Page 57 of The Triangle

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck. Yes. Fuck. YES!”

I lean back, hips still pumping, my balls swinging with each back-and-forth movement. She presses back, bracing herself with palms flat on the window, more moans escaping past her lips with each ragged breath.

God, I want her. I want this. And I shouldn’t think about that now because she could ask me anything and I’d say yes. I’d kill for her. I’d give her anything she wants to make her mine and keep this going.

Give her to me. I’ll do anything.

“Harder,” she begs.

Oh, God. If that’s all she wants, this is gonna be easy. I smack her ass with one flat hand and she yelps, but when I reach around to play with her clit, she’s so wet—so fucking wet, I want to die.

But I don’t. I can’t. She wants it harder and if that’s all it takes, I got this.

I smack her again, thrust harder. So hard all I hear is her groaning to the beat of our fucking and the rhythmic jingling of the zippers on my leather jacket.

But it’s not enough. Not for me.

I want to see her face, not just the reflection of it in a window.

So I pull out, she protests with, “Hey,” and I immediately say, “Shhhhhhhhh. I just want to see you. Make sure you’re real.”

I take her hand off the glass, turn her around, and stare into those beautiful hazel eyes of hers until she blushes.

“There you are.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“No,” I say. “I did. But I’m not going anywhere now.” I walk her backwards two steps, press her back up against the window, and kiss her.

Like… really kiss her.

Softly. Because she’s soft underneath all the tough assassin exterior. And I like those soft parts. Even when we were together all the time, that part of her was always hard to find.

Then urgently. Because I feel like all this is gonna slip away. Or it’s a dream and I’ll wake up. And I don’t want this to ever end.

She responds, her hands on my face, her palms rubbing the week-old stubble on my cheeks. I reach between her legs, slipping my hands behind her knees, and lift her up. Press my rock-hard cock against her belly. She laughs a little, lifting up the too-big t-shirt with one hand while the other grips the sleeve on my leather jacket to keep herself steady.

I enter her again, only this time slower. Facing her.

Her head falls forward and I press my face into her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair.

How, after all these years, can she smell the same?

I don’t know, but she does. She smells like every day we’ve ever spent together and every night we’ve been apart at the same time.

I lean back so I can watch her. Memorize everything she does. Her sweatpants are still on, the elastic stretched tight just below her knees so she can’t open her legs too far. And I don’t know why I find that so hot, but I do.

I inch forward, burying my cock inside her pussy so deep she sucks in air and closes her eyes tight.

“Too much?” I ask, my voice a hoarse growl.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, it’s just right.”

I go slowly after that. Almost painfully slow. But it’s the best kind of pain. If only all pain could feel this perfect.

I kiss her mouth. I kiss her neck. I whisper, “Don’t ever let me walk out again,” into the shell of her ear.

And she responds. She kisses me back. She nips my lip. And she answers, “Never again.”