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He buries his face against my neck and then begins to lift me, letting me fall hard. My orgasm is crashing through me—a slow burn instead of a tidal wave this time. I don’t notice it at first, until my breath is coming in gasps, and my fingers and toes are tingling.
I turn my head, desperate to find his lips because I just keep coming and coming, the pleasure ratcheting higher every time I squeeze down on him, every time he thrusts up into me. The kiss is barely a kiss, panting wetly into his mouth as he bites on my lower lip, but I feel when he starts to follow me over the edge.
His grip goes unsteady, and then I’m tumbling back, my fall breaking with his firm hand beneath me. He gives half a dozen ragged thrusts, moaning gently against my skin, and then he stills, and I take his full weight. It steals some of my breath, but the last thing I want him to do is pull away.
“Wait,” I manage to whisper as I feel him start to pull back. “Just… wait.”
He does. He lets his dick sit inside me, still mostly hard, for as long as he can before the condom becomes a risk. When he finally lets go, he does it with a kiss, and he slips two fingers inside me to replace his cock.
I clench around him, feeling warm and strangely comforted by the feeling of fullness, and I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. Not because I’m afraid, I realize, but because this wasn’t fucking. And this wasn’t sex.
This was goodbye.
He just showed me his heart and made love to me, and now we both have to accept it’s over.
I feel Maddox shift the blanket, and then he gets up and walks away, and I still don’t look because I’m afraid the next thing I’ll hear is the door closing. Instead, there’s water running from the bathroom, and he returns a few moments later, sliding in behind me.
His body curls around mine, his arm hitched around my waist, dragging my ass to sit almost perfectly in the cradle of his thighs. I feel him push my hair out of the way, and then he rubs his nose along the back of my neck before letting out a long sigh. His lips come to rest in the crook of my shoulder, and he simply rests them there.
I want to say something—anything. I want to make promises I don’t know how to keep. I want to beg him to find a solution so this doesn’t have to end. But it all seems pointless. It all seems…
Cruel. To both him and to me.
So instead, I just lie there, knowing this is the beginning of the end, and hope that magic really does exist and morning never comes.
