Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 294: No One Was Letting Go

His other hand slid into Evelyn’s hair, guiding her just enough to let their foreheads rest together. She didn’t speak. She just exhaled, and that was enough.

Their bodies began to move again, not with urgency, but with meaning.

They kissed again, slower, deeper, and the tension that had lived in Ethan’s body for months—maybe years—began to dissolve.

It wasn’t about conquering or surrendering.

It was about being held and holding back.

Not from each other.

But from the world.

They undid each other quietly, piece by piece, never all at once.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ethan didn’t feel like a weight to carry or a puzzle to solve.

He just felt wanted.

And the way their bodies moved now, slow, fused, seeking not climax but closeness—it told him everything he needed to hear.

He didn’t have to earn this.

He didn’t have to be stronger, smarter, or anything.

He just had to be here.

With them.

He pressed his lips to Evelyn’s temple, and she shivered—not from cold, but from something far older than fear.

Everly kissed his chest again, then his jaw, and then rested there.

And as the night deepened, and their movements grew slower once more, and their eyes stayed half-closed, half-awake, it became clear—

This wasn’t a beginning or an end.

It was a moment.

A truth.

One that didn’t need to be named.

Because everyone in that bed already knew it.

And no one was letting go.

Evelyn’s fingers slid gently down his spine, following each notch of bone like she was tracing a path she’d memorized in dreams, each pass soft enough to settle something low and quiet in his chest.

Ethan breathed into it, letting the sensation root deeper than any words could reach. There was no pressure behind her touch, no hunger disguised as need. It was calm. Present. Full.

Everly had shifted slightly now, pressing herself more fully against his side, one leg draped over his with the kind of easy confidence that only came from deep trust.

Her breath moved steadily across his skin, a warm trail that matched the light press of her fingertips gliding over his hip.

She wasn’t trying to explore him; she was settling into him, like she already belonged there and just needed to be reminded.

Ethan turned his head, brushing his lips lightly over Evelyn’s jaw, then down the slope of her neck, feeling the tiniest hitch in her breath as she tilted to give him room, not out of performance, but comfort.

He didn’t move further; he didn’t need to. Just feeling her react to the simplest gesture brought something soft and full to his chest.

Her skin tasted faintly of warmth, the air they’d shared all evening, and the quiet strength beneath her surface.

He let one hand drift back to Everly, his palm finding her side and gliding up slowly toward her ribs.

Her skin was warm and smooth, and her body naturally curved into his like it had always meant to be there.

She didn’t say a word—she just pressed a little closer, burying her face gently into the hollow of his shoulder, sighing in a way that told him she didn’t need anything more in that moment.

Their hearts had synced by now—maybe not perfectly, but close enough that he could feel it—not just his own heartbeat but the echoes of theirs, steady, present, shared.

It wasn’t some magical bond or superpower link. It was just the way people felt for each other when they stopped trying to protect their hearts for once.

The light in the room had dimmed further—not because anyone had turned it down, but because time had moved, and the night had grown deeper, and somehow, that darkness made everything closer.

The shadows along the sheets weren’t sharp anymore—they were soft, blurred at the edges, like a memory you wanted to keep.

Evelyn leaned into him again, her forehead against his, her breath slow and even. Her hands weren’t moving now, but their warmth—one resting just above his hip, the other cradling the side of his face—was enough to keep him grounded.

Everly had settled, too, her arms wrapping around his middle, her fingers curling loosely against his back like she didn’t want to let go even while she slept.

But none of them were sleeping yet.

It wasn’t that kind of night.

It was the kind that stretched on, long and unhurried, where even the quiet hum of silence between them carried meaning.

Ethan shifted slightly to breathe them both in again. The scent of Evelyn’s hair. The feel of Everly’s skin. The way their breaths mingled with his.

They were all warm now.

Not overheated.

Just... steady.

Held in a pocket of time where nothing had to happen, and everything that did came from that closeness.

He moved one hand up to Evelyn’s shoulder, brushing along the soft edge where it met her neck.

He paused there, thumb circling slowly, drawing out the tiniest smile from her lips without needing to look.

The other hand stayed low, tracing lazy lines along Everly’s back, each one drawing a small exhale from her, so quiet it barely broke the silence, but enough to feel like music.

Their bodies weren’t tangled—not in a way that looked like anything wild—but every part of them touched.

Hips, thighs, hands, breath. They stayed close like people who had finally run out of reasons to keep their distance between themselves.

Ethan let his fingers trail up again, back to Evelyn’s jaw, then brushed back a strand of hair from her cheek, and she leaned into his hand like she was always meant to fit there.

There was still no need for words.

Nothing to explain.

Nothing to justify.

And in that silence, Ethan felt something deeper settle in his chest—not love in the romantic, scripted way people talk about in books, but a warmth that had no demand attached to it.

He didn’t need to prove himself. He didn’t need to ask to stay. He already had.