The cool morning air brushes over my flushed skin and I flinch. We get dressed in silence, tugging our clothes back into place with trembling hands.
My words hang in the air like smoke—inescapable, bitter, impossible to take back.
Three impossible syllables linger in the space between our bodies.
He didn’t say it back.
He just held me tighter and fucked me harder, and maybe that should’ve told me everything. He kissed me and touched me and held on like he was drowning.
But he didn’t say it back.
The wordsI love youshould change something.
Instead, they land like a stone thrown into deep water—sinking fast, pulling me down with them.
And now the silence presses in from every side, crushing and humiliating, whispering that I misread every moment between us.
It gnaws at me, bitter and familiar, chanting that I should’ve known better than to believe someone could ever love me back.
That someone could love me at all.
Augustfeelsdifferent—slower,heavier,like summer is holding its breath. But time keeps moving forward, whether I want it to or not.
The porch swing keeps replaying in my head.
My confession. His silence.
Every time he touches me, I wonder if he can feel the words humming beneath my skin.
He still hasn’t said them back.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped waiting for him to say them.
Maybe that should’ve been a sign that this should end—but instead, I keep choosing him. I keep choosing the temporary high of being wanted over the ache of wanting more.
I can live with the almost of it all—the almost love, the almost future, the almost us.
If he won’t love me out loud, then I’ll take the version he offers in the dark until the very end.
We’ve been sneaking around like teenagers. Showering together. Long nights staying awake whispering about our hopes, dreams, and fears. His mouth covering mine in an attempt to swallow my moans when we hear footsteps creak in the hallway.
We’ve almost been caught twice, and honestly, that only makes everything hotter. Riskier. Like we are both playing a game that neither of us knows the rules too, but we’re in too deep to stop.
Every moment together is stolen. A hidden secret tucked into the long, busy days. But I would spend the rest of my life tiptoeing into his room for a taste of the way he makes me feel.
He strolls in as I’m getting started on barn chores, handing me the list of horses that need to be pulled for the day. We try our best to be professional, but before I can even finish looking it over, he’s pressing me against the wall, undoing me in seconds.
My shorts and panties slip down around my ankles, and his mouth is on me in record timing. He lifts me, his hands holding me firmly as he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, anchoring me there.
“Wesley—” I gasp, his name slipping out before I can stop it.
“Fuck…Sadie.” His fingers bite into my thighs, his voice rough against my skin. “You gotta be quiet for me, baby.”
He pulls me open with his thumbs, dragging his mouth over me again, groaning into me. Then he looks up at me, his eyes wild, like he can’t believe what he’s doing.
“I could eat you like this and revel in you moaning my name all morning. But right now you have to be quiet, or someone will hear us.”
He devours me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. My fingers knot in his hair, tugging, pulling him closer even though he’s already everywhere I need him to be. The scrape of stubble, the press of his tongue—it’s too much, not enough, everything all at once.
