A final goodbye.
All I knew was that he wanted to see me. When the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, my breath hitched. Ignatius didn’t give me time to hesitate. He placed a hand on my back, a surprisingly gentle pressure. “Come,” he said softly.
We walked down the carpeted hallway, the muted hum of conversations and televisions seeping through closed doors. My vision blurred more than once; I blinked rapidly, not wanting to fall apart before we even arrived.
We stopped in front of room 823. The number glowed gold. If I touched it, I was sure it would burn me. Ignatius knocked once, a deep, commanding sound. The door opened almost immediately.
Cole stood there.
His All-Star hoodie hung loose around his shoulders, his hair damp from a shower, cheeks flushed from lingering heat. But his eyes—
God.
They were red.
And exhausted.
And hurting.
And searching my face like he wasn’t sure I was real.
Something inside me fractured so sharply I thought I might collapse. I might have sobbed, but all of a sudden, I was in his arms.
“Phoenix,” he whispered. "I'm so sorry, baby."
I heard the door click shut behind me, but I didn't care. I was frantic. Nothing like the first time. No careful, lingering touches or nervous laughter, just heat and hunger and the kind of desperation you only get when you think you might lose someone and then you find them again.
I didn’t even try to pretend I had self-control. My fingers shook as I yanked his hoodie off. He was already tugging my shirt up, muttering, “Come here, please, just—I need, I need,” and the way his hands clenched at my hips like he’d never let go again made my chest ache.
I managed to kiss him, mouths colliding, teeth almost clacking, and I didn’t care. He tasted like mint and salt and something wild. He grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, and I popped two buttons getting it over my head, but neither of us even blinked.
He pushed me toward the bed, and I nearly tripped over my own feet, but he caught me, strong arms locking around me like he could anchor himself with my spine. I shoved his sweats off and he toed out of them, baring both of us in seconds. I barely remembered stepping out of my own jeans, just remembered heat, bare skin, my cock hard and leaking against his thigh as he yanked me down onto the mattress.
I thought I’d be nervous. Or slow. But I wasn’t. I was trembling, but it wasn’t fear—it was relief. Relief so sharp I nearly sobbed when his mouth found mine again, hot and desperate, like if he stopped for even a second he’d vanish.
He cupped my jaw, gentle only for a heartbeat, then bit my lip and my cock jerked. He kissed down my throat, open-mouthed, sucking hard enough to leave marks. I wanted the marks. I wanted every bruise, every scrape, every ache to be proof that I still belonged to him.
“Cole,” I whispered. I didn’t even know what I was asking for.More. Everything. Never stop.
His hands shook as he fumbled for the lube, nearly dropping it, but I caught his wrist and kissed his palm before I pushed it back into his hand. “Please,” I told him, “now. I want you.”
He nodded like his life depended on it. I rolled on my back, pulled my knees up, shameless, and he groaned, messy and unguarded. His fingers slicked me fast, no patience left, but I didn’t want patience, I just wanted him to fill me. I didn’t care if it hurt—I wanted it to hurt a little, so I’d remember every second.
Once, twice, and then he was lining up, condom on before I’d even blinked. He braced over me, eyes locked on mine, searching like he needed to be sure I was really here.
“Are you okay? Are you sure?” His voice shook on the last word.
I laughed, breathless, and dragged him down for a kiss. “I’m never more sure. Please, Cole, please…” I just took it, every inch, every goddamn second. There was nothing slow or careful about it—not now, not after everything. I wanted him to remember me tomorrow. No, I needed him to.
And he fuckingdelivered. He was shaking above me, braced on his arms, and then I locked my legs around his waist and yanked him in as deep as I could physically take. Hurt, in the best possible way. Stretched and burning and I didn't want to stop, not once.
I hissed and grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him closer. He snapped his hips, not gentle at all, and I rocked with it, sweat slicking our skin together. "Harder," I begged—not a breath between the words—and he slammed into me, and I almost blacked out from how much I wanted it.
His voice wrecked me. "I missed you so much," he said, barely more than a rasp, breathed right against my ear, and I nearly lost it right there. I could feel him everywhere. There wasn't a single inch of me he didn't own.
I wanted him to break.
He did.
