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Each time my hips ground into her, the world seemed to contract to the span of her thighs clinging to my waist, her gasps as I thrust up hard, and she let out a whimper of ecstasy. I braced one hand against the wall for leverage, the other splayed across her lower back, feeling the play of muscle and heat beneath her skin. The air vibrated with the friction of us.

Her arms moved to my neck, wrapping tightly, and she drew me towards her until our foreheads touched. Sweat beaded at the base of my neck. I could feel the build of her release in the way her breathing turned shallow, in the tremble that radiated outward from her core, and in the knowledge that I could do this to her—undo her, take her apart, and piece her back together—made me wild. I started to lose the rhythm, our bodies slick with sweat, slipping rather than controlled, her legs shaking as she dug her heels into my ass to keep me inside her, impossibly deep.

“Don’t stop,” she choked out, and I had no intention of stopping, not now, not ever. I was already past the point of no return, too close to edge, but I clung to what little composure I had left.

I buried my face in her shoulder, inhaled the warm, lived-in scent of her, and whispered things I’d never said aloud to another human being. I told her how she wrecked me, how I’d waited my whole goddamn life for this, how I would do anything for the chance to love her for real. The words tumbled out, raw and unpracticed, and she drank them in, her mouth pressed to my ear, telling me in a hoarse, urgent voice that she wanted everything, all of me.

We melted into each other, blurring the line between holding and being held, each of us trying to save the other from something we weren’t acknowledging. I forced myself to slow down, wanting to make it last, wanting to memorize every sound and every shiver, but she gripped me with frantic urgency, desperate, pleading for more.

I fucked her so deep that I saw stars behind my eyelids, flashes of light behind my retina, then travelling down my spine. The heat of my release built, impossibly fast, until it felt as though my whole body were caught in her gravitational pull, completely at the mercy of the way she moved, the way she touched me, the way she made me feel. My knees nearly buckled under the weight of it, but I kept my footing, savoring the way her fingers dug into my back, her breath growing ragged, her heartbeat thrumming along the length of me as if the pulse had merged between our skin.

Her body began to quiver around me, her inner walls clamping down, greedy for every last inch and ounce. I whispered in her ear, encouraging her, and she answered with a whimper that sent a surge of pleasure racing from my tailbone to the base of my skull.

When her orgasm hit, I felt it like a wave, her whole body tensing, then shuddering uncontrollably, and the ripple of her release tripped something deep in me, primitive and insistent.

I followed right after, my entire body tensing as I buried myself to the hilt. The climax hit me with such ferocity that I lost myself completely in her. Every muscle tensed and released in a relentless pulse, electrifying my nerves with a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable, but in the best possible way. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only hold on to her. My fingers dug into her hips and her back, desperate to anchor myself.

It was more than just the physical relief, though that alone could have knocked me flat. It was the staggering vulnerability that came with it, the split second of utter surrender as my body poured into her, and she took it, all of me, and still wanted more.

My entire body buzzed with aftershocks, the fire sparking and spreading until my skin felt too tight. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. I held her tighter, my face pressed against her neck, trying to catch my breath and wondering how the hell she'd managed to turn me inside out.

Tremors ran through me long after the intensity had begun to fade.

We stayed like that for a long time, bodies intertwined, her legs wrapped tight around my waist, my hands splayed across the curve of her back as if I could physically shield her from the world. What we had just shared was more than just sex. It was the kind of connection, the kind of intimacy, that changed you and left you wondering how the hell you'd ever lived without it.

She nuzzled into my neck, breathing in my scent, and I let myself believe, just for tonight, that there was nothing in the world but this. I knew that wasn’t true, morning would come, and with it the questions and the doubts and the aftertaste of everything we couldn’t say out loud. But for now, I could pretend that we were enough for each other, that we could build a barricade against the rest of the world with nothing but the heat of our bodies and the sound of our hearts colliding.

After a while, I lowered her down softly, my lips pressing a kiss to her forehead before I scooped her into my arms and carried her, bridal style, to the bedroom. There, we tumbled onto the bed, whispering and laughing and holding each other so tight it was as if we were daring the world to separate us again.

We made love again, slower this time, taking in every inch, every sound, every startled laugh and shaky breath. I traced the lines of her body with my hands and mouth, committing them to memory, and in the hush that followed, we lay tangled in the sheets, legs, arms, and futures impossibly knotted.

I savored the soft touches and the kind of half-whispered words that you only say in the afterglow of intimacy. She traced patterns on my chest with her fingertip—circles, figure eights, the outline of a heart. I told her she was trouble, that she’d ruined me for anyone else, she laughed and then kissed me with a gentleness that made my heart swell.

We barely slept that night. We talked about nothing and everything, childhood pets, dumb fears, favorite songs. She told me about a stray cat she’d adopted in college, how she’d nursed it back to health and let it sleep on her pillow even though she was allergic. I told her about my first fight, how I’d come home bruised and proud and how my mother had patched me up with ice packs and hot chocolate. Tiny stories, traded like offerings, each one a small surrender, proof that we were more than just bodies colliding in the dark.

We moved in and out of each other’s arms, dozing off only to wake again, hungry for another taste, another reassurance that this was real and not just a fever dream. And when the gray light of dawn finally leaked through the curtains, we were still there, my arms curled around Mikayla, my hand on her hip as she slept soundly, my steady breaths fanning the nape of her neck.

I stared up at the ceiling, bracing myself for the shape of the morning that would come. But for now, I let myself drift, warm and safe with her in my arms, and thought: if there was a way to freeze time, to keep us like this forever, I would have paid any price.

I finally closed my eyes and let myself believe, for a few precious moments, that the future could be as simple as this.

32

A FUNDAMENTAL MISUNDERSTANDING OF GRAVITY

Mikayla

Ihad a plan.

I always had a plan.

Plans were my love language. Schedules were my security blanket. And a well-organized spreadsheet was basically foreplay.

Which was why, at precisely nine forty-five on Monday morning, my suitcase was packed, my rental car was loaded, and I was waiting for my mom in front of her cabin so I could drive us to the airport and put Lockhart Ranch in my rearview.

Right on schedule. There was just one small problem. I didn't want to go.

Which was ludicrous.