“Look at me, Danae,” he orders and I turn back to face him. He smiles. “I want to feel you, watch you, and experience you, baby.”
I keep my eyes locked to his giving into his command as the burn rushes through me. My body clinches around his shaft as my climax comes. My body shatters, trembles run through me, and I cry out.
“Miles,” I’m panting his name as the aftershocks go through me.
His lips finally come to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. He whispers against me, “fucking beautiful.” Then he kisses me softly, tenderly.
Softness is where he starts, but passion climbs once again. Only after my second orgasm does he finally find his releasing, filling me and leaving me thinking, oh shit, we didn’t use protection.
He slides out of me, shifting to his back and taking me with him. I’m wrapped in him, forehead pressed to his chest, listening to the slow, even beat of his heart. His arm is heavy around my waist, grounding.
For a moment, just one single moment, I let myself imagine this could be something else. Something with mornings and coffee and a bike parked out front because it belongs there.
He kisses my hair. After disentangling himself, he moves silently to my bathroom. Returning with a washcloth, he cleans me up. He discards the washcloth back in the bathroom before sliding back into bed with me. My t-shirt being the only thing between us.
“Sleep,” he says quietly while gently rubbing my back.
In moments, I do fall into a slumber like I’ve never had before.
Morning comes too soon. Light creeps in around the edges of the curtains, soft and pale, the house still quiet except for the regular noise of the television in the living room. I stretch remembering last night. Instinctively, I turn toward the warmth I expect to find.
The bed is empty.
The space beside me is cool, sheets smooth like they were never disturbed at all. For a split second, disorientation hits hard—my body remembers what my eyes don’t. Then I look around silently begging for some trace of him beside the ache of my body.
The helmet gone. The faint scent of him lingering like proof I didn’t imagine any of it.
I sit up slowly, trying to wrap my head around reality. Did I dream it? My panties are gone. I gaze around on my floor not finding them. It was real.
And he’s gone. Of course he is.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, pulling on panties and shorts before I move through the house. The front door is locked. The windows secure. Nothing disturbed.
In the kitchen, a single mug sits by the sink. Clean. Rinsed out. Considerate to the end.
No note. No name. No phone number.
No goodbye.
I tell myself that’s easier. Cleaner. Less complicated.
It still stings.
I check on my grandfather, sleeping peacefully, breathing even. Relief settles in my chest. Whatever Miles is, he didn’t leave chaos behind. Find the positive in it. He doesn’t invade my world. He never does.
Still being a glutton for punishment, I peek out the front window. Outside, the driveway is empty.
The bike is gone.
I step onto the porch anyway, letting the morning air hit my face. The porch light clicks off automatically behind me, the house shifting into day mode like nothing remarkable happened here last night.
But something did.
I press my fingers to my lips, remembering the way he kissed me like I mattered. But then I dissect each tender touch. Like he knew this was all he would ever allow himself.
I don’t know when, or if, I’ll see him again. But I know this much with a clarity that surprises me, some men aren’t meant to stay. They leave marks instead.
And sometimes, the quiet after is louder than any engine roaring away into the dark.
