The meeting wrapped up as it became clear it was devolving into a hangout. Michael took Ellie back to his place, tied her to the bed, and made very slow, gentle love to her. Which actually did quite a bit to satisfy her inner masochist, because she was a begging, pleading mess by the time he actually let her cum. It wasn’t kinky really, there wasn’t any pain, but his slow pace, his teasing fingers, the constant edging... and the fact that it was the kinkiest thing they’d done in weeks, despite the missionary position, gave her the biggest orgasm she’d had in weeks too.

Laying in Michael’s arms, she felt... good. Right. His even breathing as he slept made her feel happy to be cuddled up against him. Happy to know she was going to wake up and be beside him.

Yeah, sometimes things still felt a little surreal. Sometimes she found herself waiting for the other shoe to drop. But now she talked about it. To Dr. Amy. To Michael. To her friends. Even more reassuring had been hearing that Michael and her friends felt the same way sometimes. Like things in their lives were going so well they couldn’t possibly be real... right up until they had a small fight or did something silly like squirt ketchup over their white shirt during a lunch meeting (poor Jessica), to remind them that no, it was definitely all real.

Although, Sharon didn’t have that problem. She wasn’t broken up about her breakup with Brian, but she wasn’t really happy about it. Ellie felt bad listening to her friend’s sadness about being surrounded by happy couples, because Sharon was amazing and she deserved all the happiness in the world... but as soon as Ellie started feeling actual guilt because she was happy and Sharon wasn’t, she made note of it and reminded herself she deserved to be happy too, and it was okay for her happiness to come at a different time than Sharon’s.

And she really was happy, other than being super sexually frustrated. Her moments of slight panic and anxiety were becoming fewer and farther between, and she wasn’t letting them get in her way anymore. She kept trying. The more she tried, the more the little voices in her head which picked at her, telling her she was unworthy, telling her she was messed up, faded away.

She could really do this.

Running her hand over Michael’s sleeping chest, she whispered the words she hadn’t dared say out loud to him.

“I love you, Michael.”

“Tonight’s gonna be a good, good night,” Michael sang cheerfully as he pulled into Andrew’s driveway. A good, good night.

Ellie was ready.