And my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
His hand found my hip, and moved lower. My breath caught.
“Sorry,” he murmured, voice thick.
“I know.”
“I’m so damn sorry, Ash. I…God…”
In retrospect, I should’ve asked more questions—where were you, what’s wrong? Why are you shutting me out?—but instead, I let him pull me to him.
There was no more talking.
Just the heat of his mouth on mine—hard, desperate.
His hand slid lower, rough and certain. He knew my skin better than I did.
When he moved between my legs, I didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t stop him.
Didn’t want to.
One hard thrust—deep, claiming, so much and not enough. I clung to the back of his head and the bed creaked beneath us as he drove into me, again and again.
My hands tangled in his hair, my legs locked tight around his waist like I could hold him there, keep him from vanishing again.
And I remember… tears slipped from the corners of my eyes.
He kissed them as he moved—hips relentless.
We rocked together like it meant something.
Like this would fix what words couldn’t.
But when it was over, instead of curling up beside me, he rolled onto his back.
I stared at the ceiling, heart still racing, skin still flushed, hoping that this was one way to hold us together, to get through whatever this was.
It wasn’t.
BLUE JASMINE
ASHLEY
My phone buzzes, pulling me back into the present, and honestly, I’m grateful to be pulled out of my thoughts.
Rehashing our problems is not why we’re here.
“Our room’s ready,” I announce, leaning down to gather my things—towel, sandals, tote, composure. “If you want, I’ll text you once I’ve unpacked.”
But Beckett is rising as well, pushing up his sunglasses and pulling something out of his pocket—a flip phone. “You’ll need my new number.”
I freeze halfway through stuffing sunscreen into my bag. “Your—what?”
No laptop? And now—a new number?
He’s had that number since before we got married. Aside from my mom’s landline, it’s the only one I have memorized.
