SECRETS.07🌿
“Just one more night”
When he couldn’t wait any longer Pt1
This series offers a closer, more honest look at Kylian Mbappé. By exploring his habits, routines, and subtle reactions IF HE WERE YOURS, it aims to reflect the real Kylian as accurately as possible: always human.
Content : Pre-Wedding Night…? Read at your own risk.
• Next Part
I was told it was bad luck to see your bride the night before the wedding.
But I wasn’t superstitious.
Not when it came to her.
We’d been through too much. Waited too long. And honestly? I missed her. It had only been a few hours since the rehearsal dinner, but it already felt like a lifetime.
The villa we rented for the weekend was beautiful, but right now it felt too big, too empty, too quiet without her laugh echoing in the halls.
Somewhere in the east wing, my boys, the best men, were still up ..loud, drunk, and arguing over whether I should wear a black tie or a navy one.
I was downstairs alone, they thought I slept . I didn’t care.
I just wanted her.
Her villa was just across the stone terrace from mine, filled with her bridesmaids and family. No seeing the bride before the wedding. No breaking tradition. But she was right there. And every second without her felt like a lifetime.
Yk how it goes because… the part of the old wedding traditions everyone insisted we honor. “Distance builds excitement,” they said. “Don’t ruin the moment tomorrow,” they said.
I get it.
But those people don’t have her.
They don’t know what it’s like to fall asleep with her head on your chest, or what it feels like when she walks into a room and every nerve in your body settles.
They don’t know what it’s like to wait. To hold back. To want something that’s right there—but still just out of reach.
Because here’s the thing:
We haven’t done it yet. Not fully.
We decided early on that we’d wait. We won’t do it till marriage. It was our choice. We wanted it to be meaningful. We wanted to belong to each other in every possible way with no fear, no guilt, no rush.
We’d done everything else. The tension between us had always been explosive. Kisses that went too deep. Hands that wandered too far. Tongues that left us shaking.
And still—we waited.
And now?
Now we were just one night away.
I paced my room for almost an hour, trying to shake the ache in my chest, in my gut, in my skin. The need to touch her was like gravity.
Finally, just after midnight, I gave up pretending to be strong. Quietly, barefoot, I stepped out onto the terrace and crossed the smooth stone tiles to her side of the villa.
Her lights were out.
But I knew she was awake.
I could feel her.
I lifted my hand to knock on the glass door separating us but before I could touch it, it slid open.
And there she was.
Hair down. Barefoot. Wrapped in one of my old t-shirts, the navy one that clung to her thighs like a second skin.
I forgot how to breathe.
Her eyes softened when she saw me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered with a smile. God this smile.
“You opened your door first,” I whispered back smiling like an idiot.
She laughed quietly, stepping out into the night air. It was warm. Still. Silent, like the world had stopped spinning for just us.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“Me neither.”
I stepped toward her. She stepped toward me.
And suddenly we were face to face, standing in the space where her door met mine. Her hands brushed my chest. Mine found her waist. My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Hi,” she murmured.
I looked down at her. My girl. My best friend. My bride.
“You’re trying to kill me,” I whispered.
She smiled, teasing. “It’s just your shirt.”
“It’s how you wear it.”
I kissed her.
Soft. Careful. Gentle.
Just a taste.
Then another.
And another.
The kind of kiss that stretches time. The kind that starts slow but spirals too fast.
It started soft. But it didn’t stay soft.
She was warm, and sweet, and tasted like toothpaste and skin and comfort. And she melted into me like she always did.
But this time? This time I didn’t hold back.
I pressed her into the glass door behind her, hands sliding up her thighs, lips devouring hers like I’d waited my whole life for this kiss.
She gasped against my mouth. Her arms wrapped around my neck. My hands gripped her waist and lifted her.
In seconds, she was in my arms, legs wrapped around me, and I carried her back inside, sliding the glass door closed behind us, laying her down on her couch like she was something holy.
Her lips never left mine.
I climbed on top of her slowly, grinding down just once to feel her whimper into my mouth.
And fuck, the sound made me dizzy.
We were still clothed, but it didn’t feel like it.
Every shift, every roll of her hips, every stifled moan so no one would wake up, felt like we were already tangled, already there.
And when her hands slid down my back, grabbing at my sweatpants, tugging, desperate, I couldn’t take it.
I started rocking against her, slow and deep, hips rolling with hers, our bodies grinding through layers of thin fabric, and it was heaven and hell in one breath.
“God, bébé—” I hissed against her throat.
Her head dropped back.
Eyes fluttered closed.
Mouth open, breathing heavy.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpered.
And I didn’t.
I pressed down again, my hard-on grinding right against her center. The shirt she wore had hiked up around her hips. My sweatpants did nothing to dull it. I could feel the heat of her, the wetness even through the layers.
She moaned,high, broken, shaky…and gripped my hair as I rocked into her again.
“You feel what you do to me?” I whispered. “Every time. You ruin me.”
“Kylian—” she gasped.
I kissed her harder.
Licked into her mouth.
Bit her lip.
She arched up into me, grinding back, chasing the friction like she needed it.
And I gave it to her.
Again.
And again.
The couch creaked.
Our breaths tangled. Our bodies burned.
“I can’t stop,” I choked against her neck.
“I know,” she breathed, nails biting into my back.
“I want you so bad it hurts.”
“I want you too.”
My forehead pressed to hers.
We rocked together, desperate, clothed, drowning.
“We ..we need to wait,” she whispered. “Kylian—amour we’re almost there. Just one more night.”
I stopped moving.
Breath ragged. Body shaking. Head rest against hers.
I pulled back just far enough to see her flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, kiss-swollen lips.
She looked wrecked.So did I.
But she meant it. And god I hate it, I want her as hell..but she is definitely right, just some more hours.
“want me to stop bébé ?” I asked gently.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
So I did.
I moved off of her, arms like lead, heart beating against my ribs like a war drum. I pulled her shirt back down, cupped her face, and kissed her slow.
She crawled into my lap, curled against my chest, and I held her like she was made for me.
Neither of us said anything for a while.
Just the sound of our hearts.
Our breaths.
Our bodies still buzzing.
Finally, she whispered against my jaw, “I almost didn’t stop you.”
I groaned. “You’re evil.”
She laughed, then kissed my cheek. “You love me.”
“Too damn fkn much.”
She stood, legs a little shaky, cheeks still pink. I chuckled …my woman.
At the stairs, going up, she turned and looked at me, my shirt hanging off her shoulder, lips swollen, skin glowing like she’d been kissed by fire.
“One more night,” she whispered with a soft smile. And she was gone.
I slipped back into the grooms villa as quietly as I could, hoping no one would spot me in the state I was in , shirt half-wrinkled, lips swollen with her lipgloss smeared around them, and the most obvious, unmistakable Mbappé situation going on in my pants. God help me if one of the groomsmen was still awake.
I dropped back onto the couch with a heavy sigh, the cushion barely softening the heat still thrumming through my body. One arm flung over my eyes, the other resting across my chest like it was trying to hold my heart in place.
I was still breathing hard, still aching with everything we almost did. My whole body felt wrecked, like she had branded herself into my skin without even needing to take off a single thing.
One more night.
That’s what she said.
That’s all that was left between us and forever. One more night of waiting. One more night of not giving in.
One more night of pretending like we hadn’t already fallen apart in each other’s arms without even going all the way.
I could do it.
Barely.
Because tomorrow?
Tomorrow, she walks down that aisle and becomes my wife.
Tomorrow, she says “I do,” and I get to call her mine — in every way.
No more rules.
No more limits.
No more stopping.
She’s mine.Forever.
And I swear, after tomorrow? I’m never holding back again.
