His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me again as if I weighed nothing.I wrapped my legs around him, held on as he positioned himself at my entrance, his tip sliding against me—slick and hot, teasing.
“Feel that?”he murmured against my jaw, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance.“That stretch?That burn?That’s mine.”
Then he pushed inside.
Slow at first, like he wanted to taste every inch of it.My body opened around him, clenched around him, welcoming him as if he belonged there.I gasped—full, overwhelmed, wrecked—and he groaned, forehead pressing against mine as he bottomed out.
“Fuck,” he growled.“So goddamn tight.You feel like heaven.”
I moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, body arching into his thrust as he started to move—slow, deep, devastating.
And I couldn’t think.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t remember anything but him, us, and how much I loved him.
Forever, I said, until forever ended, of course.
ChapterThirty-Five
Roderick
May 9th, 1997
Kit shakes her head as if trying to wipe away everything my confession dredged up.Like she’s exorcising me from her bloodstream—scraping me from her ribs, her throat, her memory.
“No.”Her voice cracks through the room like a match striking.“You’re not allowed to go there.”She looks at me, her mouth trembling even as she holds her spine straight.“We’re over.You ...you destroyed me.You can’t come and say you fucking crave me—like you own me.”
I close my eyes and squeeze them shut, jaw tightening.I drag a breath through my nose like it might hold me together.It doesn’t.
“You did the one thing I—” Her voice rises, louder now, but splintered.“You swore you wouldn’t be like them.Was that the only time?I bet it wasn’t.”
Her words cut deeper than she probably intends them to.Because they’re nothing but the truth.And because I fucking deserve them.
Had there been other times?That question unravels like a thread I don’t want her pulling on.The answer isn’t clear, and I doubt she’d believe anything I said now.Fuck, I’m not sure I believe myself anymore.She’s right—I broke that promise.It doesn’t matter how I got there, in the end, I became exactly like them.
Like our parents, who used to chant that bullshit mantra:What happens on tour stays on tour.If we’re not in the same state, I can fuck whoever I want because I have needs.As if that makes it fine.As if betrayal’s less lethal when zipped into a suitcase and dragged across a state line.
“Once you’re an artist, you give yourself to the public,” they’d said.Become who your fans want.
Be who they crave.That was Connor’s philosophy.And I followed it—blind, hungry, and stupid.
This moment—it reminds me of those emails I recently exchanged about exes.Kit doesn’t need this.She doesn’t need me, standing here like a fucking ghost who refuses to die.I look at her and she’s ...a grown-up with her shit together, unlike me.
She’s thriving.She’s moved on.And I’m the itch she already scratched off her skin.
But I’m still here.Because maybe this is my last shot at saying what I never said right.The last shot at having a career—a life.
“I’ve ...”My throat closes up.I can’t lie, not now.I can’t say I’ve changed.It hasn’t even been that long since I was bullshitting everyone just to sneak a few lines before soundcheck.
I scrub a hand down my face.Try again.“I’m trying to change.I don’t know who the fuck I am yet, but—how can I become anyone if no one gives me a chance?”
It’s probably the most honest thing I’ve said outside a therapist’s office or rehab.And it lands like a naked confession dropped into the middle of traffic.
Kit’s voice softens.“Listen.”She crosses her arms, but it’s not defensive anymore.It’s protective.“I understand this is an illness.You’re a recovering addict.You’ll carry that forever.I admire your resilience.I do.”
I brace for the hit.It comes.
