Page 92 of Teach Me to Fly

I reach toward the nightstand without fully leaving her, never breaking contact for more than a second. She watches me as I open the drawer and pull out the condom box, the foil packet glinting under the low light.

I tear it open with my teeth, push my boxers down, and roll the condom on with one hand. Her gaze drops briefly, then jumps back up to my face, cheeks flushing. I settle between her thighs again and my hands frame her face, thumbs grazing her jaw as our mouths mold together again and again until the kiss deepens, her tongue brushing mine in a gentle stroke that makes my control splinter.

My cock is already hard; heavy with need—thick and pulsing at the base, the head sensitive, aching. Every second not inside her is excruciating, and yet, I force myself to move slowly, to take care, because this isn’t about release. It’s about her.

It’s about us.

I guide myself to her entrance, rubbing the head of my cock against her slick pussy, and she gasps softly, her hips tilting up to meet me. She’s so fucking ready for me as I press in, inch by inch, the heat of her wrapping around me so tight it punches the air out of my lungs.

“Fuck,” I grit, eyes falling shut for a second. She’s sowarm and so wet. I can feel every flutter of her body as she stretches around me, her cunt gripping me like she doesn’t want to let me go.

She moans, breath hitching as I push deeper, and her fingers claw into my shoulders like she needs me buried inside her to feel whole again. I bottom out slowly, holding there for a moment, my forehead pressed to hers.

She’s everything.

Moving inside her is slow torture—perfect torture. Her walls tighten with every thrust, and I’m thick inside her, stretching her open in a way that makes her tremble beneath me. Her legs lock around my waist, pulling me in deeper, and I feel it down to my spine—this raw, aching need.

We find an unhurried rhythm, my hips rolling deep and purposeful, and I swear I feel her shiver every time I drag across that perfect spot inside her. When I hear my name slip past her lips in a soft moan, I lose it.

I kiss her, again and again, our mouths brushing between breaths. My cock drives into her slowly and powerfully, like a promise I’m carving into her skin.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, lips brushing her temple. “I’m right here.”

She whimpers when she comes, her body clenching around me, her face tucked into my neck. I feel her break apart beneath me, unraveling in my arms, and I let go right after—groaning low in my throat, thrusting once, twice more before I still, buried deep as I come hard inside her.

We don’t move for a long time as our breathing evens out. She draws lazy patterns down my back, and I keep one hand cradling the back of her head, the other stroking her hip in soothing circles.

Words feel useless right now, so I say nothing. They’donly dilute the truth of what’s already been spoken between our bodies. She doesn’t have to tell me out loud that she loves me, but I feel it now. She hasn’t said it, maybe because she’s scared to after everything, but I know she does. So, I hold her tighter, anchoring us both in the silence, where nothing needs to be said to mean everything.

Angelique is curledup on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with her knees tucked tight to her chest. Some trashy dating show plays low on the TV, bright lights flickering across her blank face, but I can tell she’s not really watching.

I’ve tried everything. I made her breakfast this morning, played piano for her after lunch, kissed her hair, her shoulder, her fingers, anywhere I could reach, just to remind her she still means everything to me. But she only ever gives me these faint brief nods—ghosts of what she used to be.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out, my stomach tightens.

Detective Powell:

He’s being released tonight. On a plane back to JFK by morning. Charges aren’t sticking here—not for what happened in New York. UK can’t touch it.

I stare at the screen for a second too long, then I look at her. Angelique doesn’t notice. She’s still sitting there, barely blinking, her hand clenching and unclenching under the blanket like even her body doesn’t know what to do with itself anymore, so I unlock my phone and fire off a quicktext to Lando.

Me:

Need you at the guesthouse now. Stay with her. Don’t ask questions.

His reply comes seconds later.

Lando:

On my way.

I tuck the phone away, eyes still locked on her, but she doesn't look at me. I walk over and press a kiss to her temple, smoothing my hand over her curls.

“I’ll be right back,” I murmur.

She nods slowly, but I know she didn’t really hear me.

As I grab my coat and head for the door, my hands are already curling into fists. Because tonight, I’m not coming back until I finish what I should’ve done the first fucking time.

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