Page 56 of One Room Vacancy
This isn’t about undoing each other. It’s about holding each other together.
Her legs tighten around me, her body pulsing with every slow roll of my hips, and I feel her starting to come apart.
She breaks the kiss to whisper, “Don’t stop.”
I won’t.
I couldn’t, even if I tried.
Her body tightens around me as I push in deeper, and I force myself to keep my eyes open, to watch her.
She’s looking back at me, wide-eyed, lips parted, like she can’t quite believe this is happening either. Like she’s just as undone by the softness of it as I am.
I bottom out slowly, carefully, and we both freeze—not because we’re unsure, but because it’s too much to rush.
Her eyes stay locked on mine.
And I swear, it knocks the breath out of me.
Because this is the part I never got. This part right here, being inside her like this, and seeing her see me. Not just the body, not just the heat, but me.
She’s not looking away.
She’s not hiding behind banter or distance or denial.
And I’m not hiding either.
There’s no mask here, no push-pull game, just her, open and real beneath me. And me, trying not to fall apart because she’s letting me love her like this.
When I start to move again with slow, deliberate thrusts, her eyes flutter, but they stay on me. Her breath stutters every time I sink in, her fingers clenching around my shoulders like she needs the grounding.
I kiss her again, slow and messy and full of feeling, and when I pull back, she’s still watching me like I’m the only thing keeping her tethered.
This is different; this is sacred. I’ve touched her before, but I’ve never had her like this, not fully, not when she’s soft and open and meeting me right in the middle.
She lifts her hips to meet every stroke, her moans slipping out quieter now, meant just for me. The sound of her so honest, so unguarded, wraps around my ribs like a fist.
If I didn’t already love her, this would’ve done it.
She tightens around me suddenly, a sharp gasp catching in her throat, and her eyes go glassy, like she’s on the edge of falling apart.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, brushing a kiss over her cheekbone. “I’ve got you.”
Her hand grabs mine, lacing our fingers together, pressing our joined palms into the bed beside her head, like she’s trying to keep us anchored there.
I’ve never felt anything like this, never wanted anything this badly. Not sex, not closeness—her.I want her to know this isn’t just desire. It’s me, choosing her back.
She shudders, hips jerking beneath me, and I feel it, that moment when her whole body tightens, then trembles, and she comes with a breathless cry against my neck.
She clings to me like the world’s slipping sideways.
And I hold her like it’s not going anywhere.
She comes with her face tucked into my neck, her body pulsing around me, and it nearly undoes me on the spot.
Her breath stutters against my skin, fingers digging into my shoulders as if she needs to hold on or she’ll float away.
I don’t move right away; I just stay buried inside her, forehead pressed to hers, our chests rising and falling like we’re trying to breathe each other back into place.
