Estella leans into my touch, pressing her forehead briefly to mine as she pushes down until she sits fully on me—her body stretching, trembling, accommodating every last part of me before she finally, greedily, swallows me whole.
Shifting her rhythm, she begins to rock her hips back and forth, each movement sharper, more deliberate, until she’s fucking me in earnest. A gasp tears from her throat when the chair’s arms finally snap under my grip, wood cracking loud enough to echo through the room. The sound spurs her on—her pace quickens, her desperation matching mine beat for beat.
The room fills with the frantic cadence of our bodies, skin slapping hard, breath turning ragged, moans tumbling out of us without restraint. We’re both seconds from breaking, but neither of us crosses the line. We hold the promise, hold the distance, hold the restraint that somehow turns everything hotter.
We take everything from each other.
And we give everything back.
Pleasure crashes over me in relentless waves—bigger, brighter, fiercer than anything before. A faint ringing hums in my ears, a hot buzz sparking beneath my skin, and it strikes me with startling clarity.
I must have been fucking dead for years, because only now I feel like I’m finally breathing for the first time.
That truth imprints itself inside me as Estella lunges forward and crushes her mouth to mine. Her teeth sink into my lower lip, tugging until she tastes the dried blood, then she moves to the upper one, biting, sucking, claiming. I groan into her, whispering against her lips as she tears me open, layer after layer, until something snaps inside me, the force of it blinding.
I detonate.
A shattered moan rips from deep inside me as I spill into her, my body breaking apart under the force of release. She collapses with me, convulsing in sync, her pussy clenching so tightly around me as if she’s terrified I’ll slip away.
I thrust up into her a few more times, helping her ride the crest of her orgasm until her arms wrap around my neck,clinging to me like an anchor. Our foreheads collide gently, breaths syncing, chests heaving as we struggle to find the ground again.
Heavy, warm silence settles over the room, broken only by the soft, uneven gasps we try to steady.
My hands drift across her back, tracing slow circles over her trembling skin. Gradually, a realization creeps in before exploding in my mind like a bolt of lightning slamming into a bare tree, sending chills racing up my arms.
Because in the aftermath… There is no cold.
No freezing void creeping in.
No claws of ice, no dark whispers, no echoing emptiness.
Only warmth. A blooming, tingling comfort I’ve never known—born right here, in the wreckage of our breathing, forged in the spark of everything we just created.
A new star, lit from the flames of us.
I’m still frozen, limbs soft and useless, as if spun from cotton candy. She slips off me, and the absence of her sends a hollow ache through my chest. A thought claws its way up from the back of my mind—the instinct to rise, to clean her, to kiss her, to dress her, to do anything that keeps me anchored.
But I can’t.
Not when a violent storm is ripping through me, each wave crashing so hard I have to consciously remind myself to breathe. My vision smears at the edges, and my mouth falls open slightly when she settles on the bed in front of me. Through the haze, I catch the softness in her eyes—no questions, no urgency. She simply sits.
A lighthouse in a blackened sea while my own vessel gets tossed and dragged beneath the swell.
“You are not broken, Dante,” she says softly.
I press my lips together, desperate to hold back the tremors that begin to shake me. They feel unnervingly familiar, like amemory resurfacing through the warmth still clinging to my skin.
I’ve known these tremors. I’ve lived with them. They’ve etched themselves into my bones, followed me like a shadow I never asked for.
“I’m—” The words choke, thick and wet, as something burns at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t understand.”
The air shifts, growing heavier, almost suffocating. Her words seem to uncork something hidden inside me, letting it spill out and stain the space between us.
“Your need to turn pain into pleasure,” she continues, her voice trembling with something that mirrors my own inner unraveling. “Remember what you told me? About where it comes from?”
I nod slowly. “Yes. My father.”
The admission leaves my mouth with unsettling ease. I’ve already remembered what he did to me, and after being with Estella, I’ve begun to face it, even when it slices me open.
