I don’t stop. I don’t slow down. I fuck her with a fury I can’t contain, my hips driving into hers with reckless force, bottoming out each time.
I’d come here intending to make love to her—to show her how much she means to me, to remind her that this thing between us is worth fighting for. But instead, I’m fucking her out of anger.
I’m drilling her into the mattress, my hands gripping her thighs, my chest heaving, my jaw clenched, while she moans beneath me like she doesn’t want a damn break at all—like she’s not the one ripping my heart out. I’m mad as hell, and I know I’m being rougher than I should be, but I can’t fucking stop.
I’m mad that she won’t fight for us.
Mad that I hadn’t fought harder back then, when we both left for college and let the distance and her parents win.
Mad that she’s acting like being with me isn’t worth the risk, like this thing between us isn’t important enough to try.
My pace is ruthless, unforgiving, and then I reach down, pressing my thumb against her clit like a button. She gasps, her head tipping back, a moan slipping free—the kind of moan that transports me straight back to eighteen-year-old Mae.
The girl who didn’t even realize she had a clit until I showed her.
Fuck, I taught her that too.
Her body tenses, her walls clamping around me so tight I can barely move, strangling my cock as her pleasure rips through her.
And that’s it. That’s all I can take.
Two more thrusts and I feel it—my release slamming into me so violently it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs, my cock swells before I spill inside the condom with so much force it fucking stuns me.
I pull out immediately, my body still shuddering, my own orgasm ripping through me in waves I can’t process. I move to the foot of the bed, panting, my chest tight, my heart a mess.
I can’t stay.
I can’t lie here and hold her like I want to.
Can’t stay wrapped up in her, pretending like this is enough—like it’s not killing me that she’s pulling away, that she’s forcing this break when all I want to do is keep her.
I need to get the fuck out of here before I explode. Before I say something that I can’t take back. Before she decides a break isn’t enough and ends things for good.
I push off the bed and storm into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. Yanking off the used condom, I toss it in the trash, then brace both hands against the counter,forcing air into my lungs, forcing myself to breathe through the ache, through the frustration, through the fucking devastation clawing at my chest.
I lift my head, locking eyes with my own reflection.
I look wrecked.
Wrecked, raw, and ruined.
When I glance down, my dick is still hard, and it’s a painful reminder of what just happened—of what I just lost, of what I never really had to begin with.
I rip open the bathroom door and stride back into the room, grabbing my jeans off the floor and yanking them over my hips without so much as looking at her.
I should kiss her goodbye.
Should say something to validate this whole stupid break, to make her feel better about the fact that she’s shoving me away before I leave for another long stretch of concerts.
But I’m too fucking bitter.
Too angry.
Too tired of fighting for something she’s already decided isn’t worth keeping.
So instead, I spit out the only words I can manage, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I stalk toward the door.
“I’ll have my manager call you if I fuck up on tour and need my publicist.”
