Page 59 of The Trust We Broke
And I’d hate to be the one to disappoint. I coil my hips and meet her, thrusting deep inside.
“Zach,” she cries, her voice cracking as she says my name.
My lips hover against her, breathing in her air. Our eyes, both wide, hold each other’s gaze.
The air is charged, heavy. We’re just two people, fucking in a bathroom, and yet, it feels like the most important thing in the world.
I pull out of her, leaving just my head inside, then push back in. Slow and steady strokes until she’s taking my full length.
The rhythm is controlled. Focused. Each thrust drawing a stuttered breath from Lucy’s lungs.
She clings to me like she needs an anchor. Like I’m the only thing holding her in place.
Her forehead presses to mine, damp with sweat. Her lips part, and her eyes burn for me. She never could hide from me during sex. Her body moves with mine like she never forgot our choreography, even after all these years apart.
I have so many questions, but, right now, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to do anything to burst the bubble we’re currently in.
The universe is giving me a second chance to commit her body to memory, and right now, our hips are speaking louder than words.
We’re fire and friction and memory and ache, in one undeniable mess.
Her pussy grips me tight. And from the way she’s trembling in my arms, I can tell she’s close.
I drive deep, but reduce how far I withdraw. She always came hardest when she could grind right up against the base of my cock.
“Let go, Bug,” I whisper, catching her gasp on my tongue. “I’ve got you.”
Her body arches, and her muscles clench around me like a fist as she comes, tearing at the last threads of my own control.
Her cries are soft, broken, incoherent, and buried against my neck.
I drive hard, grunting as my own release surges through me. I brace a hand against the wall, the other beneath her ass, keeping her exactly where I want her as I pump into her.
The world spins. I suck in air.
For a moment, there’s no sound beyond the thudding of our hearts.
I struggle to place myself in the now, when I’m so wrapped up in the then.
But it can’t last.
Lucy shifts against my shoulder. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispers.
“Neither did I,” I admit. But I don’t regret it. Not even for a second.
I slowly ease out of her and set her down gently, keeping one hand on her hip as she finds her feet. She’s flushed and damp, her hair messy.
Still the most beautiful woman I ever saw.
Without cleaning myself up, I tug up my boxer briefs and jeans, and buckle my belt.
She doesn’t fight me when I lead her to the bathtub. Steam curls off the water, and I check the temperature before helping her in. She sinks slowly, her breath hitching as the heat envelops her. Her shoulders sag with relief. I grab a towel and fold it over the cold edge of the porcelain tub for her to lean back on.
As heat flushes her skin pink, her eyes flutter shut.
I kneel beside the tub, brushing damp hair off her cheek. “You hit your head earlier, Luce. Just soak, but no falling asleep on me.”
The terms of our truce were vague, beyond me caring for her while she might have a concussion. The questions I want to ask her rattle around in my brain. But the answers might mean these are the last few hours I get to spend with her. Call it self-protection, but I don’t want to hear them, yet.
