He leaned forward. Mouth beside my ear. “This isn’t punishment.”
A pause.
An exhale.
“It’sneed.”
He pulled back.
Slow.
Almost out.
Then slid back in.
My head dropped. My eyes closed. He did it again. And again. Still no words. Only breath. Only the sound of his hips meeting mine.
Each thrust built slower than the last. He fucked me like he was trying to memorize it. Like he knew it might be the last time. Like this moment had to hold all the ones we lost.
His fingers slid up my sides. Thumbs brushing beneath my ribs. I arched into the touch. Not from pleasure. From relief.
Because he was still touching me like I mattered. His mouth dropped to my shoulder. He bit down once. Not to hurt. To mark. To stay grounded.
I moaned softly. He exhaled harder.
Then his hand slid forward. Found the ache between my thighs. Worked it slow. Just like his hips. A rhythm. A ritual.
I breathed his name. He answered with a thrust. Harder. Deeper.
His mouth returned to my ear. “Don’t go quiet on me.”
I choked on a laugh. It cracked halfway out of my throat. “I’m here.”
He groaned.
Like that was the only thing he needed to hear.
I came with a gasp. Soft. Raw. No scream. No collapse. Just breath. Given back to him. Because he asked.
He didn’t pull out right away. He stayed inside me. His hands flattened over my hips. My back pressed to his chest.
The water beat down on our skin. Too hot now. Starting to burn. But neither of us moved. His chest rose behind me. Pressed into my spine. And then he spoke.
“I almost didn’t make it in time.”
It wasn’t a confession. It was a wound.
I turned slowly. His body slid from mine. The loss a sharp, aching thing. He let me turn. Let me face him.
His eyes didn’t look like stone now. They looked like aftermath. Like smoke rising after the collapse.
I touched his cheek. He leaned into it. Just slightly.
“But you did. You did make it,” I whispered. “You found me, like I knew you would.”
He shook his head.
“I shouldn’t have had to.”
