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Jake

That night, the house is too quiet.

Violet’s sleeping over at Annie’s—so I’m alone. The kind of alone that settles deep in your chest and doesn’t let up. I’ve got a half-drunk beer sweating on the end table, reruns playing on mute, and my phone face-down on the couch beside me.

I haven’t heard from Piper.

My brain’s still fried from the Davidson ambush, the betrayal whispers, Evelyn’s bullshit smile. Davidson played us, sure. And yeah, someone leaked our plan. But it wasn’t her. I don’t care what Blake hinted or how twisted the timing looks—Piper’s not the mole.

She wouldn’t do that to me. To Violet.

Still, none of that stops the ache. The pressure building low and tight when I think about her—her body, her mouth, the way she looked at me like I was the only thing tethering her to the earth. I try to let it go. But I can’t. Because my body remembers. Craves. And the only thing that quiets it is her.

The way she looked the last night we were together. The way she gave herself to me like I was the only man who’d ever be worthy. And even now, when I feel like I’m falling apart, my body still remembers every inch of hers.

I shift uncomfortably on the couch, my hand drifting down to adjust myself through my jeans. I miss her. Her memory clings to me like a second skin. The way her hair smelled, the softness of her lips, the curve of her hips—it’s all burned into my mind. I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me, and my hand moves again, this time with purpose. I’m hard just thinking about her, about the last time we were together.

The room is dim, lit only by the flickering glow of the TV, which I’m not even watching. My focus is entirely on the images playing in my head. I remember the night she gave me her virginity like it was yesterday. It was her idea, her decision, and she was nervous but determined. I can still see the way her eyes shimmered with a mix of fear and desire as she pulled me close, her fingers trembling as she unbuttoned my shirt.

My hand tightens around myself, my thumb brushing against the bulge in my jeans. I’m not just hard—I’m aching. The memory of her skin against mine, the way she gasped when I kissed her neck, it’s all too much. I let out a soft groan, my other hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m trying to hold it together, but it’s no use. I need this. I need to relive it, even if it’s just in my mind.

I slide my hand inside my jeans, my fingers wrapping around my cock. It’s hot and thick, already slick with pre-cum. I bite my lip, my eyes still closed, as I start to stroke myself slowly. The rhythm is deliberate, mimicking the way I moved inside her that night. I can feel her tightness around me, her warmth enveloping me like a second skin. My breath quickens, and I let out another groan, softer this time, more intimate.

Piper’s voice echoes in my head, her soft whisper from that night: “I want this to be with you.” My heart clenches at the memory, and I stroke faster, my grip tightening. I can see her face, her eyes closed, her lips parted as she tried to breathe through the pain and pleasure. I was gentle, so fucking gentle, but I couldn’t hold back forever. She was too perfect, too tight, and I needed to feel her completely.

My hand moves faster, my hips rocking slightly into my touch. I’m lost in the memory, in the sensation of being inside her for the first time. She was so small, so untouched, and the way she clenched around me as she adjusted… fuck, it was heaven. I remember how she cried out, her nails digging into my back, and I whispered her name, telling her how good she felt, how beautiful she was.

I’m sweating now, my shirt sticking to my skin. My hand is moving faster, my breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. I can feel it building, the tension coiling tight in my stomach. I want to draw it out, to savor the memory, but my body has other plans. I’m close, so fucking close, and I can’t stop.

Piper’s voice is in my ear again, her breath hot against my neck: “Don’t stop, Jake. Please, don’t stop.” My eyes snap open, and I’m back in my living room, alone, but her words send me over the edge. I groan loudly, my hand moving frantically as I imagine her beneath me, her legs wrapped around my waist, her eyes locked on mine.

“Piper,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. It’s all I can manage as I come, my body shaking with the force of it. My cock pulses in my hand, and I imagine filling her up, marking her as mine. It’s dirty, it’s wrong, but fuck, it feels so good. I bite my lip to stifle another groan, my head thrown back against the couch cushion.

When it’s over, I’m left panting, my hand sticky and my body limp. I open my eyes, staring up at the ceiling, and feel a pang of something I can’t quite name. It’s not guilt—I don’t regret that night. But it’s something heavier, something that settles in my chest. I miss her. I miss the way she looked at me, the way she trusted me with something so precious.

I pull my hand out of my jeans, wiping it on my T-shirt because I’m too exhausted to get up and find a towel. My cock is soft now, sensitive, and I adjust myself before letting my hand fall to my side. The room feels quieter, heavier, and I’m acutely aware of how alone I am.

I close my eyes again, replaying the memory one more time. Piper’s smile, her laughter, the way she kissed me like she’d never let go—it’s all there, vivid and raw. I wonder where she is now, what she’s doing, if she thinks about that night like I do. My hand twitches, the urge to touch myself again already creeping back, but I force it to stay still.

For now, the memory will have to be enough. But as I lie there, my heart still racing, I know it won’t be long before I need to feel her again, even if it’s just in my mind. The thought is both comforting and painful, a reminder of what I had and what I’ve lost.

And as I drift off, the image of her face lingering in my thoughts, I can’t help but wonder if this is how it’ll always be—me, alone, reliving the past, while she moves on, her heart and body forever marked by that one night. But for now, it’s enough. It has to be.