“Surprise me.”
She does more than that. She starts out slow, then rides me hard, her breasts bouncing and lips parted. Her moans are music to my ears as she fucks my cock like I’m her personal rodeo. I’m not going to last. One more slide, and I roar her name, seeing fucking stars.
She collapses onto my chest, her breasts soft against me, her nipples stiff as bullets. Both of us breathing hard.
I drag my fingers down the seam of her ass to the opening of her pussy. She’s soaked, her legs spread wide over me, still in a straddle. I gather her juices and my semen and smear it over the tender hood of her clit. She moans, but I want to make it better. More intense.
“Close your legs tight around my hand,” I murmur.
She shifts, lying along my body, trapping my hand between her silky thighs.
“Oh God, Chaz.” She groans against the curve of my throat, her mouth nipping at the skin as she squeezes tighter and bucks into my working fingers.
It’s almost enough to get me off again. When I feel her reaching and straining for it, I increase my pace. Her heart pounds against mine, and I give that nub a soft, deliberate pinch just where she needs it.
“Chaz,” she cries into my shoulder, her body quaking so hard from her release that the sheer force echoes deep inside me.
Soothing her in the aftermath, I hold her close, stroking her back, smoothing my hands down her spine. I continue myjourney over the curves of her ass cheeks, round and soft like a peach, until she settles and sighs in contentment.
“That was incredible,” she murmurs, lifting her head. She looks sated and radiant—just beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is dreamy. “I could definitely get used to mornings like this.”
“At your service.” I grin, kissing her cute nose. If I play my cards right, I’ll soon have her wifey-ed up and making this a habit.
While I shower and dress, she makes me eggs and toast. “Very domestic,” I tease, sliding my arms around her waist from behind.
“Don’t get any ideas about keeping me in the kitchen.”
“That’s okay. I prefer you in the bedroom.”
She elbows my ribs, pretending offense. Laughing, I lean back in and noisily kiss her neck, wishing neither of us had to work and could spend the day together.
“Come over tonight and bring a bag.”
I’d pack all her stuff and move her in with me right now. But I can also be patient.
The last piece of the puzzle is pinched between my finger and thumb. It’s taken me weeks to get to this point—weeks of quiet mornings, fitting together tiny fragments that at first seemed chaotic and disjointed. But now, the picture is clear: The Tree of Life. Its roots deep in rich soil, and its leafy branches stretch upward, shimmering with colors of every season.
I hesitate a moment. For so long, I felt blurred—like a photograph that was out of focus. I didn’t know who I was, onlywho I was expected to be. I felt like I had no control over my mind, my body, my life. But now, I see it clearly. Every moment of fear, pain, and uncertainty was an important piece—none of it was wasted. It all led me here.
To Bayside.
To this cozy little cottage and the warm café that smells of espresso.
To Chaz, whose love doesn’t demand perfection.
To finding out who I am.
I press the final piece into the gap, and it clicks in softly—complete.
There’s no going back. Alexandra Townsen will always be a part of me, but she belongs in the past—a layer I’ve shed for good.
What I’ve done will outrage my father. My mother will be mortified. Neither will ever forgive me. Our relationship, such as it was, is over. That’s sad. They’re my parents. But my father made his choice, and I made mine.
I have no regrets. I will choose Chaz and Sophia every time, and now, I’m choosing myself too.
Their voices spill into the hallway as I let myself in. I drop my overnight bag in the foyer, unwind my scarf, hang up my coat, and neatly place my boots on the mat. With a bottle of wine in hand, I follow the sound of their debate to the kitchen.
“Beyoncé is the best entertainer of all time,” Sophia insists, her tone absolute. No surprise.
