Page 113 of Pets in Space 10

His body is lean, strong, sculpted by years of yoga, moving against mine with a fluid grace that is both powerful and gentle. Every kiss, every caress, is a discovery, a conversation without words. He explores my body with reverence, finding pleasure points, his touch both tender and firm.

I arch against him, meeting his rhythm, losing myself in the friction, the heat, the sheer physicality of it.

My mind, blessedly, goes quiet. No budgets, no layoffs, no ghosting, no knee braces.

Only this. The slide of skin on skin, the tangle of limbs, the shared breath, the low groans echoing in the quiet room.

He moves inside me, a slow, deliberate slide that yanks the air from my lungs and arches me off the bed.

He holds my gaze, his eyes dark pools reflecting the late morning sunlight.

The rhythm is gradual at first, letting me adjust, letting the pleasure build, a deep, coiling heat low in my belly.

Then faster, harder, his rhythm matching the frantic pounding of my heart.

It is overwhelming. Consuming. A supernova of sensation building inside me, bright and unstoppable.

I cry out again as the peak crashes over me, pleasure washing away everything else, leaving me breathless, boneless, clinging to him.

He follows, collapsing against me, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed against mine.

We lie tangled together as the world resumes outside, the silence broken only by the sound of our breathing. He pulls me close to him, his skin warm against mine. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, the knot of anxiety in my chest has loosened.

I am… calm. Spent. Safe. A fragile bubble of peace in the midst of the storm.

I snuggle closer, burying my face in the space of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. Maybe this can work. Maybe we can put last year behind us. Maybe —

Ping.

The soft, insistent notification chime from my mini tablet in the other room slices through the quiet intimacy. My heart gives a painful lurch.

Work. It has to be. No one else would ping me right now.

Rhys stirs beside me. “Don’t,” he mumbles into my hair.

“It’s probably nothing.” But the fragile peace has shattered, replaced by a cold, creeping dread.

Do I go get my tablet? I should.

“Be right back,” I say, wrapping a blanket around myself. Rhys groans, but he doesn’t move to stop me.

In the other room, I reach for the tablet, my hand trembling. The screen lights up. A message from I.A. Human Resources.

Subject: Important Update Regarding Agency Restructuring.

My body cools. I tap it open, scanning the official, impersonal text. “…regret to inform you… difficult decisions… role identified for redundancy… non-core department realignment… further information to follow about this reduction in force…”

Redundancy. Non-core. Layoff.

The words swim before my eyes. The air rushes out of my lungs. It’s happening. My job, my career, the thing I pour my heart and soul into, the thing that gives me purpose beyond the soccer field… gone. Reduced to ‘non-core.’

A choked sob escapes me, raw and ugly. Tears well, hot and furious, and panic claws at my throat.

False hope. It is all false hope.

The meeting, my stupid speech, the fleeting moments of laughter at the market, the intimacy, the peace I’d had only moments ago… all of it, a cruel illusion before the inevitable crash, right? Everything will fall apart. It always does.

“Rosa? What’s wrong?” Rhys is suddenly beside me in his underwear, his voice laced with alarm, his hand reaching for me.

I step away, pulling the sheet tighter around me like armor. “No.”

No. I can’t have his pity right now. I can’t let this mess everything up. I can’t.

His eyes widen, hurt flashing in their depths. “What…? What happened?”

“It’s happening.” My voice is a whisper. “They’re laying me off. My job. Gone. Just like everything else.” I gesture between us, the room, the universe. “This, you? It’s all a lie, right? False hope. Everyone is setting me up to pull the rug right out from under me.”

Rhys. My job. My knee. Everything is a lie. It must be. There’s no way he’s genuine when everything else is so shitty. That’s not how life works.

“Rosa, that’s not…” He presses his hands together and brings them to his lips, composing himself. “It’s not a lie. I am…” He shakes his head. “I’m gone for you. I’m here. We can figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” I laugh, a harsh, broken sound. “How to live on air? How to trust anyone when everything falls apart? How to believe in second chances when the first one ended with you disappearing?” The accusation hangs between us, poisoned by my panic and fear.

He recoils as if struck, his face paling.

Shit. I went too far.

Too far.

He’s gone for me, and I said that?

He drops his hands, the hurt in his eyes deepening into a quiet sorrow. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend himself. He just… watches me, his expression shuttered.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. Shame washes over me, cold and swift, but the panic is stronger. I can’t be here. Can’t face the pity, the confusion, the reminder of how my life is imploding.

“I have to go.” I grab my discarded clothes, my hands shaking so hard I can barely pull them on and fasten them. My knee screams in protest, a fitting echo of the chaos inside me.

Rhys doesn’t try to stop me. He stands there, watching me flee, the sunlight casting long shadows across his face, highlighting the sorrowful set of his mouth.

I stumble out of his apartment out into the afternoon, leaving the scent of sandalwood, sex, and shattered hope behind me. The tears come, hot and blinding, blurring the sidewalks into watery paths as I limp towards the bus, utterly, devastatingly alone.