He pushes into me, and I gasp. The stretch, the fullness, everything is like I remember it, but bigger andbetter. I moan into his lips, and he kisses me deeper. His thrusts start slow, deep like he’s savoring it. Like he’s reclaiming something, his hands grip my hips, and my nails dig into his back. I lift my hips to meet him, and when I feel him that deep, a moan escapes me, and he groans. “I used to dream about this. About you moaning my name.” My brain short-circuits, and when I think I could speak, his fingers find my clit, and that’s it for me.
“Ethan, don’t stop—” He smirks. “Are you begging?” I roll my eyes; he laughs and thrusts deeper. “I won’t stop, not until you’re done.” I fall apart. It slams into me hard, my whole body is shaking; my thighs are trembling. I cry out, muffled against his shoulder as the orgasm rips through me.
He follows, hips stuttering. “Liv, I’m…fuck?—”
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. I want to feel him finish inside of me. I missed this, and if we’re doing it, I need to feel it all. His groan is raw as he spills into me, his body pressed tight to mine. Then, slowly, he slides out, only to push back in again, slow and deep, making me gasp. And then he holds me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. And I cling to him like I just might.
We stayed like that for a while, his arms around me, my cheek pressed against the familiar shape of his chest. The storm outside is a living thing, rattling the windows, throwing flashes of light across the room. But in here, it’s still. Quiet. Like the rest of the world, it finally gave us permission to stop pretending.
The clock ticks somewhere behind us. The air smells like rain and dust and him. “I should hate you,” I say intothe silence, my voice small, half swallowed by the thunder. “For making me feel like this again.” His breath catches before he answers. “I should hate myself,” he says, voice low and uneven.
I turn in his arms. He doesn’t flinch. His eyes find mine, tired, tender, full of something that feels like grief and hope tangled together. “I loved you so much,” I whisper. He nods, swallowing hard. “I never stopped.” That does it. The tears come, hot and fast. I hate that I’m crying. I hate crying, but these aren’t tears of regret. This doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels inevitable. Like gravity, like coming home. They’re for the years we lost. For every word we swallowed, every phone call we didn’t make, every night, I convinced myself I was fine.
“I built a life trying to forget you,” I say quietly. My throat feels tight. “Every decision I made after you, it was like I was trying to build proof that I’d moved on.”
He shakes his head. “I built my life trying to deserve you.” That shatters something in me I didn’t know was still fragile. For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then I reach for his hand, slow, uncertain, like it’s the first time all over again. He laces his fingers through mine, holds tight, not desperate, just steady.
We don’t say anything else. There’s nothing left to explain.
The storm keeps raging, rain thrashing the glass, wind howling like it’s mourning something too. And still, we stay there, wrapped in silence and in each other, letting the world outside fall apart.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ETHAN
The morning suncomes up slow, like it’s not sure it should be here yet. The rain stopped. The storm’s gone. At least the one outside is. Because whatever happened last night was its own kind of disaster— a beautiful, impossible, completely wrong mess. And yeah, I should probably hate myself for it. I should be full of guilt and logic and all the good reasons why this can’t happen again.
But I’m not. Not even close.
She’s lying on her side, one leg kicked out from under the blanket, the sheet twisted around her waist. Hair everywhere. Her face is half-buried in the pillow. Completely wrecked and beautiful. For a minute, I just stand there, watching her breathe, that soft rise and fall that makes my chest feel tight. She looks peaceful, and I know it’s temporary. Any second now, she’ll wake up, and reality will crash back in. I scrub a hand over my face,sigh, and look around. The place smells like rain and old carpet. I need coffee.
The motel machine is a relic, the kind that gurgles and wheezes like it’s dying, spitting out something that technically qualifies as caffeine. I fill it up with tap water, drop in one of those sad little packets, and hit “brew.” It starts dripping, slow and uneven. I lean against the counter, watching the steam rise, trying not to think. But of course, I think about last night. About how she looked at me like she wanted to hate me and couldn’t. About how I told myself to stop, and didn’t
The smell of coffee must’ve woken her. I hear the sheets rustle behind me, but I keep my eyes on the sink, pretending I didn’t notice. The air feels heavier with her awake.
I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The pipes groan for a second before the water evens out. Steam starts to fill the small space, curling up the mirror until my reflection disappears. For a few seconds, the sound of the water is the only thing that makes sense. Then there’s a knock—soft, hesitant. “Can I come in?” Part of me wants to say no, because that would be the smart move. But of course, she can come in. I tried to play it cool earlier, but I’m dying to kiss her again, to touch her. I smile. “You’re already halfway there.”
The door creaks open. She steps inside, barefoot, one hand rubbing at her face, hair a wild mess of sleep. “Just need to wash my face and my mouth,” she mutters. The shower’s already running; water drums against my shoulders and the tile. I nod toward the sink. “It’s all yours.”She’s looking at me, and I’m letting her. She leans over the basin, splashes her face, and glances up, catching my reflection in the fogged mirror. “Room for one more?”
I tilt my head, grinning. “Get in.” Her breasts bounce as she lifts the hoodie over her head. My cock twitches immediately. She’s not wearing panties, and I don’t know what to look at, so I settle for her eyes. She gets in, ignoring me and going straight to the water. I stand behind her, and as soon as I kiss her neck, she twists and meets my lips. And while I’m craving her kisses, I’m dying to be between her legs again.
“I want to taste you,” I say while I drop to my knees. I pull one of her legs over my shoulder and spread her open. Eyes on hers the whole time, I want her squirming. As soon as my tongue touches her, she rocks into my mouth. I slide one finger into her and curl it up; she nearly collapses. “Ethan, fuck—” This is precisely how I want her. I stand up, lift her fast, her legs around my waist. My cock presses against her, hard and ready. She’s soaked. I slide into her slowly and deeply, and we both groan. She clenches around me instantly.
This time is rough; neither of us is stopping to even think about the next move. Every thrust tighter than the last. Her nails dig into my back, her mouth finds my neck, her breath is ragged. She comes hard, head back, eyes shut, my name on a gasp. I don’t last long after that. I bury myself deep and groan her name, hips stuttering as I let go inside her. We stand there for a while, pressed together under the water, breathing each other in.
We finish our shower, dry off,and get out. She’s about to walk back to the bed to get dressed when I stop her with a hand on her wrist. “Drop the towel.” She freezes. “Lay down,” I say, voice low. “Spread your legs.” She nods, drops the towel, and sits on the bed with her legs wide open.
Now, this is a view.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OLIVIA
His voicealone makes my stomach clench and makes me wet. I should be embarrassed of thinking like that, but at this point, I don’t even care anymore. So, I lose the towel, sit on the bed, and open my legs. He drops his towel and fuck me! He looks good. Last night I couldn’t see it all, and in the shower, everything happened so fast that I didn’t have time to admire his body.
He is all muscle, and he is big, and he’s staring at me right now. He kneels between my thighs and spreads me open. His eyes lock on mine, then his mouth is on me. The first lick wrecks me. My hips jerk, a moan escapes, loud, needy. I grab at the sheets, breath ragged, thighs already shaking. His tongue moves slowly, then faster. Teasing me, torturing me. Like he knows exactly what I need and exactly how to hold back until I break.
A finger slides in. I arch off the bed with a moan. His other hand finds my breast, thumb circling my nippleuntil it’s tight and aching. He looks up at me, eyes dark, focused. Watching me fall apart. “You about to finish?” he asks, voice low. I nod, wild and breathless. “Good,” he says. “Do it in my mouth.” And I do. My whole body clenches, legs shaking, toes curling, fingers digging into the sheets. But he doesn’t stop.
