Then she starts to move, andfuck.
I grip her hips, let her set the pace—slow, deep rolls that have me clenching my jaw, my hands flexing against her skin. I meet her movements, thrust for thrust, burning every second of this into my memory. If she thinks this is the last time, she’s out of her mind.
“God, you feel so good.” I groan, dragging my lips over her collarbone.
She doesn’t answer—just moves faster, tilting her hips in a way that sends a shudder ripping through me. My fingers dig into her waist, guiding her, needing more. She’s golden skin and burning need, head thrown back, lips parted, absolutely wrecking me.
I slip a hand up her spine, fingers tracing the ridges, savoring the way she arches into my touch. Her nails rake through my hair, scraping against my scalp, sending pleasure spiking through my veins. I growl, pull her down for a kiss that’s all desperation.
We move together in perfect sync, like we were made for this—like we were made for each other. And maybe that thought should terrify me. Maybe it should make me pull away.
But all I can think is,I want more.
I flip us suddenly, pressing her into the mattress, and she gasps—half surprise, half pleasure—her legs wrapping around me, anchoring me to her.
“Oh God.” She breathes, her voice wrecked. “Please…”
I know exactly what she needs.
I slip a hand between us, find the spot that unravels her, and press just right. The moment I do, she cries out, body tightening around me, so damn close.
“Let go, beautiful,” I rasp against her throat, my voice thick with need. “I want to feel every damn second of it.”
Her nails dig into my back as she shatters, gasping my name like it’s the only word she remembers. And the way she says it—Alfie—drags me under right after her.
For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled and panting, the world outside this bed nothing but a blur. I press slow kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, unwilling to let go of her just yet.
“Tara,” I start, but she presses a finger to my lips.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Please don’t say anything.”
I should push. Should make her tell me what thisis, if it’s anything at all. But the plea in her eyes keeps me silent.
So instead, I roll onto my side, pulling her against me. She fits there too perfectly. Too easily.
For a while, we just breathe. Pretend this isn’t goodbye.
Then she shifts against my chest, stirring.
“I should go,” she murmurs, already pulling away. “I have work later.”
“Tara—” But I don’t know how to finish that sentence. Don’t know how to ask her to stay when she’s already halfway across the room, gathering her clothes with shaking hands.
She hesitates, shirt half-buttoned, lips pressing together like she’s forcing out the next words.
“This was…” A pause. A breath. “This was a good way to end things, right? Before Troy gets here. Clean break.”
A lump lodges itself in my throat, thick and unmovable.
“After Saturday, when my family leaves,” I manage, voice hoarse, “you won’t have to pretend anymore.”
Something flickers across her face—something quick, sharp—but she smothers it before I can name it.
“No more pretending,” she echoes, nodding, as if she’s convincing herself. She ties her shoes, still not meeting my eyes. “That’s what’s best, isn’t it? You don’t do relationships, and I don’t do… whatever this is.”
I want to argue. Want to tell her this stopped being pretend somewhere between stolen glances and whispered truths under the stars. But she’s right—I can’t be what she needs. I can’t be the safe choice, the guarantee, the forever.
She hesitates at the door, fingers hovering over the handle, and for a second, I swear she’s going to say something else.
