It hits me all at once.
Not just the actual orgasm—though, that’s there, yeah.
Strong. Overwhelming.
But it’s more than that.
It’s her.
It’s us.
Heat surges through me, sharp and blinding, like something breaking loose inside my chest that I’ve been holding down for three goddamn years.
Wave after wave crashes through me, dragging her with it, and I feel it—feel her tense, feel her shake, feel the way she clings to me like she’s right there in it with me.
Not separate.
Not distant.
With me.
Always with me.
“Ezzy!”
Her name tears out of me, rough, almost desperate.
Because this?
This isn’t just release.
This is recognition.
My body knows her.
Always has.
Like it never forgot, no matter how hard I tried to bury it.
Sex with her isn’t just sex.
It’s like a language that only we speak.
A way we can tell the truth when we just can’t say the words out loud.
It’s a once in a lifetime thing—to get to have this feeling, this connection with someone else.
I didn’t understand what it meant back then.
Didn’t want to.
But I do now.
Because right now?
My body’s saying everything I’ve been trying not to.
Everything I’ve been fighting.
