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I know I have unresolved abandonment issues. I also know that craving validation from him is probably not the healthiest coping mechanism in the world, but I want to know that he ached as much as I did.

“I told you, Josie—need doesn’t begin to describe it. A decade’s worth of sleepless nights, you were the one I needed by my side.” He brings his lips to my ear, and his hot, heavy breath makes me acutely aware of every nerve ending in my body. That’s why I feel my skin come alive when he takes his other hand and traces his fingertips up and down my ribs before grabbing my hip. His rough, calloused hand tightens around me, and he starts to push and pull me in rhythm with my rocking, driving me right to the precipice of my pending orgasm.

He returns my earlier favor and nips at my ear.

“Every time I looked out to the mountains in the distance, every time I hiked by the lake and sat on that log, I didn’t just want you there—I needed you. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was chasing any semblance of your ghost—of closeness to you—that I could get.”

He drops his mouth to my chest, flicking his tongue over my other peaked bud while maintaining his firm hold on the other. I catch only the briefest glimpse of him sucking my nipple and see his cum glistening on his tongue while he does it.

It’s feral and raw, and it’s so, so hot.

“Maybe a younger version of me had some fucked up, broken survival instinct because I was the dumbest creature on the planet to willingly tell the person I needed more than air itself to leave.” He drags his tongue up my sternum before our mouths meet in a kiss that is hungry and devouring.

Our tongues collide, and I taste his release, my sweat.

I taste us.

He breaks the kiss. “When my rehab days were brutal and felt hopeless, you were the one I pictured at the end of the tunnel. You were the one I made myself walk to because I held onto some infinitesimal hope that one day, I might be lucky enough to see you again.”

I look up and find his smoldering gaze waiting for me. I expect his eyes to level scorching heat at me—which they do—but it’s the lingering sadness in them that nearly stops my thundering heart. I don’t see a glimpse of the angry or grumpy Sly I saw my first night in town, or the shy, sweet boy next door, but the window right into the soul of a man who was broken and desperate.

It’s almost too much for me to bear, both his intense stare and how completely overstimulated I am.

Processing everything he’s saying, grinding myself against my toy and his thigh, him teasing my nipples—it’s all so good. But it’s the slow, lingering, loving kiss he gives me that finally pushes me over the edge and into his waiting arms.

I cry out into his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his body, clawing for purchase and digging my nails into his back. He keeps one hand splayed across my back while his other keeps slowly rocking me back and forth on top of his thigh. He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“I never stopped loving you, Bunny.” His deep voice is a caress against my neck that’s so perfectly gentle that I almost don’t register what he’s saying. “I’m yours, you’re mine, and whether we’re together or not, those will be the unavoidable facts of our existence. Deny it all you want. Pretend this is still just a fling you can walk away from, but I know from the way you’re coming right fucking now that’s what it would be—pretending. We both know there is never going to be anyone else for either of us.”

I want to believe it’s only the endorphins and dopamine from another Sylvester Sterling-aided orgasm wreaking havoc on my psyche, but it’s not. The reason I know it’s not merely a physiological response to all the stimulation is that I feel it too.

I might have been able to repress these feelings and make myself believe I hated him, but neither of us was any match for what only a few short weeks made abundantly clear—we have never stopped loving each other.

When I think about the past few years, when he would DM me on OnlyVans, we didn’t realize that it was always us. Even then, we were still finding each other.

Maybe it’s the three days of partying, the orgasm, or maybe it’s that painful realization that we both need each other—but I’m rendered speechless. I give in to the pleasure and the warmth of his embrace. He whispers sweet praises into my ear, kissing my cheek, my neck, and every bit of skin he can find while I come down from my high.

I don’t know how long we stay like this, but it’s clear that neither of us wants to ruin this moment by blurting something out. My arms stay wrapped around him, even as he unstraps the toy from his thigh and bends over to hastily put his prosthetic back on.

Each second that passes reminds me that tomorrow, we go back to reality—back to the town that’s still his home and the one I still resent, even if there are some good people there. I do my best to ignore that and instead savor the way he holds me tight to him. Eventually, he stands, leaving me with a new appreciation for how strong his quads must be after using his thigh as my own personal Sybian.

He carries my spent body down the aisle of the van and deposits me in bed, like he did that afternoon in the motel. And like that day, he grabs a towel from the not-so-obvious storage cubby above the sliding door and dampens it in the sink. Everything about the way he moves in my van—my home—feels like he’s lived in it as long as I have—other than bonking his head on the cabinet earlier.

I prop myself up on my elbow, watching the way his forearms ripple while he washes his hands. He peeks at me out of the corner of his eye, and a sheepish smile makes his dimple pop through his stubble. Stepping to the bed, he sits on the edge and reverently takes his time cleaning me up. I notice his appreciative gaze and the seemingly gratuitous amount of time he takes to clean up my tits, but I don’t mind. In fact, I’ve finally accepted that I want his eyes, his hands, and his focus on me like this.

Once he’s done, he opens the cabinet above the bed and looks back at me. “What are you wearing to the party tonight—since I sort of ruined that top?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrow on me. “Nothing? I know I said I’m good with people watching your videos, but in person? I’m never sharing, and that seems a bit risqué, even by your standards.”

I laugh and lift my comforter, patting the bed next to me. “Nothing, because we’re not going to the party. I want to stay in.”

“Josie, come on. You said you live for this. You said⁠—”

I curl a finger, beckoning him. “Get under the covers with me. This is what I want.”

He sighs and reaches into the cabinet. He rummages around before pulling out my sleep shorts and one of my oversized hoodies—or more accurately—his former hoodie.