His fingers pumped deeper.
Our eyes stayed locked—his dark and commanding.
The shame still whispered. His voice drowned it out completely.
“Come for me, Libby.” Low and commanding, and tender underneath both. “Let me watch you. Watch how stunning you are.”
The orgasm crashed through me without warning.
My walls clenched hard around his fingers, and I cried out—hoarse and unrecognizable—my hips rolling against his hand without permission, chasing it, taking it, my eyes locked on his in the mirror the whole time.
I sagged back against his chest.
“Look,” he whispered, lips pressing to my shoulder and lingering there, warm and unhurried. “So beautiful, so perfect.”
I looked. I let myself watch.
I turned my head just enough to press my lips against his. My voice came out hoarse, carrying more than I had words for.
“Thank you.”
Two words. Barely a whisper. But they held the entire weight of what he’d just given me—something that had nothing to do with the orgasm and everything to do with what he’d shown me.
The first fragile proof that maybe the girl in the reflection deserved to be looked at.
Deserved, possibly, to be kept.
Twenty Six
On Empty -Finn
Another week.
The totes were nearly empty, holding only what I’d come to think of as the escape packs.
What little remained sat on the counter—not enough, not even close. Behind me, Libby moved quietly through the room, preparing for her watch. I didn’t turn.
Staying here had become a death sentence.
“We’re out of time,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
She didn’t argue, didn’t try to soften the truth or find an angle I’d missed. She simply nodded once with certainty. “I know.”
I turned and met her eyes.
“Tomorrow. First light.”
Her breath caught, just for a fraction of a second, then settled again.
“Tomorrow,” she repeated.
She crossed her arms, not defensively, but thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on the middle distance as she processed it.
“Same plan? Without the storm cover?”
“Modified a bit.”
That pulled her attention back fully.
