Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 292: Is This Alright?

He didn’t know when his breathing had slowed.

But it had.

Not from exhaustion or pain or the kind of numbness that came with too many thoughts pressing all at once—but from something simpler, quieter.

It was the sort of stillness that didn’t feel empty. It felt earned. Like stepping out of the cold and feeling warmth, reach not just the surface of your skin but also the deeper, inner places most people forget are even there.

Evelyn shifted first. Not away, not even consciously, but just the soft movement of a body relaxing more deeply into comfort.

Her cheek brushed against his chest, skin to skin, and her hair spilled like silver ink across his arm. Her hand, which had been resting gently over his heart, began to move—not aimlessly, but with slow, deliberate strokes.

She traced the faint ridges of his ribs like someone remembering a song by following the lines of its melody with their fingers.

Everly followed, as if her body had been waiting for the same cue. She tucked herself closer on the other side, her leg sliding across his, their skin brushing in that quiet, sensitive way that wasn’t loud but impossible to ignore.

Her breath, soft and steady, warmed the crook of his neck. She hummed—not a song, just a low and contented sound that vibrated through him.

Ethan didn’t speak. There wasn’t a word that made more sense than this.

Evelyn’s fingers reached up again, brushing along his jaw, her touch light but grounding. She didn’t hold him in place. She just stayed there, reminding him he didn’t have to go anywhere.

Everly leaned up next, her lips brushing his cheek with a gentleness that didn’t ask to be noticed, but still left a faint burn where her warmth had been.

She didn’t pull away quickly. Her lips lingered, soft and still. As if to say, I’m here too.

Ethan tilted slightly, just enough that their noses brushed, his eyes half-lidded but present. He wasn’t lost in thought or fantasy. He was here—completely.

Their eyes met, and in that closeness, he could see everything. The shimmer of color in Everly’s irises.

The barely-there flutter of her lashes. The slight parting of her lips as she exhaled, waiting, asking—not with words, but with silence.

"Is this alright?" she whispered, the words so soft they nearly vanished in the quiet.

He nodded, slow and sure.

Not because he was uncertain.

Because he understood exactly what was being asked.

His hand moved to her waist, not urgently, not even suggestively. Just warm and secure, fingers resting lightly as if to say, I’m holding this too. Whatever this becomes, I’m here.

Evelyn leaned in as well, her lips finding his shoulder, not in hunger but in reverence. Her kiss wasn’t possessive. It was steady. Quiet. A vow made through touch instead of a promise.

No one moved quickly.

No one led.

But somehow, together, they kept moving.

Clothing slipped, not with the sound of ripping seams or rushed hands, but like leaves falling from trees—gentle, inevitable, unnoticed until bare skin began to touch bare skin.

The sheets beneath them warmed from their combined body heat. The air in the room, once cool from the open window, now clung to them, thick with breath, scent, and the invisible weight of closeness.

Evelyn’s hand moved downward, tracing the slow curve of his abdomen. Not searching. Just learning. She didn’t pause. She didn’t falter. It wasn’t about what came next. It was about what she was feeling right now.

Everly kissed his neck again, her lips firmer now, more sure. Her breath spilled over his skin, then cooled as she moved slightly away, only to return, softer, slower.

Her thigh curled more snugly against his, and her hand, small and warm, rested against the line of his hip.

No one said anything.

There wasn’t anything left to say.

Everything important was already being shared.

Their bodies didn’t tangle. They unfolded.

Ethan’s hand reached for Evelyn again, his fingers brushing the line of her spine. He moved slowly, learning each bump, each shift in tension beneath her skin. She arched slightly into his touch, a silent answer.

Everly’s cheek pressed against his shoulder now. Her hand found his again—this time resting over Evelyn’s stomach. The two of them, side by side, joined not just in their closeness to him, but in the rhythm they were creating together.

Breathing became something shared. Inhales and exhales layered over each other, syncing by instinct.

There were no deep moans, no sharp gasps, but the kind of sounds that live in the space between touch and speech—the soft sighs, the hums of satisfaction, the unspoken reassurances.

They weren’t rushing. They weren’t building toward a finish.

This wasn’t about what happened next.

It was about what was.

Ethan moved a little, just enough to shift more toward Evelyn, his hand now resting over the gentle dip of her stomach.

His thumb moved slowly in circles, nothing more than a lazy pattern, but it made her sigh—low and complete.

Everly leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear now. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her body was speaking for her—pressing in, staying close, hands gently joining his, their fingers meeting and lacing softly over the space between them.

Time didn’t matter.

They had nowhere to go.

No one to impress.

And no reason to hurry.

This wasn’t foreplay—not in the traditional sense. It wasn’t a build-up to something explosive or cinematic. It was the kind of intimacy that felt more like drifting. Like letting yourself fall, knowing someone’s already waiting to catch you.

Outside the window, the sky was still dark but no longer cold. The night had settled, and the house was still.

Inside, the room smelled of skin and heat, soft jasmine and cotton, and something else—something new.

A scent made not of perfume, but of presence.

They stayed that way, moving slowly, breathing slowly.

No tension. No urgency.

Just trust.

And the kind of closeness that didn’t need to be earned in a single night, because it had already been built, quietly, over time, like a bridge no one noticed until they were already crossing it together.

They didn’t stop.

They didn’t rush.

They just kept going.

Exactly like that.

Together.