Page 57 of One Room Vacancy
She let me see her, let me feel her like this. And it’s not about the sex—not really. It’s about the trust in her hands, in her eyes, in the way she held me like I was something worth reaching for.
I kiss her again, messy and uncoordinated, partly from how close I am to falling apart.
She’s still trembling when I start to move again, slow and careful, chasing that last bit of friction. Her legs stay wrapped around my waist, holding me close, like she doesn’t want me to leave even when it’s over.
The pressure builds fast…too fast.
There’s no distance this time, no detachment.
Just her, warm and soft and wrapped around me as though I’ve finally earned my place here.
My rhythm falters, and she notices, whispers my name again, quiet and certain, like permission.
That’s all it takes.
I thrust deep one last time and groan into her mouth as I come, everything unraveling at once—months of restraint, years of wanting, all spilling out in the space between her arms.
She holds me through it, hands gentle in my hair, lips brushing the corner of my mouth.
It feels like a letting-go. But also, somehow, like a beginning.
I press a kiss to her collarbone, then another to the spot just below her jaw.
We stay like that, tangled together, our skin damp and our breaths syncing slowly into something steady.
Neither of us speaks; we don’t have to, because for the first time in a long time, silence feels like safety.
She doesn’t let go right away, and neither do I.
Her arms are still looped loosely around my neck, legs tangled with mine, and I keep my forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in, trying to memorize the shape of this quiet.
Eventually, she exhales a long, shaky breath and eases back, just enough to meet my eyes.
I reach up to brush one of her braids off her cheek, fingers skimming the soft curve of her face. “You okay?”
She nods.
“Really okay?” I ask, softer now. “Not the version you give everybody else.”
That makes her smile, barely there, but real. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m good. A little wrecked, but…good.”
“Wrecked in a good way?”
Her laugh is quiet, breathy. “Yeah. In a good way.”
I press a kiss to her temple and ease out of her slowly, gently, careful not to break whatever this is we’ve built between us. She flinches a little from the sensitivity and I rest a hand on her thigh, grounding her.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
In the bathroom, I grab a warm towel, a bottle of water, one of my softest shirts from the drawer. When I come back, she’s still in my bed, on my side now, half-curled beneath the covers like she belongs there.
We’ve shared a bed before—after parties, long nights, one too many drinks. Usually with a few feet of space between us. Sometimes after a hookup, when neither of us wanted to say goodbye yet but weren’t brave enough to say why. Always quiet, always temporary.
I clean her up slowly, wiping between her thighs with as much care as I can. She watches me the whole time, eyes soft, saying nothing, but she doesn’t look away.
Once I’m done, I toss the towel aside and hold out the shirt.
She takes it and pulls it on without a word. It swallows her, hangs loose over her thighs, short sleeves down to her elbows. Seeing her in it does something to my chest.
