And that’s when I feel something I have never felt before. A rush came through me, I felt like I was going to explode, he kept going, two fingers in, curled up, his mouth on me, licking through it, drawing it out until I’m gasping for air. His other hand pressed lower in my stomach until I lost all the control I had left. This has never happened before. “Good girl.” He says as he kisses my thigh like it’s a reward.
I’m all over his face, his hands, the sheets. I’m shaking and still trying to remember how to breathe. I bury my face in my arm, half-embarrassed, half-high. He crawls up and kisses me. I can taste myself on his tongue. Then he pulls back and grins. “Was that your first time squirting?” I nod; my cheeks are on fire. I’m not embarrassed about sex; I love sex, but I hate being surprised or feeling out of control, and this was both.
He brushes his lips across my jaw, walking backward to the chair across the room where he put his towel earlier. “I’m honored to be your first.Again.” I smile at him as I mutter “Fuck you,” Because fuck him, but alsofuck him.
He sits down and starts stroking himself, and I’m here salivating for this man. “Come here,” and as I stand, he puts his other hand up, “uh uh, crawl,” he says,signaling the floor. And God help me, but I got on my knees with no hesitation, and I hated this rug. When I reach him, he grabs my face with one hand and, with the other, guides himself into my mouth. I watch his eyes close as I stroke with one hand, and I take him deep, tongue swirling, lips tight. His groan is low and rough, his hips twitching. His hands slide into my hair, guiding me. “Fuck, Liv. I’m close.”
I keep going, faster, deeper. “I want to finish in your mouth,” he says. “If you want that, of course.” I meet his eyes. Nod once and keep going. He groans, spilling into my mouth. I swallow all of it, I don’t even flinch. And I don’t look away. He pulls me up and kisses me hard. He didn’t even care; he just finished in my mouth. And fuck that’s even hotter.
Then, without a word, he grabs me, pushes me into the bed, spreads my legs, and slides into me in one deep thrust. I gasp. My nails digging into his shoulders, I moan, he moans, it’s a mess. He moves like he already memorized every inch of my body, and I let him. Every stroke hits deeper. I wrap my legs around him, hands in his hair, breath stuttering. “Ethan—” I choke out.
His eyes are locked on mine. “I can’t get enough of you, Olivia. I can’t stop.” And I don’t want him to. He pulls me on top as he sits on the bed. I ride him slowly, grinding into him until his hands find my breasts, teasing my nipples, making me cry out again. We finish together this time, moaning into each other’s mouths, our bodies shaking. And if I had to choose, this is my new favorite sex memory of us. After our first time,of course.
“Was it always like that?” His voice pulls me out of the fog I’ve been drifting in.
“What?”
“Us,” he murmurs. “The way we… fit. Was it always like that, or did I forget?” I turn my head toward him. The ceiling is pale gray in the early light, the kind of light that makes everything look more honest than you want it to. His hand is warm against mine, fingers brushing the edge of my palm like he’s afraid I’ll pull away.
“You clearly didn’t forget,” I say, and a laugh slips out before I can stop it, soft, uneven, a nervous laugh more than anything. He exhales, eyes still on the ceiling. “Tell me this isn’t just nostalgia or grief,” he says quietly. “Tell me I’m not the only one who feels like you still belong to me.”
I should lie. God, I should. I should give him the practical answer, the responsible one. The one that lets us both off the hook. But my throat tightens around the truth. “You’re not the only one.”
We fall into silence. For a while, we just stare at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on us. I can almost feel the next thought rising in him, the one that will pull us backward again, and I need to stop it. I need to move this to a safer place before I drown in it.
“Can we go back to the conversation we were having on our way here yesterday?” He says his voice is low.
“That’s all I wanted to read about the letter, at least for now, and we agreed we won’t discuss the box until we go back.” He nods. “Also, I guess by now you should imagine what’s in the box.” He nods again. He doesn’tsay anything, and neither do I. The reality is that the letter and the box would’ve changed everything sixteen years ago, hell, even ten years ago. But now? Now we can’t. It's not our time, and despite the bubble we are in right now, we both know this can’t happen ever again.
“I need to say something. You’re not going to like it, I don’t even like it, but someone has to say it.” He sits down on the bed and murmurs, “I know what you are going to say, and you’re right.” Does he really? I feel like we are still in the post sex haze. “We can’t do this again. We had our little adventure here, our bubble, but as soon as we walk out of that door, this needs to remain here.” He nods, looks at me, and says, “You are mine, Olivia, always have been, always will be,” kissing my thigh. This man is the death of me.
And then the wake-up call arrives. Pun absolutely intended. His phone buzzes on the nightstand, cutting through the quiet like it’s been waiting for the perfect moment to ruin everything. He glances at the screen, then at me. A split second of hesitation, before he picks it up and walks into the bathroom.
The door clicks shut, but the walls in this place are paper-thin. I don’t even have to lean in to hear him. And now I feel like shit. ‘Yeah, love you too.’ Nope, I was wrong,nowI feel like actual shit.
What was I thinking? He has a wife. I have a husband. And yet here I am, wrapped in the mess we made. I sit up, pull the blanket around me like that’ll help, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
What kind of woman does this? Why did I let ithappen? The questions come fast, tripping over each other, and I can’t answer a single one. Then, just as quickly, the truth hits, ugly and simple and undeniable. I’m the kind of woman who’s still in love with her first love.
I’m doing this because I love him. Because somewhere between growing up, getting married, and pretending to move on, I never really stopped.
‘I’m doing this because I love him; I never stopped loving him, ’ I repeat to myself as I groan and drag a hand down my face. “Oh, fuck me,” I whisper into the empty room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ETHAN
She’s already dressedwhen I step out of the bathroom, hair pulled back, shoes on, bag in hand like she’s been ready for hours. Her eyes slide past me, not unfriendly, just… guarded.
I don’t know how to face her after that call. I know this isn’t easy. I know it looks worse than it sounds and feels worse than either of us will admit. I also know exactly what’s tearing me apart. I just told my wife I love you. The words came out on instinct, years of habit, muscle memory. And now, standing here, looking at Olivia, I want to say it again, this time to her.
I love them both. How the hell does that even happen?
I thought I buried her a long time ago. I told myself she was a chapter that ended clean. But the truth is, I never closed that book; I just threw a blanket over it and pretended it wasn’t there. And yes, I always knew I lovedher, past tense, safe tense. But standing here, watching her zip her jacket and avoid my eyes, I know it’s still now.
She’s not just someone I loved. She’s the one I can’t stop loving.
I’m so completely and hopelessly fucked.
