Boundless

𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝟑𝟓)

Olympia Malfoy (SC)

After midnight, my lips met his like they always knew the way, like time had been waiting for this exact second. There was no hesitation, no doubt. I was starting the year differently. Braver. Bolder. More of him. More me.

Mattheo's hands slipped into my hair, fingertips grazing my scalp as he pulled me closer. My hands clung to the firm curve of his biceps, grounding myself as he closed the gap between us with a kiss that was anything but tentative.

Somehow, between soft sighs and the quiet desperation of wanting more, we ended up in bed. The back of his knees bumped the edge, and he let himself fall back, pulling me down with him. We were still tangled in the kiss, too wrapped up to separate.

I straddled his thighs, knees on either side of him, my hands gently cupping his jaw like he was something rare. Something breakable. And he was—he was the boy who left and came back steadier. Calmer. Mine.

His hands slipped from my waist to my lower back, pressing me flush against him as my hips moved instinctively, slowly, needing friction, needing more.

Soft whimpers escaped both of us when I rolled my hips just right. Gods, we'd done this before—when we were younger, stupidly needy, caught between childhood and discovery. We'd kissed and touched and chased relief like it was love.

But this time?

This was love.

And I needed more.

My lips broke from his, unwillingly, and I opened my eyes to find his closed lips parted, chest rising, his mouth already ghosting down to my neck.

But I whispered, "It's not enough."

He pulled back as if I'd said something wrong. His brows drew together. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I said quickly, cupping his face in both hands. "I'm ready."

His lips parted, eyes burning into mine. Still, that old hesitation lingered. That tenderness I loved in him. "Ollie, we don't have to. I told you—I'll wait. I want to wait, if you're not—"

"I want to," I cut him off, my voice firm but soft. "I really want to. With you."

His jaw tensed. He swallowed like he was steadying himself. "You're sure?"

Instead of answering, I reached for the hem of my dress and pulled it up over my head, letting it fall to the floor. I watched his breath catch. His eyes swept over me—slowly, reverently—as I sat there in soft white lace, kissed by firelight.

"Ollie..." he breathed like a prayer. "You're... breathtaking."

I smiled, cheeks warm. Then I bent forward, hair falling past my shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his chest. Then his neck. Then both corners of his lips, tender and unhurried.

"I love you," I said, and felt the words ripple through him.

He flipped us gently, my back meeting the bed as he hovered over me. His body fit against mine like it always had—like the years apart had only made us more precise.

"Ollie..." he murmured, brushing my hair from my face. "One more time."

"I love you, Mattheo," I whispered. "I'm ready."

That was all he needed.

His clothes came off in pieces, hastily and without grace, until he was bare and mine. Every inch of him made something stir in my chest—a rush of disbelief that this boy who used to drive me mad had become the man I'd waited for.

And when he leaned down to kiss me again, I gave in fully.

"I'll be gentle," he promised, his voice rough and shaking with restraint.

"I know."

He peeled down my panties slowly, like unwrapping something precious. I swore I saw awe in his face when he looked at me. As if this moment wasn't just physical, but sacred.

He explored every inch of my skin with his hands, his lips, like he wanted to learn me all over again. My breath hitched when he settled between my thighs and aligned himself.

"I love you, Ollie girl."

I kissed him, nodding against his lips. "I love you."

Then he pushed in—inch by inch, steady and careful—and I felt him fill me like he belonged there.

My body burned. Stretched. Welcomed him.

He held my hands, fingers laced above my head, grounding me. The sting faded quickly, replaced by waves of something deeper—something only Mattheo could give me. I moaned into his mouth, letting the newness of it wash over me, wrapping my legs around his waist.

He kissed every gasp from my lips, kissed every place that tensed or trembled. And when he found the perfect angle, I couldn't stop the sound that tore from my throat.

"Thank you," he groaned, his voice strained. "Merlin, Ollie... you feel like heaven."

My hips moved with his, a rhythm that grew bolder, steadier. My hands clung to his shoulders, nails dragging down muscle as his name fell from my mouth like a spell.

His arms slid under my back, holding me like he never wanted to let go. The room blurred around us. Nothing else existed. Just the heat. The sweat. The whispered I love you "s between every thrust until we fell apart together—undone, whole, and utterly lost in each other.

He stayed buried in me as our breaths slowed.

Mattheo kissed me everywhere—my forehead, my cheek, my collarbone—like gratitude was spilling from his lips.

When he finally pulled away, he disappeared into the ensuite and returned with a warm towel. He cleaned me so gently I nearly cried. Then he pulled one of his shirts over my head, the scent of him wrapping around me like a blanket, and crawled back into bed.

His arms wrapped around me. My fingers played with the edge of his jaw.

"Happy New Year, Ollie," he whispered against my mouth.

"Happy New Year, Mattheo," I breathed back.