Chapter Twenty-Five #2
A pang of nostalgia cuts through me as I watch the streetlights blur past. The night of the gala—the night that sealed the fate of our marriage—feels like a lifetime ago, and yet the weight of it still lingers.
We should have been a team. We should have fought harder.
But maybe the time apart was necessary. Maybe it allowed us to become the people we were always meant to be.
Lightning flashes across the sky just as Corbin pulls into the driveway.
“You ready to make a run for it?” he asks, one hand already on the door handle.
I nod, gripping my own handle, my purse slung over my shoulder in preparation. The second we push the doors open, thunder cracks overhead, and we dash up the walkway, rain drenching us even further. I take the food from Corbin as he fumbles with the keys, hands slick with rain.
By the time we tumble inside, my teeth are chattering, my clothes plastered to my skin.
“You’re freezing,” Corbin notes, watching the way my arms instinctively wrap around myself. He sets the food in the fridge and gestures toward the stairs. “Come on.”
I lick my lips, my pulse hammering as I follow him upstairs. The air between us thickens with something charged but impossible to ignore.
In his bedroom, Corbin flicks on the light, casting the space in a soft glow. He heads straight for the bathroom and turns on the shower, steam already curling from behind the glass door.
“You need to warm up,” he says, his voice low.
We both do.
The words leave my lips before I can second-guess them. They sound bolder than I feel, but I don’t take them back.
Instead, I reach for the buttons of my blouse. My fingers shake. Not just from the cold.
Corbin watches me, his face hard to read.
I strip the wet fabric from my shoulders, the air instantly raising goosebumps on my skin. My hands find the button of my jeans next, tugging them down my damp legs before stepping toward him.
“Jules,” he says softly, almost like a warning.
But I don’t stop.
I grip the hem of his pullover and, after a brief hesitation, he lifts his arms, allowing me to pull it over his head. My breath catches as my eyes trace the familiar lines of his stomach, the defined ridges of his abs.
My fingers trail lower, finding the zipper of his jeans.
He doesn’t stop me.
Instead, he takes over, making quick work of his pants as I hook my fingers around the waistband of his black boxer briefs. The same ones I used to tug off him without a second thought.
But this time, everything feels different .
Like we’re standing on the edge of something that, if we’re not careful, might consume us whole.
And I don’t know if I want to stop it.
Not tonight.
Not anymore.
I slide Corbin’s boxer briefs down his thighs just as his fingers find the clasp of my bra. We undress each other slowly, deliberately, like we’re peeling away the past layer by layer. Then, without a word, he opens the shower door and gestures for me to step in first.
The hot water cascades over me, but I don’t need it to warm up. I’m already burning from the way his hands skim my waist as he steps in behind me.
I turn to face him, my arms slipping around his neck as he leans in, capturing my mouth with his. His kiss is deep, slow, consuming. I press closer, my body molding to his, every inch of him igniting something in me I thought had long since burned out.
Then, without warning, he drops to his knees.
My breath catches as he grips my thigh, guiding it over his shoulder. I brace myself against the cool tile, my fingers threading through his damp hair as his mouth finds me. The first stroke of his tongue sends a shudder through me.
"Corbin," I whisper, my voice breaking as he works me with a precision only he knows.
He groans against me, the vibration sending another shockwave of pleasure through my core. His grip tightens, fingers pressing into my thighs as he pulls me closer, holding me exactly where he wants me. His tongue flicks and circles, deliberate and unrelenting, drawing me higher and higher.
My back arches against the cool tile, my breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. Every nerve in my body is on fire, tension coiling low in my stomach, growing tighter with every slow, calculated stroke of his tongue.
“Corbin,” I whimper, my fingers threading through his damp hair, holding on as the pressure builds to a breaking point.
He doubles down, lips sealing around my clit as he sucks, and the tension finally snaps. I shatter, waves of pleasure rolling through me, my thighs trembling around him as he keeps me steady, drawing every last pulse of pleasure from my body.
I sag against the wall, my limbs weak, my breath ragged. Corbin presses a lingering kiss to my inner thigh before looking up at me, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough with hunger. “You’re perfect.”
I barely have time to recover before he stands, his lips glistening as he presses a slow, lingering kiss against my mouth.
“More,” I say between kisses.
He lifts me effortlessly, pressing my back to the wet tile, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he positions himself at my entrance.
Corbin sinks into me, inch by inch, and my head falls back as a gasp slips free.
“Jules,” he rasps against my jaw, his hands gripping my thighs as he rolls his hips.
His thrusts start slow, wanton, each movement purposeful as he matches the rhythm of our breaths.
He watches me, his blue eyes locked onto mine, as if memorizing every gasp, every shudder, every way my body responds to his.
He holds me steady against the slick tile as he sinks into me over and over again, dragging out every sensation, every pulse of pleasure.
But as the tension builds between us, control frays. His movements become more urgent, his restraint slipping as he drives deeper, faster. My nails dig into his shoulders, my head tipping back as a moan rips from my throat.
“Jules,” he moans, his voice strained, filled with something raw and unfiltered.
The pleasure is unbearable in the best way—consuming, intoxicating. Every thrust sends another ripple of heat through me, tightening the coil low in my belly until I’m trembling against him, teetering on the edge of something devastatingly good.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine as his pace quickens. I do. And what I see—desperation, need, something deeper, something that feels like worship—pushes me over the edge, pulling him right along with me.
“Come with me, Jules,” he growls, his forehead pressed to mine.
And I do. Again. My body clenches around him just as his own release takes over, his shuddering groan swallowed by my lips.
For a long moment, we just stay like that. Pressed together. Bodies slick, hearts pounding.
Then, as if on cue, my stomach lets out a low, grumbling protest.
Corbin laughs, his head dropping to my shoulder. “You’re hungry.”
“Impossible,” I pant. “You just filled me up.”
He pulls back just enough to give me a look. “Jules.”
I grin. “What? Too much?”
“You’ve always been terrible at one-liners.”
I swat at his arm as he carefully sets me on my feet, turns off the shower and grabs a towel, wrapping it snug around my body before securing one around his own waist.
“You dry off,” he instructs. “I’ll grab the food.”
I slip into his closet, pulling one of his old T-shirts over my head just as he returns with the takeout. He gestures toward the bed, and I hesitate.
“Are you seriously going to eat in bed?”
“People change.” He shrugs.
I narrow my eyes. “The Corbin I knew would never let anyone eat in his bed.”
“Good thing you’re not just anyone,” he says, settling in.
I roll my eyes but crawl onto the mattress beside him, propping a pillow behind my back as he hands me a container of sushi.
We eat in comfortable silence for a while, chopsticks clinking, rain drumming softly against the windows. But something lingers in the air—charged and unspoken.
And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I ask, “Is this a normal date night for you?”
Corbin glances up, chewing. “What do you mean?”
I gesture between us. “Dinner after sex. Is this your usual routine with the other women?”
His brows knit together. “What other women?”
“The ones you’ve been dating since we separated,” I clarify.
He sets his chopsticks down and just stares at me like I’ve said something insane. “Jules.”
“What?”
“There haven’t been any other women.”
I nearly choke on a piece of salmon and rice. “W-what?”
He tilts his head. “Where did you get the idea that I was sleeping with other women?”
“Maybe because we got divorced?” I say, still trying to process.
“There was no one else,” he says simply. “Just you.”
My stomach twists, my pulse hammering. “But there was Susan.”
“We had drinks. That’s it. I take clients and coworkers out sometimes, but I was never interested in anything more.”
I don’t know what to do with this information. I don’t know how to process it. “Tell me not to read into this,” I whisper, though I’m already spiraling.
He lets out a slow breath. “I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You’ve been celibate this whole damn time?” My voice comes out higher than I expect.
“Haven’t you?” he counters.
“Yeah, but I’m Jules.”
“And I’m Corbin.” He shakes his head, amused.
I blink. “There was never anyone else?”
“Never,” he says firmly. “I spent two years trying to get over you and failed. Miserably.”
I push the sushi container aside and crawl closer, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath. He cups my cheek, his thumb stroking over my skin.
“Are you serious right now?” I momentarily forget to breathe.
He kisses me softly. “Dead serious.”
“There was…” My throat tightens.
“Only ever you.”
I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or kiss him senseless.
So, I do the only thing that feels right.
I pull him down and kiss him until the rest of the world falls away.