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But as it happens, I pretend that I do know. I pretend that I know exactly what he means with each thrust into me. I pretend as he tastes me everywhere.
He doesn't know, but every pass of his lips makes more of me belong to him.
I’m addicted to the pace of his hips as they pull back and slide forward.
I'm addicted to the way that I’m stretched and full in a way I've only dreamed about over the last ten years.
I'm addicted to him.
In, out, he watches me—my eyes, my lips. He takes in every reaction, every breath and moan. I hold his cheek, worshiping his face with my gaze as he picks up the pace.
“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking,” he murmurs.
Leo Tolstoy.
He quotes fuckingAnna Karenina, one of my all-time favorite books, as my lips part in a silent O when I can’t breathe, and every muscle in my body stretches thin.
All the while, he watches. Rising, straightening his arms beside me, his muscles flex beneath my roaming fingers, and he pounds into me. I scrape my nails against his shoulders and dig into hard muscle. The first tremor is a shock, pushing me over the edge and into a spasm. I clench around his cock, but he moves through each pulsing grip, propelling me into a tumbling orgasm. It’s so intense, I rise to the highest peak and freeze, only to crash on the other side of it, shaking and winded.
“Again, angel. Let’s go together this time,” he growls, and his voice alone has me spiraling towards another one. I pull my knees in and wrap my ankles around his waist so that he can drive deeper. The shift in angle lets his cock hit me in all the right places, lets his pelvis grind against me with just the right pressure. The new stimulation contributes towards soaring toward my next climax. As do his eyes, locked with mine. As open as my body is to him in this moment, it was Logan's soul that was open to me. He spoke secrets in that look. He told me things I wasn’t supposed to know about.
How much he'd missed me. He told me that I was everything he needed. He told me that he wasn’t fucking—that he was making love.
And it felt for a moment like I could stop pretending that this was love, and actually believe it for real.
I’m sure I say all the same things back, because how could I not? I'd been in love with this man for so long that I didn't know what it felt like not to be. Neither time nor distance had changed that.
And when I go again, it's with him, just like he wanted, my orgasm crashing and mingling with his so completely that I can't tell which sounds are his and which are mine.
I can't tell if it's my heart pounding against his chest or his pounding against mine.
I can't tell whether it's me sobbing into his skin or him sobbing into mine.
But what I do know is that most people won't ever experience what we just did. The difference between sleeping with a stranger, or even someone you just love, is different than sleeping with a soulmate. Imprisoned for too long before this, our souls had met tonight, they'd flown together, wild and free.
It was perfect.
He holds me long after we’re finished, brushing light strokes down my back with his fingers and intermittently kissing my forehead, as if I’m the most precious thing in the world. Our legs tangled up together, our chests fall and rise in tandem, and I feel like somehow, we’ve become one.
And I cry.
I'm sure he thinks that I'm crying because of our reconnection, but what I'm really crying about is how much I'm going to miss him.
Epilogue
Now
________________________________________
Valentina
An angry "what the fuck" wakens me from a bliss-filled dream. Expletives fill the air as I bolt awake, sitting up to a scene that looks far too familiar.
Carter hauls a bleary-eyed, brief-clad Logan out of the bed we shared, throwing him to the ground as he roars at him. I'm trembling as I watch Logan fully wake up, rear his fist back, and throat punch Carter so he has no choice but to roll off of him.
Quaid comes running in, his eyes widening at the chaos before him. He rushes over to grab Logan, who is now levying hit after hit on Carter's face and chest while Carter struggles under him.
"You asshole," Logan snarls as Quaid drags him away, trying to breach a gap between the two friends. He's struggling so fiercely against Quaid’s grip just to cause Carter more damage, that eventually, Quaid gets hit in the face.
