“Ah—ah?—”
She comes apart completely, shaking, her body going rigid and then soft all at once. I ease my hand at her throat and hold her through it, her back against my chest, staying with her until it passes.
I don’t pull out.
I should. I know I should. The thought flickers in and out, gone as quickly as it comes, because I’m nowhere near that kind of control.
Instead, I just do it.
I come inside her.
Something I’ll regret later. I know I will. But not now.
Holding her tight against me, I feel something give way. My forehead drops to the back of her neck, and a desperate sound leaves me.
There’s no stopping it. No attempt to.
There’s only one clear thought left in my head: she’s mine.
We finish face-down on the bed, breathing hard. Her hair’s a mess. There’s a mark on her shoulder where my teeth were—and I find I like seeing it there.
Charlotte turns her head and looks at me. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” I say, still catching my breath.
“You came inside me,” she says, sounding more shocked than upset.
It was stupid, but in that moment I just couldn’t make myself pull out.
“I don’t know what the hell came over me.”
And here I am, still buried inside her, not wanting to pull out.
“Whatever came over you, I like it.”
We stay like that for another minute or two until my cock softens and slips out. Then we lie on our backs beside each other, holding hands.
“We both needed that after the month we’ve had,” she says.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Our frustration from the last four weeks had to go somewhere. Anger with nowhere to go has a way of becoming something else.
This was better.
I’m not pretending it wasn’t rough, because it was. And I’m not sorry about it.
Something shifted in this room. Something in me that usually stays quiet and contained surfaced and stopped holding back.
Charlotte didn’t pull away from it. Neither did I.
After all these years, we’re still discovering new edges of each other.
She shifts closer and threads her fingers through mine.
Outside, the world is still there. The cameras. The strangers. The people who think they’re entitled to pieces of us.
Let them have their stories.
