Page 127 of Fangirl
And it does. I see it in his eyes—like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered. Like I’m his home.
Until he outgrows us too. Until he realizes I’m not an anchor—just a weight dragging him down. Until life catches up and I’m notenough anymore.
I close my eyes, swallowing hard, willing the thought away. Just for tonight. Just for this moment.
And then, I let him love me.
He presses his lips to my bare shoulder, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down my skin. Each press of his mouth feels like a brand—like he’s trying to mark me deep enough that even when I’m gone, some part of me will still belong to him.
His hands roam, slow and sure, as if he’s mapping me for the last time, even if he doesn’t know that’s what this is. He cups my breast, his thumb sweeping lazily across my nipple until I arch for him, needing the friction, the grounding.
“I want you to remember this,” he whispers, his voice cracking just enough to splinter my heart. “Every second. Every fucking way I love you.”
I choke on a sob I don’t let him hear… because I will. I’ll carry this with me until there’s nothing left but bone and dust—and even then, it’ll still be him.
He lowers me onto the bed like I’m made of glass, his body covering mine as he kisses me slow and deep, his tongue tasting, claiming, memorizing.
And then he’s between my thighs, parting me with hands too gentle for a man like him. His mouth finds me, his tongue stroking slow, savoring me like I’m his last meal. Maybe, in a way, I am.
I fist his hair, gasping his name like a prayer I know won’t be answered.
“Jake… please.”
He groansand slides back up, his mouth finding mine, kissing me deep and filthy, making me taste myself on his tongue like he needs me in every way he can have me.
And then… he’s there. Lining up. Pressing inside me, inch by inch, until we’re one.
There’s no rush. No desperate thrusts. He’s not just fucking me. He’s making love to me. Worshipping me with every roll of his hips, every whispered breath against my skin.
I kiss his jaw, my hands trailing up his back as I squeeze around him, needing him to feel it. Needing him to know—this is me loving him back.
“Perfect.” He exhales, his forehead pressed to mine. “You’re so perfect. You’re mine. Always mine.”
I want to scream. To tell him no, that this is the last time, that tomorrow everything breaks. But I don’t. I just let him have this… let us have this.
Silent tears slip down my cheeks as I cling to him, drowning in the way he feels, the way he loves me without knowing it’s goodbye.
He groans, and his hips stutter as his thumb finds my clit, circling soft and slow until I fall apart around him, gasping his name.
His release follows with a ragged moan, his body trembling as he spills inside me, burying himself so deep it feels like he’s trying to anchor me to him forever.
After, he cradles me close—like I’m something precious, something fragile—pressing soft kisses across my hair, my cheeks, my lips. Whispering promises he means with every piece of him.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with sleep.
I want to say it back. God, my heart is screaming it. But I can’t. Because the moment those words leave my mouth, I’ll break.
So instead, I let him hold me like I’m his forever. I let myself pretend, just for tonight, that I could be.
And when he finally drifts off, arms still wrapped around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear, I stay awake.
Memorizing the weight of him. The scent of his skin. The steady beat of his heart against mine.
And when morning comes, I’ll walk away. Not because I want to, but because I have to.
I won’t be his weakness. I won’t become the anchor that drags him down when the world demands he keeps rising.
But this? Tonight?
