Page 125 of The Ache That Stayed

Who was I kidding?

Roxanne wasn’t someone you could tie down. Not with ropes. Not with promises. Not with me. But I wanted her close. Always. In my space, in my arms, woven so deeply into my days that I wouldn’t know what to do without her.

Maybe that’s why I risked not using any protection, being well aware that she wasn’t on birth control. None of it mattered in the moment. I wanted to feel nothing between us. And watching my cum drip out of her did something no amount of nicotine or any drug ever could.

She was the breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed.

But she was always choosing control over chaos. Even when she was the chaos. Even when she’d been shaking apart in my hands just hours ago, she still fought for control. And that was what made me want to break it all the more.

I pushed myself up, grabbing my shirt from the floor, irritation simmering low and steady.

“You can run,” I said, pulling it over my head. “But you can’t hide, Volpi.”

I knew exactly where she’d be. The site. The one place she could pretend everything was normal. Structured. Controlled. Predictable. Her world. The version of herself she showed everyone else. Not the woman who had come undone in my arms hours ago.

I leaned against my bike, staying in the shadows, far enough that she wouldn’t notice me immediately. Close enough that I could watch. She moved through the space like nothing had happened. Flipping through plans. Giving instructions. Correcting measurements. Her voice clipped, composed, professional.

And I loved it. I loved that fire. Loved that she thought it could shield her from me. Like I hadn’t already seen what lived underneath. Anyone else would’ve believed it. I didn’t. Because I’d seen the pieces she kept hidden from everyone else. And this was her rebuilding the walls.

My gaze dragged over her slowly, taking in every detail. She was wearing a turtleneck and a skirt with sneakers. Practical. Efficient. And hiding.

A quiet irritation coiled in my chest. She was covering up.

I waited. Watched. Until she stepped into one of the finished guest rooms alone. Then I moved.

“You ran.” My voice cut through the quiet.

She turned around and froze, caught off guard.

“Jeez—” she exhaled, recovering too quickly.

“I’m working. Furniture delivery came in early.”

She spoke sharp and defensive, pretending none of last night had happened. Pretending I hadn’t happened.

I stepped closer. My hand came up without thinking, fingers hooking lightly into the collar of her turtleneck, tugging it forward just enough to expose the skin beneath.

“You’re hiding,” I said.

Her hand came up instantly, pushing mine away.

“It’s cold,” she snapped.

“Right,” I scoffed.

My fingers brushed the fabric near her throat again, slower this time. Not pulling, just a lingering touch to remind her.

“Has nothing to do with the marks under here.”

She stepped back, her back meeting the wall.

“You left,” I said, my voice dropping, losing whatever trace of humour it had left.

“You don’t get to disappear after last night.”

I stepped closer. “I will find you. Every time.”

“Fuck you. And I didn’t run.”