Carved in Her Bones

Rhian

Eleven p.m. came around, and as I was locking up, Peter pulled into the lot in a different car—still a BMW, but sleeker, darker. Jack had left early, his mood souring noticeably after I mentioned my date. The rest of my shift had been unusually quiet, and we only spoke when necessary. Peter stepped out of the car, and I felt my heart skip as I took him in: black dress slacks, a fitted black polo that hugged his muscles just right, and polished black loafers.

"Hello, Rhian," he called, grinning. "Ready for some good, old-fashioned distraction tonight?"

I smiled up at him as he leaned down to kiss my cheek again, his warm confidence radiating. I could get used to this.

He opened the passenger door for me, and just as I was about to slide in, I looked up into his striking green eyes. "I see I'm getting the VIP treatment tonight. Didn't think you opened doors."

Peter's gaze lingered, a playful glint in his eyes. "Rhian, your ass looks incredible in those tights, and I'd be doing myself a disservice if I didn't take this chance to watch it get into my car."

"Oh my god, must you be so inappropriate" I gasped, though his honesty made my cheeks burn. He shut my door and slid into the driver's seat seconds later.

"Thandaza, what are we doing tonight?" he asked, glancing over at me with an ease that left me stunned.

I blinked. "You called me Thandaza.. No one outside my friends or family ever calls me that." I studied his expression, genuinely surprised. "And you pronounced it perfectly. How?"

He shrugged, as if it were nothing. "I taught myself."

A warm smile crept onto my face. "Thank you. So... we're chilling at your place tonight?"

He let out a low laugh, glancing over at me with an amused brow raised. "Goodness, Thandaza are you propositioning me again?"

"No! No, no," I sputtered, horrified. "Just that it's late, everything's closed, and I live in a dorm and..."

His laugh softened, and he reached over, resting a reassuring hand on mine. "Relax, Thandi. I get it. My place it is."

As we pulled away, a strange mix of excitement and nerves settled over me, his hand still lightly resting on mine, grounding me in this surreal moment.

My mind raced with a thousand scenarios. Would he kiss me when we got there? Did I smell like sushi? And please, stomach, don't growl. Nervous didn't even begin to cover it; my hands felt clammy, and I could feel a bead of sweat forming as we drove into a part of the city I'd never been to. I hadn't even noticed he'd pulled over until I saw him watching me intently.

"Why are you nervous?" he asked, his voice low and soft, a mix of concern and something else I couldn't quite place.

"I'm not," I lied, my voice coming out too quickly.

"Thandi... we talked about faking it. We don't do that, remember?" He tilted his head, his gaze steady.

I exhaled, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I've... never been to a guy's place before."

His eyes widened for just a second before a small grin touched his lips. Without a word, he opened his door, then walked around to my side, extending his hand toward me. His fingers were clean, neatly manicured—a surprising detail for a guy like him.

"Walk with me," he said.

"Only if you promise not to murder me," I quipped, trying to shake off my nerves.

He laughed, the sound easing the tension in my chest. "Okay, no murder. Just a little fresh air." He gestured to a nearby spot. "walk with me for a bit?"

I nodded, slipping my hand into his as I followed him, my nerves melting into a strange mix of excitement and calm.

"Tell me why you're nervous." He had stopped walking and turned to face me, doing that thing where he locked eyes and waited—intense and unwavering.

"Why do you do that?" I said, my voice faltering. "You did it the first time we met too. Stopping to look at me when you ask questions. It's... very intense."

"I am intense. And I like watching you speak."

I exhaled, suddenly hyper-aware of the small space between us. "I'm nervous because... I just am. I don't know what to expect."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you what I have in mind for tonight?"

"Yes," I whispered, then added, "Please."

"Rhian," he said, a small smirk playing on his lips, "I'm going to cook you a late dinner. I'm going to watch you eat. I'm going to ask you a lot of questions. And I'll probably steal a kiss or two, if you'll let me."

A rush of warmth flooded my cheeks. "What sort of questions?"

"What you were like growing up. What your favorite things to do are. Why you're studying what you're studying. What you dream our future would look like." He paused, letting the weight of that word sink in. "And that's just the beginning. You make me very curious, Rhian."

"Our future?" I asked, the surprise mixing with an unfamiliar thrill. The idea that someone could see me, spend a few hours with me, and already want more—something real—felt almost impossible.

"Yes, our future, Rhian. I'm going to kiss you now."

"Now? Why?" I stammered, heart thundering.

"Why? Because I've wanted to for a long time. And because it will distract you. And I have a feeling you need that."

Before I could respond, he leaned in, and the world around us seemed to still. His lips brushed against mine, soft at first, almost hesitant. He exhaled audibly, and the warmth of it fanned across my skin as his tongue gently traced my bottom lip. A surge of heat washed through me, dissolving my earlier nervousness. My hands found their way to his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric as if anchoring myself. That was all the invitation he needed.

Without warning, his right hand slid to my throat, firm yet careful, and it was like a switch flipped inside him. His tongue pressed into my mouth, demanding, searching, as his fingers tightened slightly on my neck. Peter kissed me as if he'd been waiting years for this moment, savoring every second, leaving no space for doubt or hesitation. His eyes, when he finally pulled back, were glazed with a mix of triumph and awe. He touched my bottom lip with a reverent thumb, as if verifying that I was real, that this moment was real.

I was still clutching his shirt when he broke into a smile—broad and genuine, the kind that reached his eyes and made my heart dance. Without a word, he tugged me gently back to the car, his hand on my lower back guiding me. Too stunned to speak, I watched as he leaned over and fastened the seat belt around me, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he pulled away.

The air between us hummed with unspoken promises, and my pulse roared in my ears as he started the engine.