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“Oh my…” My breath leaves me in a broken gasp as he pulls back, then thrusts in again.

He grips my hips like I’m something precious and breakable—but he doesn’t treat me that way. Not now.

His palm slides up my back as he murmurs, “You feel… incredible.”

I lift my head, locking eyes with him over my shoulder.

“Give me everything,” I whisper. “I want it all.”

He groans, dragging his cock out and slamming back in. I feel every thick inch. My body welcomes him home. His hands move restlessly over me—hips, ass, back—claiming every part. I brace myself on the mattress as he pounds in, each thrust stronger, deeper. I lose myself in it, drowning in pleasure, drinking in his grunts, his muscles, the sound of skin slapping skin.

“I’m close,” I cry, my body trembling.

“Fuck,” he growls, fingers digging in. “Me too.”

The second orgasm tears through me without mercy. My limbs shake, my core clenches, pleasure pouring down my legs. My vision blurs. I barely hear his shout as he follows, thick pulses of heat splashing across my lower back.

When it’s over, I roll onto my back, boneless, smiling like a woman who just got exactly what she needed.

“This is what you missed when you canceled,” he says, flopping down beside me.

“Oh, I know,” I giggle, resting my head on his chest. “You don’t even understand. I wasmadlast night. Like… don’t-talk-to-me mad.”

“And now?”

“Now?” I nuzzle into him. “Now you’ve turned my whole day around.”

“I had help,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead. “You’re a damn good partner.”

My heart flutters. It’s ridiculous, how easy he makes me feel seen. He reaches for his phone.

“Food? I’d offer to cook with you, but I’d end up pinning you against the counter.”

“Tempting,” I tease, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My body still hums from everything we shared, the lingering echo of pleasure like a second skin.

And as I glance back at him, I know I’m not done. Not even close.

12

RAY

Imade the right call.

The thought hit like a punch to the chest as I stepped out of Stacy’s building, last night—and it’s been pulsing beneath my skin ever since.

Even now, with morning light spilling across the highway, I’m still wrapped in the feeling Stacy left behind—full, content, lit up from the inside out. The taste of her kiss clings to my lips like sugar. Her scent lingers on my skin, my clothes, carved into my damn soul. Sweet and sun-warmed, like strawberries left on the windowsill. There was something playful in the way she let me in. Not just into her apartment. Into her.

And yet, there were cracks. Moments where her regrets seeped through, raw and unfiltered. I heard the words on a loop, like a record she couldn’t stop playing.

“I shouldn’t have been so disappointed when you canceled.”

She said it four — no, five times. Each softer, like she wasn’t just telling me, but trying to believe it herself. I held her. Listened.Did what I could. She feels things hard, wears her heart like a wound she never bothers to hide.

It isn’t a flaw. It’s just… who she is. Maybe it’s what draws me to her. That vulnerability and her fire. Before we fell asleep, tangled together, she gave me a tired, almost sheepish smile and whispered she’d let it go. That she wouldn’t bring it up again.

I didn’t believe her, but I wanted to.

Driving down the interstate, surrounded by speeding cars and blaring horns, the warmth of last night cools. That’s the thing about life—it doesn’t wait around. Joy has no defense against death. And I fucking hate death.