Chapter 12 #4
No shame, no filter, just pure pleasure splitting her open again as I fuck her through her second orgasm. And I can feel it—her walls clamping down, spasming, trying to milk me, drag me over with her.
And I’m fucking close.
So close I can barely think.
“Fuck, Carol—say it,” I growl, thrusts sloppy now, fast and deep and brutal.
“Say you’re mine.”
Her head snaps forward, eyes wild, flushed chest heaving. She’s trembling beneath me, sweat-slick and ruined and still so fucking hungry. Her pussy clenches around me like a vice—hot, fluttering, dragging every last ounce of control out of my body with each desperate thrust.
“I’m yours,” she gasps, voice cracking into a moan, “Fuck, I’m yours, Crash—yours, yours, yours—”
That’s it. That’s the fucking kill shot.
I growl, deep and ragged, slamming into her, driving my cock so deep she arches off the bed with a sharp cry, her whole body tensing and quaking beneath me like she’s caught in some wicked exorcism of pleasure.
Her legs lock around my hips, pulling me in, and I don’t even try to fight it anymore.
“Fuck, I’m coming—” I snarl, burying myself to the hilt, cock pulsing as I unload into the condom, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
I collapse over her, my cast braced against the mattress, the other hand still gripping her thigh like I’ll fall into the void without her. Our bodies are stuck together—sweat, slick, breathless heat.
She wraps her arms around my back, her nails tracing soft, slow lines now, mouth against my ear.
“Holy shit,” she breathes.
I let out a wrecked, crooked laugh, forehead pressing to hers, heart hammering in sync.
“Yeah,” I whisper, chest still heaving. “You just fucking reprogrammed my nervous system.”
We stay like that, tangled in sweat and heat and the kind of silence that hums—limbs limp, breath ragged, bodies stuck together like glue, like gravity decided we belong just like this.
My cock’s still softening inside the condom, her legs still loosely hooked around me, and her fingers drift into my hair, brushing slow, lazy strokes like she’s trying to soothe the aftershocks.
She sighs, sated and fucked out, and then—
“Congrats on the job…”
I bark out a laugh, loud and broken, chest shaking against hers, and she snorts right after, face nuzzled against my neck.
“Jesus Christ, Carol,” I mumble, still catching my breath, “you fuck me into another dimension and then congratulate me like I just got promoted at Goldman Sachs.”
She grins against my skin, breath still warm. “What? It was a big step,” she says, mock-serious. “You’re a fully functioning mystery man now. Job and sex—your résumé’s looking better than half the city.”
“Yeah?” I shift slightly, pressing a kiss to her jaw, “Think I qualify for housing now? Dental?”
She hums, smirking. “Only if you keep laying pipe like that, Casanova.”
“Pipe?” I choke out a laugh.
“Pipe. You heard me.” She stretches under me, full body, unapologetically smug. “You laid it. I’m wrecked. I’ll be walking funny through half my ER shift.”
I grin, rolling off her slowly, cast thumping uselessly beside us as we settle into the sheets again.
“Well,” I murmur, pulling her close, “guess I’m good for something after all.”
She turns into me, warm and golden and grinning like sin. “Babe, you might not remember your name, but you definitely remember how to fuck.”
We’re wrapped up in each other, her body draped over mine, her hair a golden mess on my chest, the sheets kicked halfway down the bed, and we’re still laughing, low and breathless, like we’ve been fucked stupid and free.
But then her voice dips. Soft. Serious. Her palm presses just over my heart like she’s trying to ground me—anchor me—and I feel it before she even says the words.
“Crash…” she starts, and that alone guts me, because she’s the only one who’s ever said it like it means something.
“I know you’re scared… scared you’ll never remember who you were. Scared that it’s just… gone.” Her fingers trace over my chest slowly, like she can feel the way my breath catches, how my pulse kicks.
She looks up at me, eyes big and brown and heartbreakingly honest. “But if it doesn’t come back…” she shrugs, voice tight, “if none of it does, I want you to know—you still have something. You have a life here, Crash.”
My throat closes. I stare up at the ceiling like it’s got answers I haven’t earned.
She keeps going, no pity, no bullshit, just truth. “You’ve got a bed. A key. A job. Food in the fridge. A drawer full of your thrift store fashion disaster. And me…” she trails off, biting her lip. “You’ve got me.”
I close my eyes, jaw tight, heart fucking pounding.
“You mean that?” I manage, voice hoarse, low, barely above a whisper.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pause.
“Yeah, I fucking do.”
I turn to her, cup her face with my good hand, and fuck, she’s so close, so real. Her lashes are damp. Her lips kiss-wrecked. Her heart bare.
“You’re the only thing I’ve got that makes sense, Carol…” I say.
She nods and presses her forehead to mine. We stay like that, breathing each other in, no words left to say that don’t already live in the way we’re holding each other like we’ve done this before.
Maybe we have. In some other life.
But this one’s ours now.
A new life.