Page 85 of Yearn
Here, I was allowed to break.
To shake.
To come apart in a way that wasn’t ugly or shameful, but holy.
And every rugged tremor through my body was proof that I wasn’t ruined in the most breathtaking ways. Proof that I could still feel fire and tenderness, even after being dragged through so much cold.
With Dominic, I wasn’t just cumming—I was reclaiming myself.
Piece by piece.
Moan by moan.
Pulse by pulse.
And when the aftershocks finally slowed, leaving me weak and shivering in his hold, what startled me most wasn’t the orgasm. It was the quiet peace after—the sense that for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t braced for the next blow.
The storm inside me had eased.
The knots that Scott and the world had left behind had loosened.
Fuck. . .even my nervous system felt rewired and renewed.
I felt. . .healed.
Maybe not whole.
But close.
And that was enough to make me cling tighter to Dominic, because no one had ever given me that before.
“Silly, Mommy,” he whispered against my ear. “Didn’t that feel good?”
“I-it. . .did. . .” I still couldn’t hold myself up, but he had me in his huge muscular arms.
“Don’t ever run from my giving you pleasure again. You deserve it. You’re a good mother. You’re an amazing woman. When I want to eat your pussy until you scream, you take it. And not because it’s me, but because you are my queen and you are worthy.”
I closed my eyes and trembled.
Fuck. . .he’s perfect. How did I get him? God. . .did you do this?
I truly needed him, and it scared me.
Because need was dangerous.
Need meant full surrender.
Need meant I couldn’t keep performing the little act I’d been perfecting for years—the strong, unbothered hardworking Black woman who didn’t want for anything she couldn’t give herself.
For so long since he arrived in my life, I’d told myself the distance between us was logical. That keeping a wall up, holding myself back, was smart, measured, self-preservation.
That I was protecting my kids, my heart, my sanity.
I’d convinced myself that the trembling in my stomach whenever I thought of him was a warning, not a hunger.
But standing there, trembling and undone, I could feel the truth crawling up my spine and settling in my chest like a confession: It had never been logic.
It had always been fear.
