Page 27 of A Man To Remember (Skin on Skin #3)

And with that, I do die, even though I'm not sure I've ever felt as alive as I do right now.

My eyes squeeze shut and I press my cheek hard against the wall as pleasure explodes from every single cell in my body. It's all-consuming, life-altering, like every orgasm I've ever had before this was just practice for the real thing.

My cock erupts in his hand, painting the wall with thick ropes of cum while my hole spasms around him, clenching and releasing in waves that go on forever. The dual sensations merge into one overwhelming experience that has me screaming his name like a benediction. Like the only word that matters.

The sounds he makes as my orgasm triggers his own are pure music—no lyrics, no language, just raw, primal expressions of pleasure that I want to record and play back later when I need to remember what it feels like to be completely, utterly satisfied.

My legs are shaking and I keep my eyes shut. If I were to open them right now, I'm sure I'd lose my balance and collapse.

But I don't need to look at Austin to know he's coming with me, inside me , and my entire soul wishes I could make this moment last forever—the moment we become one.

I barely register when his movements become slower, then sparse, then stop altogether.

I'm too busy trying to catch my breath, trying to form thoughts that make sense, trying to process what just happened to my body and my brain and possibly my entire worldview, enjoying Austin's body weight where he's half-collapsed against me, pushing me into the wall with his full weight.

It's like we're mutually keeping each other upright, both too fucked-out to support ourselves independently.

And the second the word upright registers in my oxygen-deprived brain, my legs decide that vertical is no longer a viable option.

As I slide down to the floor, I take him with me, both of us too boneless to fight gravity.

His softening cock slips out of my body as we descend, and suddenly something doesn't feel right. Like I'm missing a part of myself.

We end up on the floor and I hiss, cold tiles contrasting with the heat of my ass cheeks.

Austin must share the sentiment because we both look simultaneously toward the sofas lined against the wall before we look at each other, both wordlessly deciding it's not worth the trip.

And then, we both start laughing at the same moment, at the same thought we seem to share like we have a single mind between us.

We settle into a comfortable silence after that, one that doesn't need to be filled with words void of meaning as we sit naked, arms pressed together from shoulder to wrist.

I'm simultaneously dozing off and somehow very present, embracing the unfamiliar feelings, the slight burn of my hole, the thoughts that try and fail to form.

When Austin speaks, I startle, like I somehow forgot that thought transmission isn't the only form of communication. "Sooo...what's the verdict?"

I turn my head to face him, too spent to turn the rest of my body, and find a face with a question mark written all over it. His hair is sticking up in seventeen different directions, his lips are swollen from kissing, and there's a flush across his chest that's slowly fading back to normal.

He looks thoroughly debauched.

"Verdict? You want me to rate you?" I chuckle.

But then, dead serious, he says, "Yep."

I lick my bottom lip, tasting salt and something that might be blood from where I bit down too hard. "Eleven out of ten."

Because that's the truth.

Austin lets out a deep breath that sounds suspiciously like relief and nods once, sharp and decisive. "Good."

I can't help but laugh. How can a man be this adorable?

But my laugh fades quickly, along with my smile, when the thought that's been lurking in the back of my mind comes back like a boomerang the second my brain is sufficiently online.

"Austin," I start, and wait for his eyes to meet mine. Somehow it feels important that we're looking at each other for this, that there's no ambiguity about what I'm saying or who I'm saying it to. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He looks genuinely puzzled.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This isn't the perfect moment for this conversation, I'm sure. But I have to say it.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, "for what I've done.

I've been thinking a lot about—" I clear my throat.

I need to keep calm, keep my voice steady.

I need to let go of the drama of my own feelings and man the fuck up.

"I've been thinking about it a lot, trying to figure out how I can repair things, turn back the clock, undo the damage.

But I can't do any of that. What I can do is say I'm sorry.

" I focus on keeping my hand steady as I reach out and put my palm on his knee. "I'm really sorry."

Austin's eyes are glossy, fixed on mine, but he doesn't cry.

He lets out a very shaky exhale before closing his eyes for a moment, like he's gathering himself, and places his hand on top of mine where it rests on his knee.

"Thank you."

Two words. Two words carrying the weight of forgiveness.

A strange wave of stillness washes over me and I don't say anything else.

What else is there, anyway? I don't need to add anything. Austin gets me. That much I know.

I lean my head on his shoulder, and he responds by wrapping an arm around me, pulling me closer against his side, and we stay like this for a while. For a very long while.

Finally, I smile to myself and say, "I remember you."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where my head rests. "You do?"

I shake my head against his skin. "No. But I think my soul does."