Chapter 11 #2
And it hits me—Esme’s not holding back.
Not like I am.
Not like she should be if any of this was a lie.
“You close?” I ask, my voice dropping lower, rougher, like I’m testing her.
Testing this.
Testing us.
“I—I’m close,” she breathes, her voice breaking in a way that tightens something deep in my chest.
God.
She sounds like she used to.
Like she still feels it.
Like I didn’t imagine everything we had.
“Tell me what you need,” I demand, my control slipping just enough to let the edge through.
I keep my thrusting shallow as I get nearer and nearer to her clit with my searching fingers.
“Oh God, please,” she begs.
“What do you want? Want me to rub this clit while I fuck you deep? Is that what you want?”
“Yes, please!”
“Such a dirty girl, aren’t you? You just had to ask,” I tell her and rear up on my knees, so that she’s sitting on my lap.
Her pussy trembles around my cock, and it feels so good—so goddamn right.
And with her sitting on me like this?
Well, I can see everything.
Her sweet, juicy, pink cunt is spread open, and my thick cock is filling her, spreading her lips—and it’s the best damn sight I’ve ever seen.
But now, I need her to say it.
Need her to choose this.
Choose me.
“Tell me,” I growl.
“Oh God, yes.”
“Tell me you missed this. Tell me you want this.”
“Please, Benji, please,” she whispers.
Not enough.
Not for me.
“Tell me what you want,” I press, my tone sharper now, more insistent. “Tell me what you need, Sweetheart.”
Her body answers before she does, arching, reaching, giving herself over in a way that makes my head spin.
“You! Benji, I just need you,” she gasps.
And there it is.
That surrender.
That trust.
That same damn pull that’s had me hooked since the day I met her.
I lean back just enough to look at her fully, to take in the way she opens for me without hesitation.
No fear.
No doubt.
Just me.
Christ.
If she’s lying?
If this is all some mistake?
Then I’m already too far gone to care.
I lean back in, my hand finally giving her what she’s been asking for, my voice dropping to something rougher, darker, edged with everything I’ve been holding back.
“Then listen to me,” I murmur, my forehead brushing hers, my breath mixing with hers. “Do exactly what I say.”
Because this?
This is the only thing I can control right now.
The only thing that makes sense.
Her hands tighten on me, her whole body keyed to mine like she’s waiting.
Like she trusts me.
And that nearly destroys me.
“Come for me, Ezzy,” I repeat, low and commanding.
Because if she can still do that—if she can still give herself to me like this—then maybe I didn’t lose her after all.
And it’s with that thought driving me that I fuck into her harder, faster, and I slide my thumb through her slick and press it down on her hungry little button.
And she does. She comes.
“That’s it. That is fucking it,” I grunt as I spill into her.
It hits me all at once.
Not just the actual orgasm—though, that’s there, yeah.
Strong. Overwhelming.
But it’s more than that.
It’s her.
It’s us.
Heat surges through me, sharp and blinding, like something breaking loose inside my chest that I’ve been holding down for three goddamn years.
Wave after wave crashes through me, dragging her with it, and I feel it—feel her tense, feel her shake, feel the way she clings to me like she’s right there in it with me.
Not separate.
Not distant.
With me.
Always with me.
“Ezzy!”
Her name tears out of me, rough, almost desperate.
Because this?
This isn’t just release.
This is recognition.
My body knows her.
Always has.
Like it never forgot, no matter how hard I tried to bury it.
Sex with her isn’t just sex.
It’s like a language that only we speak.
A way we can tell the truth when we just can’t say the words out loud.
It’s a once in a lifetime thing—to get to have this feeling, this connection with someone else.
I didn’t understand what it meant back then.
Didn’t want to.
But I do now.
Because right now?
My body’s saying everything I’ve been trying not to.
Everything I’ve been fighting.
Everything I’m not ready to admit out loud.
You’re mine.
You never stopped being mine.
I still fucking love you.
The realization hits deep.
Too deep.
Because if that’s true?
If I never stopped?
Then what the hell have I been doing all this time?
I tighten my hold on her, pressing my forehead to hers, trying to ground myself, trying to catch my breath, but it’s not working.
Nothing is.
Because she’s here.
In my arms.
Responding to me like no time has passed.
Like we didn’t break.
Like I didn’t let her walk away.
My chest aches.
Sharp.
Relentless.
Because part of me—some stubborn, hopeful, dangerous part of me—wants to believe her. Wants to believe she’s telling the truth.
That she didn’t betray me.
That I got it wrong.
That I was the one who fucked this up.
All because of Paul.
“Fuck,” I breathe, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to get a grip.
I lift my head slightly, looking down at her, taking in the way she looks right now—more flushed.
Breathless.
Still holding onto me like she doesn’t want to let go.
And something in my chest twists hard.
Because she doesn’t look like someone who’s lying.
Doesn’t feel like someone who’s lying.
She feels like—like home.
My jaw tightens.
This is stupid. Dangerous.
I shift slightly, and that’s when it hits me, even before I look down to see the sticky evidence dripping down her thighs.
Reality is a brute sometimes.
Hard.
Cold.
It comes crashing right back in when all I want to do is stay in this blissful peace I’m feeling for the first time in three fucking years.
No condom.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, the word sharp enough to cut through everything else.
My brain catches up all at once.
I pull back just enough to look at her again, something heavier settling in my chest now—something that isn’t just want or anger or confusion.
Responsibility.
Consequences.
“Ezzy,” I say, quieter this time.
Because whatever this is?
Whatever we just did?
It’s not simple.
It’s not clean.
And it sure as hell isn’t over.
Not even close.