Page 31 of Back in the Bay

"I want you inside me," I whisper, unable to contain my need for him.

Cole’s thick, stiff shaft plunges into me, his warmth and girth filling me to the brim, reigniting a fire that has smoldered for too long. My hands grasp at his chiseled back as he drives into me with a primal rhythm, our bodies slapping together in a harmony we thought we'd lost forever.

"Fuck, Mabel," he groans into my ear, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. "Feels so good."

His words fan the flames of my desire, spurring me on as I meet his every thrust with equal fervor. The room is filled with the sultry soundtrack of our mingled breaths and the wet, hungry sounds of our coupling. It's raw, unrefined lust at its finest—the polar opposite of the refined sex I've grown accustomed to in Portland.

"I've missed this," I pant out, digging my nails into his back as he hits that spot deep inside me that sends electricity coursing through my veins. "Missed you."

"Me too," he grunts between clenched teeth. "Fuck, Mabel, I've missed you so much."

His words act like a catalyst, sending me hurtling toward the edge again. Cole senses it, his tempo changing, slowing to deep, deliberate thrusts that make me feel every inch of him.

"I want to feel you come around me," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Let me feel you, Mabel."

His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced precision. The dual sensation of his thick cock stretching me and his fingers working their magic is overwhelming. I'm climbing higher, my body tightening around him.

"That's it," he encourages, his eyes never leaving mine. "Give it to me."

When I shatter this time, it's like a supernova exploding through my body. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, my inner walls clenching rhythmically around him. I cry out his name—not caring who might hear, not caring about anything but this moment, this man, this connection that never truly broke.

Cole follows me over the edge with a hoarse shout, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself inside me. The primal satisfaction of feeling his pulse within me sends another aftershock of pleasure through my system.

We collapse together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and racing hearts. Cole's weight on me feels like an anchor, keeping me from floating away on the tide of endorphins flooding my system. For several minutes, neither of us speaks—there's only the sound of our breathing gradually slowing, synchronizing without effort.

"I never stopped loving you," he confesses, each thrust punctuating his heartfelt words. "Not for a single day."

The admission breaks something open inside me. "I tried to," I gasp, my nails marking Cole's back. "God, I really tried."

Later, tangled in his sheets upstairs, I trace the contours of his chest as moonlight spills through windows that face the ocean.

"What happens now?" he asks, voice hesitant for the first time tonight.

The practical part of me—the part that built a life 200 miles away—wants to call this a nostalgic mistake. But looking at him, I can't form the words.

"I have a life in Portland," I say instead.

He props himself up on one elbow, suddenly serious. "Mabel Maxwell, I let you walk away once because we were kids with different dreams. I'm not making that mistake again."

"I can work remotely sometimes," I find myself saying. "Three days a week, maybe."

His arms pull me closer, a comforting embrace that feels like home. "I could expand the business," he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble in the quiet room. "Portland needs contractors, too."

"We're doing this, aren't we?" I respond softly, my fingers tracing gentle circles on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my touch.

"If you want to," he replies, his eyes sincere and full of warmth. "No pressure, no ultimatums this time. Just possibility."

I lift my head to meet his gaze, taking in the features of the man who has haunted my dreams for over a decade. "I love you, Cole Bennett," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "I never stopped either."

His smile blooms, radiant and full of joy, a light so bright it could illuminate the entire Pacific Northwest. "Then we'll figure out the rest," he assures, his words a promise of endless tomorrows.

epilogue: three years later

. . .

Cole

I kneelon the wooden deck I built last summer, hammer in hand, as I secure the final board for our new addition. The extension will provide Mabel with the home office she needs for her remote workdays—a practice she has treasured since our daughter, Lily, made her grand appearance two years ago.

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