It wasn’t enough. None of it was. My hands tightened in his hair, my forehead resting against his. Every beat between us felt like the edge of goodbye. I wanted to mark him somehow, leave proof that we existed, that this was real. But all I could do was hold on, harder, until I felt his heartbeat thrum against mine.
With rough hands, I stripped away his sleep pants and briefs, clutching, squeezing, fingers digging into his skin desperately. My lips traced the contours of his body, the curve of his hip, his flat stomach, the inside of his thighs. I sucked dark welts into his skin, marking him. Claiming him. Wishing it was enough to make him stay.
When he started to beg, I shoved into him roughly, only a thin coating of my saliva to ease the way. Tru cried out, digging his fingers into my arms as he hung on. I knew it burned, knewhe was biting his lip to keep from screaming, but I needed it to hurt a little. I needed to see him suffer for me, to show me his sacrifice and commitment. It wouldn’t stop my heart from breaking, but it might tame the beast inside enough to let him leave.
Maybe.
My pace was quick and sloppy as I pounded into him, skin slapping against skin, breath mingling with his as we struggled to breathe. “Gonna fuck you so hard—” I panted, face red, “you’ll still feel it when your plane lands.”
“Dare,” he moaned, locking his legs around my waist.
Usually, we tried to be quiet, mostly, so we didn’t give ourselves away to our neighbors. The walls were paper-thin. But tonight, fuck it. Fuck them. Let them hear us. Let the whole goddamn world hear us.
I wanted everyone to know Truen Jameson was mine, and I was never letting him go.
“Get up on your knees.” I helped him up and positioned him, my hand on his hip. Without finesse, I plunged back inside his tight ass and railed the fuck out of him. Tru didn't even try to hold back his screams. Every brutal thrust was a punishment. A reminder. And a plea… please stay.
Tru braced one hand against the wall to stop his head from plowing through it, the other on his dick, jacking it furiously. He cried out my name, shooting his load over the pillows. His chest collapsed into the wet mess, but I held his hips firm, his ass stuck in the air, just where I wanted it. I fucked him relentlessly, chasing my orgasm. Chasinghim.
Fucking. Stay. With. Me.It was as though I was imprintingeach word onto him with every thrust, tattooing them into his skin. When I spilled my load inside him, hot tears blinded my vision.
He hadn’t left, but the room already felt empty.
He’d left his toothbrush, his hoodie, and a half-used notebook on my desk—the corner of one page folded, like maybe he would come back. His bed was still unmade, sheets twisted like he’d just stepped out to grab coffee and would be back any minute. But I knew better.
I kept hearing his voice in my head.It’s just the summer, Dare.
But I’d lived whole lifetimes in less time than this.
The bed felt too big now. Or maybe I was just smaller without him.
I tried staying busy, doing laundry, cleaning up, even alphabetizing my playlists, but no matter what I did, the space he left behind swallowed me whole. Even the quiet had edges shaped like him.
I sat on my own bed, elbows braced on my knees, clutching the text he left me:
Landed safe. Already miss you. Dare to live it, okay? I love you.
I didn’t reply. Not yet. Because everything felt broken, like I was standing at the edge of something that used to be whole,staring at the first real distance between us and not knowing how far it would stretch.
The room still smelled of his cologne, the warm, familiar scent ghosting through the air. I closed my eyes and lay back, thumb absently tracing over the dark screen, trying to believe him when he said it was only for the summer.
I never wanted to need anyone. Until him. And now he was gone, and I didn’t know what to do with all this want, all this ache.
I thought about all the years we’d spent apart, angry, missing each other, hating each other, hating myself. So many wasted fucking years.
Some people leave without meaning to. Others mean to, but promise they’ll return. But the worst kind are the ones you love enough to let go of anyway.
And I did.
I let him go.
Because I loved him enough to want him happy.
And maybe, somewhere under all this ache, that’s what love is supposed to be, wanting someone’s peace more than your own.
Still, when the night goes quiet and my phone stays dark, I can’t help wishing he’d walk back through the door and say he changed his mind.
PART SIX: EVERYTHING WE WERE MEANT TO BE
