The sight of her like that wrecks me.
My thrusts turn rougher, needier, chasing my own edge.
She locks eyes with me, and they’re glassy and wild.
“You,” she breathes. “Only you.”
That undoes me. I groan, burying my face in her neck as I come, my body shaking, my grip tightening on her hips like I need to hold her in place while everything inside me cracks. After my body goes slack, I stay inside her for a moment, breathing hard, forehead against her shoulder.
Her fingers slide through my hair, slow, soothing.
We don’t speak but we don’t have to.
Eventually I pull out, then get up and dispose of the condom. Then come back to bed and gather her into my arms. She curls into me immediately, pressing her face against my chest like she’s trying to hear my heartbeat.
I kiss the top of her head.
Her voice is tiny when she speaks. “Did we just…”
I tighten my arms around her.
“We did,” I say.
Sarah’s breath shudders.
“Okay,” she whispers, like she’s telling herself she’s allowed to be okay.
I stare at the ceiling, the events of tonight settling into my bones.
The gala. Sierra. The way her mouth opened and nothing came out.
The way my question hung in the air like a blade.
And the truth that settles in, quiet and brutal.
Nothing goes back.
Not for any of us.
Sarah shifts closer, her hand flattening over my chest, fingers splayed like she’s claiming something steady.
I cover her hand with mine. ‘I choose this.’
I don’t say it out loud.
I don’t need to.
Because I’m here.
Because when the world cracked open, I came to her house and climbed into her bed and held her like it was the only real thing left.
Sarah’s eyes close.
Her breathing slows.
And even though my chest still aches, even though the night is still sharp around the edges, I hold her tighter.
Not because I’m afraid.
