Boundless

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 (𝟑𝟎)

Mattheo Riddle

The door creaked open sometime past midnight.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. The manor had gone quiet hours ago, the kind of quiet that sits heavy in your chest. But then I heard it again — the soft sound of bare feet across the marble just before my door eased shut.

"Ollie?" I sat up slowly, the covers pooling at my waist.

She didn't answer right away. She just crossed the room and crawled into my bed like she'd done it a thousand times before.

Her hair was damp, like she'd showered before coming in, and she smelled like lavender — like home.

"Couldn't sleep?" I asked softly.

She shook her head, curling into my side. "Didn't want to be alone."

Her voice was barely a whisper, and it hit me right in the chest.

I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. She was warm and soft and fit against me like she always had. But there was something different now — not rushed or panicked, just real. Honest.

It started small — her fingers brushing my collarbone, the shift of her leg over mine. And then her hand flattened against my chest, steadying herself as she tilted her face up to mine.

She kissed me.

It wasn't a goodbye or a rebound or something to numb the pain. It was all of her months of silence, weeks of tension, years of what-ifs spilling into a kiss that made my head spin.

I kissed her back, one hand on the small of her back, the other in her hair. She was breathless, beautiful, and wide-eyed in the dark.

Her lips moved to my jaw, then my throat. My fingers slid beneath the hem of her shirt, not in a rush, just needing to feel her, to remember what this meant.

Her breathing hitched when I pulled her into my lap, her thighs straddling me now, her hands trembling where they clutched my shoulders.

"Mattheo..." she whispered.

I looked up at her, and in the glow of the moonlight pouring through the tall window, I saw everything — nerves, affection, want, and something even deeper.

"Can I ask you something?" I said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded.

"You and Sebastian... did you ever...?"

Her cheeks flushed instantly. She looked away, then back at me, and I could see her heart was pounding just beneath the surface.

"No," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "We never did. I'm... I'm still a virgin."

I stared at her for a beat, not because I needed the answer, but because I knew what that meant — not just about her and Sebastian, but about us. About how much this moment meant.

She bit her lip. "It never felt right. And I... I didn't love him like this."

My heart clenched, and I ran a hand gently up her spine, grounding us both.

"Ollie," I murmured, resting my forehead against hers. "I want you. You know that."

She nodded.

"But not like this. Not tonight. Not the same day he let you go. That's not how you should remember this — your first time. It should be about you. Us. Not him."

Her eyes glossed over, and she let out a shaky breath, hands curling into my shirt.

"I'm not going anywhere," I promised her. "When you're ready— really ready — I'll be here. I'll love you the way you deserve."

She leaned into me then, her lips brushing mine again, this time slower. We kissed, softer now, more like a promise than a firestorm. And when we finally pulled apart, she rested her head against my shoulder, her body still pressed close to mine.

We stayed tangled together like that, heart to heart, in the dark.

No longer just friends. Not quite lovers.

But something more powerful than both.