She nods once, already standing.
We don’t rush the goodbye. Fiona catches Hope on the way out, pulls her into a quick hug, whispering something I don’t catch. Hope laughs, softer than before, and threads her fingers through mine.
Outside, the air cuts through everything leaving only the two of us moving down the street to my car in step.
She doesn’t talk much on the way home.
Neither do I.
I can see the shift in her without needing words. Something settled even deeper during dinner. By the time we reach the apartment, my pulse is running too fast for something as simple as unlocking a door.
Hope doesn’t wait once we’re inside.
Her bag drops somewhere behind her. The door barely clicks shut before she turns and pulls me into her, hands finding my shirt and yanking me toward her.
I don’t think. My hands find her waist and I pull her closer to feel the shape of her through the fabric. Heat builds between us. She presses in, rising slightly on her toes, one hand sliding into my hair, holding me there.
Every part of me locks on to her.
I back us toward the couch without breaking contact, barely aware of the movement until the edge of it hits behind my knees and I sit, pulling her with me. She follows without resistance, shifting into my lap the way she’s done so many times
Like this is the most natural place she could be.
Her breath is uneven now. Mine isn’t much better.
“You okay?” I manage.
She laughs against my mouth, quiet and breathless. “I’m better than okay. I need you to fuck me, birthday boy. Give me your big, beautiful cock.”
God I love it when she talks dirty.
Her hands move again, slower now, not rushed or unsure. She’s present. Choosing every step.
Choosing me.
I follow her lead as we slow things down. Undress. Touch each other slowly, more aware. Let each movement settle instead of pushing forward.
When I press two fingers inside her, she responds immediately, her body easing, grip shifting from tight to steady.
I’m not trying to catch up anymore.
We’re together. I know her body and exactly what to do.
When she comes, her forehead rests against mine for a second, breath warm and steadying.
“See?” she murmurs.
“Yeah.” I let out a quiet breath. “I’m constantly learning.”
She strokes the length of my cock. “We both are.”
After, Hope’s hand slides down my arm, fingers lacing with mine, grounding again instead of pulling.
The room quiets around us, the city noise fading into the background, everything narrowing to this one space we’ve built without planning it.
I don’t think about what comes next or where this goes.
Or even about losing this.
