He looked up at me with hooded eyes, his lips parted in a grin that spoke volumes about what he wanted.
“Do you trust me?” he asked softly. I nodded vigorously, unable to find words but desperate for him to continue. He smiled again before pushing two fingers inside me, filling me slowly until I felt full and stretched and aching for more before continuing his ministrations with his tongue.
It was too much and not enough. I dug my fingers into his hair, holding him to me as he took me apart piece by piece.
“More,” I pleaded, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart in my ears. He gave me one last look, full of promise, before adding a third finger. I cried out at the new sensation, arching my back off the bed. My body felt like it was on fire as he continued. His tongue teased and danced around my clit, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me as his fingers thrust in and out of me in a rhythm that matched the desperation in my heart.
He pulled back just enough to whisper, “I want to make you feel so good, Nadia. Come for me.”
His mouth found me again and I exploded into a million pieces, my body shattering under the force of the orgasm.
Every nerve in me was alive and reaching for him. My thoughts stuttered and fell away. I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. There was only sensation, only the murmur of his voice as he said my name like it was both prayer and promise.
A thin sheen of sweat covered us both, and I panted to catch my breath. I felt flushed and vulnerable. He looked up at me with a mix of satisfaction and awe, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d been allowed this kind of intimacy.
“You are breathtaking,” he murmured, rising to brush a stray lock of hair away from my face before he crawled onto the bed with me.
He stayed close, his breath against my skin, his hand steady at my waist as though he was steadying both of us.
“You’re all right,” he whispered. “I have you.”
I believed him.
My chest pressed to his, and I couldn’t scoot close enough. The heat of him sank into my skin, and for the first time in forever, I stopped thinking about everything I’d forgotten to do during the day—like the laundry I’d left in the washer, the coffee I’d reheated three times and still hadn’t drunk, or the text I’d half-typed two hours ago and never sent.
All of that vanished under his touch. It wasn’t even about wanting him, not in the obvious way. It was the peace that came with it. Like his mouth was pressing mute on the world and letting me rest for once.
I probably looked wrecked—in the good way and also the mildly embarrassing I-just-melted-on-you way.
He held me tight, his palm tracing circles on my back. The tether between us hummed softly, alive and pulsing, like a current that knew me too well.
“Uhm,” I said into his chest, my voice muffled. “I think I blacked out for a second there. That was…amazing.”
“It was.”
We stayed like that, neither of us ready to ruin it, until I realized how long I’d been clinging to him. My brain kicked back on, all anxious static. I pulled back fast, tucking hair behind my ear.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said. “I know I can be?—”
He looked at me, head tilted, waiting for me to finish.
“A lot. I talk too much, I move too much, I overthink literally everything, and you probably have, I don’t know, vampire business to do.”
His expression didn’t change much, but something shone behind it—curiosity, maybe surprise. “You’re just enough.”
He said it so simply, so tenderly. It should’ve fixed something inside me. Instead, the pause that followed cracked it wider.
“But,” he added, glancing toward the door, “I do think it’s best I go.”
My stomach dropped so fast I almost laughed. Of course he’d go. People always did.
He slipped his arm out from under me and rolled off the bed. He turned halfway, hand on the knob. His mouth opened like he might say something else, but he closed it again and stepped out into the hall.
The door clicked shut, the sound echoing through the room.
For a long minute, I stared at the space he’d left behind, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me. The tether still thrummed, still felt utterly alive, like it hadn’t gotten the memo that he’d left, that this didn’t mean the same thing to him as it did to me.
In the silence that followed, I told myself the same old truth I’d been working on in therapy: I needed to stop worrying about people who didn’t know what to do with me.
