“Fuck. Lucia. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
I do, actually. I never knew I could want someone so much, there’s no room for anything else, not fear, not even the memory of fear. There’s only us, tangled up in each other, both of us hunting down the edge with no intention of stopping.
He guides me, both hands in my hair now, hips bucking with shallow, needy thrusts. He holds me there, gaze searing into me, and I take every inch, every warning gasp, until I’m drooling down my chin and so close to coming, I sob into his skin.
He pulls free suddenly, thick, hands splayed across my jaw. It’s almost brutal, the way he hauls me up, urgent and needy, and for a second we’re both breathing like we just outran a hurricane. I don’t get a word out before he catches my mouth, hungry and raw, and I taste myself on his tongue. His hands roam, forgetting, then remembering every inch of me. My shirt is gone, bra somewhere on the damn floor, and his fingers knead into my sides, my hips, until I gasp, until I burn.
He wants me. He wants me so much, it’s practically violent the way he yanks my panties down in one hard jerk, the elasticsnapping delicate skin. It’s like he needs to leave a trace, a mark. Proof I’m still real and still his.
There’s a heavy table at the side of the room, and my back slams into it, cold wood on hot skin. He kisses me, deep, and then bites at my lower lip, enough to sting. He doesn’t ask if I’m ready. He’s inside me in a single, devastating thrust, and the fill of him is blinding. I cry out, legs hooked shamelessly around his waist, and his cock presses so deep I see stars. For a moment, he just holds me there, trembling, forehead pressed to mine, the ragged edges of him laid bare.
We fuck like we’re trying to erase the rest of the world. The table creaks, the room echoes with the wet slap of skin and the gasp of my name in his mouth. His thrusts are ruthless, rocking me back and forth, making my nails rake angry red lines down his shoulders. I need this, all of it, the raw and the ruin. Need him to fuck the terror out of me, the memory of headlights and gunfire and the way I almost lost him.
“Turo, I…”
My voice shreds. I want to say a thousand things:I love you. Don’t ever scare me like that again. Fuck, I missed you.But all that escapes me is a ragged moan, punched straight out of me by the slam of his hips.
I dig my fingers into his hair and tug. Like if I let him go now, he might flicker out of existence, a hallucination my need conjured out of thin air. He knows. He always fucks me like he’s reading my mind. Like he’s cauterizing every wound I keep hidden, one thrust at a time, pounding out the bruises no one else can see.
By the time he pulls back to shoot ropes of himself across my belly, I’m already coming so hard that I don’t notice until white spatters my skin, hot and real. The sight triggers another wave, and I shudder, boneless and spent.
We collapse together, his weight pinning me to the wood, both of us sticky and panting and shaking in the dark. The adrenaline drains first, then the rest.
I can’t move. Not even when he lifts me, strong and gentle, and lays me down on the bed, covering my body with his so the whole world goes silent. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the rain start up again, soft against the glass. The lullaby Nico fell asleep to.
I want to say something, anything, but even if I could find the words, I don’t think I’d survive uttering them out loud.
Turo gathers me in, his hand warm at the back of my neck, lips in my hair. “You saved me today,” he murmurs, breath hot against my skin.
I swallow hard. “You listened,” I answer. “You trusted me.”
That’s the thing that shatters me. Not the danger. The trust. The way he changed everything because I said it was wrong. He believed me.
“I was terrified,” I whisper into the quiet.
“So was I,” he answers.
We stay like that for a long moment. Breathing hard. Foreheads touching. The aftermath still buzzing through our bodies like static that hasn’t quite discharged.
He pulls me into his chest, his hand resting at my back like it belongs there. Like it always has. I listen to his heartbeat, slow beneath my ear.
For the first time in days, my body believes we made it through. And as sleep finally takes me, wrapped in him, I understand something with quiet, unshakable clarity:
This is what survival turns into when you stop doing it alone.
