Page 80 of One Last Shot

I reach up and stroke his face with my palm. “It’s only for a few weeks. I’ll be back next month for the party.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, but his hips thrust against my ass again and I know how badly he wants me.

“We can use a condom if you want, Sasha.” I make sure my words are soft and understanding, even though I want him inside me so badly I can feel the moisture dripping down the back of my thigh.

He quickly exhales through his nose—a short, quick grunt. And then he’s lifting my top leg and sliding himself along the creases between my legs.

I sigh. “That feels unbelievable, and Ineedyou inside me.”

Aleksandr uses his knees to sweep my legs up so I’m curled into a C on my side, his body is wrapped around every part of mine. His groan as he slides into me is raw and loud enough that I’m actually worried Stella could hear it two rooms away and over her white noise machine.

I turn my head over my shoulder. “Shhh.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, woman,” he says as he moves his hand to my hip, anchoring me in place.

Silent laughter rumbles around in my chest and my upper body shakes against him. And then he moves inside me with deep, deliberate strokes that take my breath away.

“Shit.” The word rolls off his tongue in a grunt. “This. Is. Too. Good.”

“And that’s a problem because ...?” I ask, driving my hips to meet his as best I can on my side.

“Because it’s been ten seconds and I’m already close.” He sounds frustrated.

I know exactly what will make me catch up to him. “Roll over and sit up,” I say.

He pushes into me again. “I’m not saying I want to stop.”

“And I’m not saying we’re going to stop,” I tell him, meeting his next thrust. “I’m just going to show you how to catch me up.”

“Fine.” The word is another growl, and he sighs as he pulls out of me slowly, like every inch of movement is against his will.

Once he’s sitting, I roll over. I sit up and swing one leg over his hips so I’m straddling him. On my knees like this, my breasts are right in his face and as I sink down onto him, sheathing him inside me, he takes them both in his hands reverently. Until Sasha, I’ve never been with someone who makes me feel like he’s worshipping my body and owning my soul.

As I move over him, his mouth and his hands are everywhere, licking and stroking every part of my body that he knows will bring me pleasure. As I tilt my hips and slide along him, I focus on making sure he hits that spot deep inside me that will bring me to orgasm. I look down at him as I sink onto him again, marveling at the way his eyebrows scrunch together at the effort of holding himself back until I find my release. There is raw desire in those eyes as he glances up at me. Eyes locked on my face, lips locked on my breast, his mouth is doing things that are driving me wild.

I pick up the pace and find the best angle so when he rubs against that spot deep inside me, I about come undone. He sucks my breast further into his mouth, circling my nipple with his tongue as I slide him in and out of my body. When I groan with pleasure, he emits a sound from the back of his throat that is both desire and torture, and it reverberates along my skin. I speed up, my thighs and core working hard as I rise and sink over him, and the more I move, the closer I get to that orgasm I so desperately want.

Framed by dark lashes, his eyes are a swirling mass of gray liquid steel again. The way they focus on my face—assessing, studying, loving—makes me feelseen. Heknowsme like no one else. Helovesme.

The realization hits at the same moment that my orgasm begins. My muscles clench in rippling waves that pulse around him as I buck my hips wildly against his. Without taking his eyes off me, he tilts his chin up, letting my breast fall from his mouth as he reaches one hand up to bring my head down to his. His lips are parted when our mouths meet and his tongue plunges into my mouth with the same relentless ferocity with which my muscles are clenching around his cock. I feel him pour himself into me as my orgasm brings about his, and both his hands cup my face as he kisses me like it’s the last time.

It’s too much, the way my body responds to his, the way he owns my heart. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings. The physical ones I can deal with, even though I’ve never experienced anything of this magnitude, but the emotional ones are strangers. Is it just like this because we are saying goodbye? Or could I always have this if I stayed?

And more importantly, how does one walk away from this kind of earth-shattering experience?

* * *

The tears started falling when I walked onto the plane yesterday.

I held it together when Sasha and Stella dropped me off at the airport. I said my goodbyes and made it through security and to the gate without incident. But the moment my butt hit that first-class seat, the tears started falling. I slid my sunglasses onto my face and the flight attendant brought me napkins and a glass of champagne, but I cried silent tears until there were none left to shed. I managed to eat lunch without crying, though it was hard to get the food past the enormous lump in my throat. But the moment I handed the plate back to the flight attendant, the tears started falling again. If the businessman sitting next to me noticed me constantly dabbing my cheeks, sliding that napkin up under my sunglasses, he didn’t say anything. I managed to collect my luggage and make it to the car Morgan sent for me without tears, but the minute I slid into the back seat, they started falling again. I cried even harder when I walked through the door of my apartment. Normally my refuge, now the sunny space felt like a jail cell.

It was like each time I transitioned into a new situation that would take me further from Aleksandr—the plane, the car, my apartment—I broke down. And I can’t seem to stop breaking down over and over. Maybe these are the unshed tears from the first time he left me, back when we were teenagers. Maybe they are the unshed tears of all the men who have screwed me over time and time again. Maybe it’s the acknowledgment that I’ve once again let a man into my life, not just into my bed, and this gives him the power to hurt me.

But I trust him. And maybe more importantly, I think I love him. And I think he feels the same way. Which is why it’s so hard to have to walk away, even if it’s not forever.

I take another tissue from the box I’ve left on the ottoman in the center of my closet, wipe my face and blow my nose, then toss it in the now almost-full trash can I’ve moved into my closet while I’m packing.

My phone buzzes with a text and I scoop it up, hoping to see Aleksandr’s name. Instead, I have two texts from Sierra and one from Morgan. Nothing from Aleksandr. Which makes sense, since last night I’d told him I needed some time to adjust to being home. I told him I’d contact him when I felt ready to talk.

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