"I need you," she gasps.
My jeans are shoved down, barely past my hips, and my hand moves toward my wallet. The leather is wrong under my trembling fingers, too familiar from a hundred other nights that meant nothing.
But this . . . this means everything.
The latex catches on my shaking fingers as I fumble with the wrapper, breath lodged somewhere high in my throat, everything in me wound tight and trembling. Her fingers guide mine as I roll the condom on, every delicate stroke sending my eyes rolling back.
I've never been careful with anything in my life. Never had to be. But she's the only pure thing in my world, and I'm about to ruin her with everything I was never taught to handle gently. Just like I knew the second she looked at me as if I could be more than this.
Everything about this is so fucking messy.
Her breath catches against my neck, fingers digging into my shoulders, and I know I should stop. Should walk away before we break something we can't fix. But I want her, like if I don't have her right now, I might actually die.
Her back hits the cushions and I move over her, everything narrowing to the press of her body against mine as I push in, desperate for the quiet it brings. She's tight, scorching,perfect, and I'm already unraveling.
"Shit, wait," I grit out, trying to give us both a second to adjust, but Ivy shifts her hips and everything shorts out.
Her heels dig into my thighs. I thrust in hard, a groan tearing out of me. Her gasp hits like a shockwave, knocking the air from my lungs. For a moment, everything stills.
Then she moves.
And I fucking lose it.
My hips snap forward, hard and uncontrolled. Ivy's hands are clutching my arms, her face pressed into my neck. I'm just rutting into her like an animal, chasing my own release.
She tries to match my rhythm, but it's messy. Off-beat. Her movements stumble and don't match mine.
Wrong.
All wrong.
But I'm too lost in her to stop, too scared of what happens when this ends.
Her hands slide against my shoulders without pressure, just there because they should be. I glance down and my heart stops. Her eyes fix somewhere past me. There's no tension building, no flush creeping over her chest, no tremor in her thighs, no soft moans. She's letting me rush through it.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I thrust harder,like that'll fix it.
"I need this," I whisper, but the words aren't for her. They're for me. For the storm still raging inside my chest. For the version of myself I've been trying to outrun. The one I swore she'd never see.
My rhythm gets erratic. Sloppy. I'm chasing something that's not even physical.
"It's okay," she whispers, meeting my eyes. "Just finish." And those words gut me.
And because I'm a selfish prick, I do.
My orgasm hits hard, punishment and relief tangled so tightly I can't tell them apart. I come with a groan that borders on pain, everything in me breaking loose at once.
She exhales softly beneath me. A careful, measured breath that screams regret.
Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water as I collapse beside her, chest heaving, skin cooling rapidly in the air. For a long moment, neither of us move or speak.
"Well," Ivy finally says, voice too light, too careful. "I guess the universe really does have a sick sense of humor sometimes."
Something in her tone makes my heart break. Like she's deciding, right now, that this was a mistake. That I'm not worth it, and pulling away before I can stop her. Leaving.
"Right." I force a laugh that lands somewhere between bitter and broken. "Guess it's all part of the universe's grand plan, huh? Everything happens for a reason, all that witchy bullshit?"
