper, something more. Our breaths mingled in the space between us, and despite the painful arousal pressing against my zipper, I barely noticed.

Because this—she—was all I needed.

She always had been.

“Ashley.” Her name was a whisper, a prayer. My fingers brushed over her cheek, lingering, as though I could hold on to this moment forever. “Come back to me.”

The plea scraped my throat raw.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her expression wavering, torn. And for a moment—just a moment—I thought she might say yes. I felt it in the softening of her body, the way her breaths stuttered and hitched like she was on the verge of surrender.

But then—

A shrill ring shattered the quiet.

Fucking hell.

A vicious curse ripped through me as I pulled back and ended the call. Some unknown number—who the fuck cared—but by the time I looked up again, it was already too late.

The warmth had drained from her expression. The hesitation, the longing—gone.

Panic tightened like a vise around my ribs. “Ash—”

“I can’t.”

I can't

Two words. Quiet. Final.

And they wrecked me.

I’d spent my life negotiating high-stakes deals, analyzing risks, and navigating the fine print of multimillion-dollar contracts. But none of that had prepared me for this—for how two syllables could cut deeper than any betrayal, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.

A heavy silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words, before she pushed me away and slid off the counter. I didn’t stop her when she straightened her clothes, didn’t try to hold on when she turned toward the door.

She didn’t look at me. Not once.

And then—click.

The sound of the door shutting behind her was a gunshot to my chest.

For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at the space where she’d been, hollowed out by her absence. The air still smelled like her—whiskey and something uniquely Ashley—but the warmth of her body, the softness of her touch, was already fading.

My hands curled into fists. Dammit.

With a sharp exhale, I slammed my fist against the counter. Pain splintered through my knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest, the sickening weight of regret pressing down on me.

I’d pushed too hard. Too fast. And now I’d only made it easier for her to slip away.

Was it worth it?

The question echoed through my mind, taunting me.

I already knew the answer.

Yes.

It would always be yes.

Because no matter how fleeting, no matter how fragile—every second with her was worth the risk.

Even if I didn’t know how many we had left.