His thumb circled faster. I arched, biting down harder until I tasted blood.
This is wrong.
I don’t care.
My eyes squeezed shut. My hand slid behind me and found his dick — hard, thick, leaking. Hot and heavy in my palm. I gripped him tight and stroked slowly, relishing the way his breath fractured, the way his hips jerked into my fist.
His fingers worked me in perfect, filthy rhythm. The tension coiled low in my belly, fast and vicious. I didn’t cry out. Didn’t moan. I twisted the sheets in my free hand and came hard with my face buried in the pillow, pussy clenching around nothing as waves of shame and pleasure crashed through me.
What the fuck are you doing?The question screamed in my head even as my body shuddered.
This wasn’t strategy anymore. This wasn’t survival.
This waswanting. Stupid. Dangerous. Addictive.
I’d let men touch me before—for money, protection, a place to sleep. But I’d neverwantedit. Not like this. What in the fuck would you call this? Vicarious grief?
His hand stayed between my legs, still moving slow, like he couldn’t let go either.
You’re digging yourself too deep, Jamie.
But my hand kept stroking him. And then he came hard across my thigh — hot, thick ropes of cum marking my skin. The sound of his pleasure had me feeling something I didn’t have a name for yet.
I And I didn’t want to name it.
Chapter Fifteen— Vinny
I stayed up all night.
Physically exhausted, but my mind wouldn't shut the hell up. It kept replaying everything — my hands on Jamie, her hands on me, the small sounds she made when I—
I told myself I was going to talk to her about what happened. The night before last. And last night.
But every time I tried to piece the words together, they crumbled in my head.
What the fuck was I even supposed to say?
Hey, sorry I tried to fuck you in my sleep. Twice now. First time was an accident — I was dreaming about my dead wife. Second time? I was awake. Just didn't want you to know. But now I'm thinking maybe I should stop pretending and just fuck you so deep you forget I ever said her name while touching you.
Yeah. That didn't sound like anything she'd give a fuck to hear.
I didn't tell her I'd been awake that second night. Didn't tell her I'd felt every second of her hand on me and let it happen anyway. Some confessions didn't set you free. They just made you more of a monster.
I also wanted to ask her why she let me.
What was it? Pity? Kindness? Mercy?
I hadn't been a man who needed those things in years. After Sophia was gone, I stopped looking for comfort. Stopped expecting grace. Built a life on control, silence, hardness.
Pity didn't keep you alive.
Kindness didn't pull triggers.
Mercy got you killed.
Emotions made you weak.
So I buried all that shit. Did what I had to.
