I swallow again. I can't believe I said that.
But he will never let me go otherwise.
He blinks, caught off guard. Then all the air leaves his lungs at once.
There's a terrible silence where we just look at each other—me trying not to run to him, him trying not to beg.
"Yeah," he says finally, his voice defeated. "Yeah, I understand. I know it's selfish of me to ask for more when you're bleeding too. You should live your life, without this. I just... hate that I'm supposed to let you go. Hate the idea of being without you."
Before he finishes, my body closes the space between us. I don't throw my arms around him—there's no time—because he's already pulling me in, and for a long time we just hold each other, silent and not so silent as we both shake, because there is no elegant way of saying goodbye when you don't want to. Then my hand slides to his neck on its own, guiding him down to me to kiss me.
He meets my gaze. "Don't do this unless you mean it."
"I mean it. One more time."
The words barely leave my mouth before his hand finds my jaw, gentle and claiming at once, and then we're kissing through the salt. His arms are under me, lifting me onto him as I wrap my legs around his torso. He carries me to the bed that has witnessed every version of us—tender, brutal, always mad for each other—and lays me down gently.
When his shirt hits the floor, my heart follows.
My fingers trace the hard curve of his shoulder that I used to bite, the line running down between his chest, all the way to the place my body will never forget him.
Ben strips down, then undresses me very slowly. My legs fall open, inviting him in, but he stays put—dragging his eyes over my bare body like he needs a moment.
"If this is our last time..." He drags in a breath and swallows thickly. "I'll make sure you feel how much I want you."
He lowers himself to me, kissing and licking every inch of my body, from my neck to my toes. Then he lies down and his head dips between my thighs, spreading me like something sacred and his tongue sweeps through me. He eats me like I'm his last supper, devoted but starved, taking his time, gliding through me as I unravel against his shoulders.
And the truth is, I don't want to describe what happens next because some moments aren't meant to be narrated—they're meant to be lived, drowned in, and maybe remembered later, when you can breathe again. So I hope you forgive me when I keep most of this moment for myself.
Ben pins me under his weight, every thrust deliberate and final, and I'm crying—partly from the way he fills me, mostly from the knowing that this is the last time I'll ever feel him this completely.
I wonder if we ever pass each other again, years from now, in another city, another life, will it still hurt this much? I think it will.
The tears won’t stop, even as the pleasure rises, sending tremors through my body. I’m shaking with my legs cinched around him as he kisses my wet cheeks and eyes.
“I don’t care where we are, Emma,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“Always,” I whisper.
“Always,” he echoes, but the word cracks straight throughhis voice. His expression shatters at the same moment we do.
I come apart in his arms, splintering into a thousand pieces, and I hope they all lodge somewhere inside him.
We stay tangled, breath against breath, our eyes holding on to each other.
Then his jaw tightens, and he looks at me like he's trying to swallow whatever's clawing up his throat.
"I wish I could tell you to move on, find someone better, but I can't. I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else." His eyes cut away as he sucks in a sharp breath. "I’ll hate him. I already do. I fucking hate him, and he doesn’t even exist yet."
“Ben…” I whisper, thumb tracing his jaw.
"Don’t listen to me. I’m just sad and angry. But I'll always want you happy."
"I know."
His eyes—those impossibly beautiful, ruinous eyes—find mine.
And that's the last time I saw them.
