My body responds faster than my thoughts ever could.
Heat pools low, sharp and insistent, and every touch sends it spreading, tightening, turning into something that makes my thighs press together instinctively. When his hand slides lower, when his thumb brushes a place that makes me gasp, I don’t pull back. I open. I arch. I let myself be guided by nothing but want.
His mouth brushes close to my ear, close enough that I feel his breath before I hear him speak.
“Sarah,” he murmurs.
The way he says it isn’t loud or rushed. It’s controlled. Deliberate. Like he wants me to feel every syllable.
Need coils low and heavy in my stomach, pulling tight, leaving me achingly aware of where he is and how close he feels. Hearing my name on his lips doesn’t feel like permission so much as recognition. Like something in me has been waiting to be called out loud, and now that it has, there’s no pretending I don’t want more.
My breath stutters instantly, a sharp inhale I can’t stop, and heat rolls through me in response, fast and disorienting. My skin tightens, nerves lighting up all at once, a shiver dragging slowly down my spine.
“Look at me,” he says quietly, and my body reacts before my mind can catch up.
His hand slides to my hip, firm and unyielding, fingers spreading like he’s claiming the space. He angles me closer, guiding me until there’s no question about where he wants me, about how close. My breath stutters as his other hand comes up, skimming my side, then settling with intention between my legs, steady and sure.
I lift my gaze to his, and the look there makes my pulse trip. Focused. Hungry. Completely locked on me.
I move because he wants me to, because my body understands the cue even if my head is still scrambling to keep up. Myhips follow the pressure of his hand on my clit, rolling slowly, deliberately, the friction lighting me up in a way that sends heat tearing through my body. A low sound slips out of me before I can stop it, and his hand moves faster in response, approval clear in the change of rhythm.
“Sarah.” He murmurs my name with quiet authority, the kind that makes it sound like direction and guarantee wrapped together. Every shift, every drag of contact builds on the last, the heat pooling low and sharp until it’s all I can think about. My thoughts blur, my focus narrowing to the rhythm he’s setting, the way my body responds without hesitation.
When my orgasm crests, it comes fast and overwhelming, the pleasure rippling through me in waves that steal the air from my lungs. I cling to him instinctively, fingers curling into his skin, my body tightening as it breaks and spills over, leaving me trembling in his hold.
He doesn’t let up fully until I’ve ridden it out, until the intensity fades into a deep, lingering warmth that leaves me shaken and loose and completely undone.
I don’t feel shame or doubt or guilt.
Just the echo of his hands on me, and the certainty of how right it felt.
I feel satisfied.
Held.
His.
My eyes open, and the feeling from my dream doesn’t disappear. I lie here for a minute, breathing through the quiet, and understand something I’ve been avoiding. I love Jace and he’s no longer married. This isn’t my fault and I have nothing to feel guilty about.
It settles. And for the first time, wanting him doesn’t feel reckless. It feels honest.
…………
Morning light filters in through the curtains, soft and pale, and I open my eyes without dread. No spike of anxiety. No sense that I missed something while I slept.
The quiet feels earned.
I lie there for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the neighborhood waking up, the low whir of a passing car, the soft tick of the clock on my nightstand. My body feels rested in a way it hasn’t for a while, not loose exactly, but settled. Like something inside me finally stopped bracing for impact.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand without hesitation.
That’s new.
The morning unfolds easily. Shower. Coffee. A quick glance at my phone that turns up nothing urgent, nothing heavy. Nomessage from Jace, and instead of reading into it, I let it be what it is. Quiet. Respectful. The absence doesn’t tug at me or make my chest tighten.
It just… exists.
By the time I’m dressed and heading out the door, my thoughts are already shifting toward logistics. Schedules. Seating charts. The run-of-show timeline that’s been living in my head since we started planning this gala event . Today is one of the last big coordination days before the event, which means meetings stacked back-to-back and a thousand tiny decisions that all need to be made like they matter.
