Another orgasm rockets through me, lighting up my body in a way that makes colors explode behind my eyelids and a shaking, broken cry split apart my lips. Evan holds me through it, his own shaking mimicking mine.
When my breathing slows enough that I can form words, I press my lips to his and look deep into his eyes. “I like being yours,” I say.
I never thought I’d say that to a man. Love? Maybe. It always seemed a possibility. But taking joy in belonging to someone else? In wanting to give myself to that person, in wanting them to state — in front of everyone — that I belong to them?
Never.
I learned my lesson.
Yet here I am, my lips gently exploring his left cheek, while my heart thrums.
“I love you, too,” he says.
I shiver again at those words.
Gently, he slides off me and lies beside me on the bed. I stretch, I move, bringing myself as close to him as I can manage, as close as physics will allow. My breath comes in ecstatic pulls. My skin is too hot, my heart joyously loud. I lie half sprawled across his chest, listening to the steady thump of him, letting the quiet settle over me like a blanket, savoring the lines his fingertips draw down my bare back.
This is safety. This is real.
All the things I never thought I’d allow myself.
All the things I thought I was too smart to fall for.
And now I’ve fallen for Evan and I want it all.
Evan’s arm tightens around me, lazy and heavy and strong and perfect. His mouth brushes my hair.
“You okay?” he murmurs again, sleepier this time.
“Yeah.”
He exhales, long and content, and the sound does something stupid to my chest. Then his breathing evens out. Gone.
I stare at the ceiling.
And that’s when it hits me.
The silence.
My old instincts don’t shut up in the peace and quiet. They pace the room like a caged animal, sniffing at corners, warningme that “nice” is a mask and comfort is a trap, and the moment I relax is the moment something bites.
That’s how it always is.
You like someone, you love someone, you lose someone.
That’s just how it is.
And the only way to protect yourself is to never love anyone. Never love anyone in that way that losing them would make you want to lose yourself.
But here I am.
Wrapped in Evan, lost in Evan, in love with Evan.
I shift carefully, easing off his chest without waking him. He doesn’t stir, just rolls his head slightly on the pillow, mouth parting as he exhales.
On the nightstand, his phone sits face-up. I think I hear a buzz.
The screen is dark.
