Her eyes glisten, and I press closer, breath shuddering against her lips, the truth clawing free. “I thought those unraveled lies would be the end of me. But they weren’t. They were the beginning. Because they led me to you. And you—” my voice breaks, fierce and certain all at once, “—you are my beginning, my middle, my fucking end. I am so completely, insanely in love with you, it terrifies me.”
Tears spill, hers and mine, blurring the space between us. For a suspended breath, it feels like the world stops—like neither of us knows what to do with a love this sharp, this consuming.
And then Elaine moves.
Her hands frame my face, trembling but sure, and she pulls me into a kiss that isn’t hungry or frantic—it’s surrender. It’s a vow pressed into my mouth, salt and silk, pain and wonder. I sob against her lips, and she swallows the sound, kissing me deeper, as if she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.
Her mouth is still on mine, broken sobs bleeding into the kiss, when I push her back against the couch cushions. Needing to be closer, to lose myself in the only thing that feels real.
Elaine’s hands roam everywhere, frantic, sliding beneath my shirt, gripping at my skin. My hips press down against the hard line of her thigh, the friction sending a desperate moan spilling from my lips.
“Stella,” she gasps, my name coming out as a soft plea. Her head falls back as I kiss down her throat, tasting salt—the mixture of our tears together. My teeth scrape her collarbone, and she shudders, clutching me tighter, grinding me harder against her.
The world blurs down to heat and breath and the ache of needing her everywhere. Her hand slides beneath my shorts, fingers brushing where I’m soaked for her, and I whimper into her mouth. The sound makes her groan, low and rough, before she whispers, “Always so wet for me, fuck, I love you.”
I ride her hand, gasping, breaking apart against her touch while she holds me like I’m both fragile and unbreakable. When I shatter, trembling in her lap, her lips are on mine again, swallowing every cry, every piece of me.
But I don’t let her stop there. My hands trail lower, fumbling with the button of her jeans, desperate to give back what she’s given me. I slide down her body, kissing over her stomach, sinking to my knees on the rug. She’s already wrecked from the buildup, from the emotions bleeding into every touch, and when I taste her, she cries out, clutching the couch cushions like she might break apart completely.
I worship her with my mouth, slow at first, then harder, deeper, until she’s gasping my name like a prayer, until her thighs tighten around me and she falls, undone and trembling. I keep her there, tasting her, holding her through every wave until she finally drags me back up into her arms.
We’re still tangled on the couch, breathless and undone, the taste of each other clinging to our mouths, when the sound of a voice cuts through. “Well… that was fucking hot.”
My head snaps toward the doorway. Ansel is leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a smirk wicked as sin. She tips her chin in our direction like she’s giving a toast, then turns on her heel and saunters away, leaving nothing but the echo of her words behind.
Heat floods my face. I bury it against Elaine’s chest, groaning. “God, I’m so sorry—”
Elaine’s laugh rumbles low, her fingers sliding through my hair with lazy affection. “Don’t be.” She tips my chin up, eyes glinting. “I told you, Widow… I like it when they notice.”
The words shouldn’t make me ache, but they do—shame and desire twisting together until I’m breathless all over again.
Donovan
It’s 11:45 a.m., and I’m still unpacking boxes in this shitty, overpriced studio apartment. Peeling paint, paper-thin walls, a fridge that hums like it’s dying—the kind of place that reeks of failure. But I couldn’t stay at my parents’ house another day. The shame was suffocating.
The silence gnaws at me. Every corner reminds me of Stella. Of her laugh. Her body pressed against mine. And now of her and Elaine together—like some sick fucking joke written just to break me.
I drop onto the mattress, the springs groaning under me. My phone buzzes—a text from Mac.
Mac:Slate, you’ve been sitting on those papers for months. Why not just sign them and move on?
Me:Move on? Like she did with her new fuck toy?
Mac:Man, that’s not healthy. You’re only torturing yourself.
Me:Fuck that. I hope when she’s down on Elaine, she can still taste me. My cock was in both of them first. That’s not something you wash away.
The bitterness curdles in my gut, but I cling to it. It’s all I have left.
A sharp, steely knock rattles the door. Not a neighbor. Not a delivery. Too deliberate.
I freeze, pulse hammering. When I open it, the air leaves my lungs. “Vince?” The word scrapes out of me. My chest caves in. “No. It can’t be. You’re dead.”
The man steps into the light. Not Vince. But close enough to hollow me out. Ice-blue eyes, a suit cut sharp enough to slice. “You’re not seeing ghosts,” he says, voice calm as a blade. “But trust me, Donovan—you're going to wish you were.”
Before I can react, he pushes past me, shutting the door with a snap. The tiny apartment shrinks, suffocating. “Get the fuck out,” I snarl, puffing myself up, but it sounds weak even to me.
His gaze flattens me. “Sit down. Shut the fuck up. Listen carefully.”
