Chapter 23 #2
The front door slams, leaving a silence that is somehow louder than his voice. Tara’s cheeks burn crimson, her lips swollen, her chest rising and falling like she’s run a marathon. We just stare at each other.
And then, without warning, she crashes into me.
This time, her kiss is frantic, like she’s trying to erase the space between us, like if we stop, reality will catch up.
I agree.
I meet her intensity, my hands roaming her body, reclaiming every inch I thought I’d lost.
We stumble towards the bed, a mess of tangled limbs and half-shed clothing. Her shirt gets stuck at her elbow, and I yank it off impatiently, tossing it aside. My hands trace the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, her body arching into my touch as a soft gasp escapes her lips.
“Still nothing, huh?” I murmur against her throat, teeth grazing the rapid pulse there.
She doesn’t answer. Just digs her nails into my back and pulls me closer, as if I could possibly be close enough.
I push her down onto the bed, watching her bounce slightly against the mattress, hair fanned across my pillow. She looks wrecked already, flushed and breathless, eyes dark with something she still won’t say out loud.
I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, my grip just firm enough to keep her there. “Say it.”
“No,” she whispers, but her body betrays her, rolling into me, desperate for more. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
The lie stokes something wild in me. If she wants to pretend, fine—I’ll let her. But I’m going to make sure she remembers every second of this.
“We’ll see about that.” I release her wrists to drag my fingers down her sides. She shivers, goosebumps rising under my touch.
I trace every inch of her, my mouth following the path of my hands, lips branding her skin as I go. Neck, collarbone, the delicate swell of her breast—I pause there, lifting my eyes to hers. They’re wide and dark, pupils blown, lips parted like she’s on the verge of saying something.
“Still nothing?” I ask, letting my mouth brush against her skin.
She swallows hard, but no words come. That silence? A challenge.
I take my time proving her wrong, pulling sounds from her she probably didn’t even know she could make. Her body shifts beneath me, all instinct and heat, fingers twisting in my hair, pressing me closer like she doesn’t care if she drowns in this.
“Alfie.” My name breaks apart on her lips like she’s barely holding onto it.
I drag my hand lower, teasing along the waistband of her jeans. She lifts her hips, a silent plea, but I want the words.
“Tell me what you want.” My voice is low, rough, deliberate.
She hesitates, biting her lip, and I reward her with a slow, calculated stroke, pressing against the heat of her through thin cotton.
Her breath stutters.
“Say it,” I murmur, my teeth grazing the shell of her ear.
A shiver wrecks through her, nails digging into my arms. “You.” A breathless gasp. “I want you, Alfie Spencer.”
A wicked satisfaction coils in my chest. I claim her mouth, swallowing her next sound as I push her past words, past reason.
“This is the last time.” She pants when we finally break apart. “We can’t—we shouldn’t—”
I catch her chin, tilting her face to mine. My voice is a slow, dark promise. “If this is the last time, Tara, I’m going to make damn sure you feel me every time you close your eyes.”
Her pupils dilate. Her lips part. No words. Just need.
I smirk. Drag my mouth down her throat, her collarbone. Savor the way she squirms, restless beneath me as I take my time, tracing heat over her skin with lips and teeth and tongue.
By the time I reach the waistband of her jeans, she’s trembling, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
I make quick work of the denim, peeling it down her legs along with her underwear, leaving her bare beneath me.
I take a moment—just to look. Just to bask in the way she’s sprawled out for me, wrecked and waiting. Then I drag my hands over every newly exposed inch, mapping her, memorizing her.
Because if this is the last time, I’m not just going to ruin her.
I’m going to make sure no one else even stands a chance.
Settling between her thighs, I press open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there, lingering just to watch the way she squirms, how her breath stutters in her throat. When I finally taste her, she cries out, her back arching sharply off the bed.
“Alfie—” Her voice is wrecked, fingers diving into my hair, pulling me closer.
I lose myself in her completely, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every desperate movement of her hips. Her thighs tighten around my head, legs trembling as I push her closer, closer—until I suddenly pull back.
A whimper of protest leaves her lips.
I smirk against her inner thigh, kissing the heated skin there. “You taste incredible,”
She shifts beneath me, her hands tugging at my hair, trying to pull me back where she needs me. I don’t give in.
“If this is the last time,” my breath is falling over her skin, “I’m going to take my time. Memorize you.”
She makes a frustrated sound, half plea, half growl. I drag my tongue lazily along her folds, deliberately avoiding where she’s aching for me most. She whines, writhing against the sheets.
“Please…”
I glance up, watching the way her lips part, the wild need in her eyes. Fuck.
“Please what?” I tease, nipping gently at her inner thigh, watching her flinch in pleasure.
“Your mouth.” She pants. “I need—”
I give her a slow, deliberate lick, and she lets out a strangled sound, her hips bucking up to meet me.
“Like this?”
“Yes,” she cries. “God, yes—”
That’s all the permission I need.
I work her over relentlessly, alternating between deep, slow strokes of my tongue and focused, teasing flicks against the spot that makes her gasp the loudest. Her fingers tighten in my hair, thighs trembling, breathless curses slipping from her lips.
“Alfie, I—I’m going to—”
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right as I suck gently on her clit.
Tara shatters.
Her body tenses, back arching clear off the bed as she cries out my name, pleasure tearing through her in waves. I hold her there, working her through every last shudder, keeping my touch light as the aftershocks ripple through her.
When I finally pull away, she’s wrecked in the best way—hair wild against the pillows, lips parted, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, like she’s still trying to remember how to exist in her own body.
I press a slow, deliberate kiss to her jaw, letting my lips linger.
“Still think this was nothing?”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t answer.
I smirk, trailing my mouth down her neck, tasting the sweat-dampened skin there. I don’t need her to say it. I already know.
I take my time moving back up her body, pressing soft, lazy kisses along the way, mapping her out like I don’t have every inch of her burned into memory.
When I reach her lips, I kiss her deep, slow—letting her taste herself on my tongue.
She sighs into my mouth, her fingers sliding over my shoulders, gripping like she’s afraid to let go.
She hooks a leg around my waist, pulling me in until there’s no space left between us. Her hair falls around us, blocking out the world, and when she kisses me this time—slow and deep, like she’s trying to drown us both in it—I groan against her lips, hands fisting in the sheets.
“Last time, right?” she murmurs, her voice dripping with challenge.
I should say yes.
I should mean yes.
But I don’t.
“Right,” I lie, dragging my teeth over her bottom lip.
She doesn’t hesitate. In one slow, torturous motion, she sinks down onto me, and my entire world shatters.
For a moment, neither of us moves—just panting into each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together, letting the weight of it settle in our bones.
Then she starts to move, and fuck.
I grip her hips, let her set the pace—slow, deep rolls that have me clenching my jaw, my hands flexing against her skin. I meet her movements, thrust for thrust, burning every second of this into my memory. If she thinks this is the last time, she’s out of her mind.
“God, you feel so good.” I groan, dragging my lips over her collarbone.
She doesn’t answer—just moves faster, tilting her hips in a way that sends a shudder ripping through me. My fingers dig into her waist, guiding her, needing more. She’s golden skin and burning need, head thrown back, lips parted, absolutely wrecking me.
I slip a hand up her spine, fingers tracing the ridges, savoring the way she arches into my touch. Her nails rake through my hair, scraping against my scalp, sending pleasure spiking through my veins. I growl, pull her down for a kiss that’s all desperation.
We move together in perfect sync, like we were made for this—like we were made for each other. And maybe that thought should terrify me. Maybe it should make me pull away.
But all I can think is, I want more.
I flip us suddenly, pressing her into the mattress, and she gasps—half surprise, half pleasure—her legs wrapping around me, anchoring me to her.
“Oh God.” She breathes, her voice wrecked. “Please…”
I know exactly what she needs.
I slip a hand between us, find the spot that unravels her, and press just right. The moment I do, she cries out, body tightening around me, so damn close.
“Let go, beautiful,” I rasp against her throat, my voice thick with need. “I want to feel every damn second of it.”
Her nails dig into my back as she shatters, gasping my name like it’s the only word she remembers. And the way she says it—Alfie—drags me under right after her.
For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled and panting, the world outside this bed nothing but a blur. I press slow kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, unwilling to let go of her just yet.
“Tara,” I start, but she presses a finger to my lips.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Please don’t say anything.”
I should push. Should make her tell me what this is, if it’s anything at all. But the plea in her eyes keeps me silent.
So instead, I roll onto my side, pulling her against me. She fits there too perfectly. Too easily.
For a while, we just breathe. Pretend this isn’t goodbye.
Then she shifts against my chest, stirring.
“I should go,” she murmurs, already pulling away. “I have work later.”
“Tara—” But I don’t know how to finish that sentence. Don’t know how to ask her to stay when she’s already halfway across the room, gathering her clothes with shaking hands.
She hesitates, shirt half-buttoned, lips pressing together like she’s forcing out the next words.
“This was…” A pause. A breath. “This was a good way to end things, right? Before Troy gets here. Clean break.”
A lump lodges itself in my throat, thick and unmovable.
“After Saturday, when my family leaves,” I manage, voice hoarse, “you won’t have to pretend anymore.”
Something flickers across her face—something quick, sharp—but she smothers it before I can name it.
“No more pretending,” she echoes, nodding, as if she’s convincing herself. She ties her shoes, still not meeting my eyes. “That’s what’s best, isn’t it? You don’t do relationships, and I don’t do… whatever this is.”
I want to argue. Want to tell her this stopped being pretend somewhere between stolen glances and whispered truths under the stars. But she’s right—I can’t be what she needs. I can’t be the safe choice, the guarantee, the forever.
She hesitates at the door, fingers hovering over the handle, and for a second, I swear she’s going to say something else.
But she just nods once and slips out, leaving nothing but the ghost of her warmth beside me and the faint scent of vanilla in my sheets.
This is what she wants, I tell myself. This is what she chose.
Even if letting her go feels like losing something I never knew I needed.