Page 16 of One Room Vacancy
“Gabe—” I gasp, head tipping back, “I’m close.”
He swears under his breath, rhythm faltering for a second. Then he slows, like he needs to drag it out.
His hips roll deeper, more controlled, every thrust deliberate—like he’s pulling me apart one careful inch at a time.
But his hand doesn’t stop.
His thumb keeps circling my clit, tight and fast and messy with focus.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and shaking. “Let me feel you. I need to feel you.”
My whole body arches off the bed, thighs trembling around his waist.
“Gabe—fuck?—”
“I’ve got you,” he says, more plea than promise. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”
And I do.
My orgasm rips through me like a snapped wire—hot, frantic, unstoppable.
I clench around him, legs tight around his hips, and that’s it, that’s all it takes.
He chokes out a sound, raw, desperate, and thrusts once more, deep and hard, before stilling completely.
“Fuck—Sage?—”
He groans into my neck as he comes, body shaking, fingers digging into my hip like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on.
I feel every pulse of it inside me. The way he gasps, the way he buries his face in my shoulder, as though the feeling knocked something loose within him.
He doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t need to.
His body says it all.
This wasn’t casual.
It never was.
And for a second, I almost let myself believe it means something.
But only for a second.
We stay like that for a moment—bodies tangled, skin damp, breath still catching.
I wait for him to roll off me, to give me space, to let me reset.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he shifts just enough to stay inside me as he lowers us both onto the bed, one arm curled around my waist, the other sliding beneath my head like he means to stay.
I try to laugh. Try to wriggle away. “All right, clingy.”
“You said something,” he says softly, ignoring the dig.
“Yeah,” I say, already slipping on the mask again. “It’s called pillow talk. Happens in the moment, hormones and all that. Common side effect.”
