My name is but a squeak before she finds more air and screams, her body spasming, the walls of her pussy grabbing on and squeezing the fucking life out of my cock, dragging my orgasm out. Jesus. I groan and shake, trembling like a leaf, hissing at the sensitivity as I come in powerful, consistent bursts. “Ava,” I yell, dropping my pace, bringing my relentless hips down to a calm thrust. I can hardly breathe, my heart galloping. My arm resting against the wall is the only thing holding us up.

“Holy shit,” I murmur, rolling us so I’m against the wall, sliding down to my arse, Ava still curled around me. If I could reach the dial or be bothered to get up, I’d turn the water to freezing. But I can’t. I drop my head back and close my eyes, my palms working circles across her blazing back. “Lady,” I whisper, so fucking tranquil in this moment, “you’re mine forever.”

I know she’s opened her eyes because I feel her lashes tickle my pec. What does she think to that? Of being mine forever? Am I going to give her a choice? I laugh to myself. Of course I am. But I won’t need to because she wants to be mine. She loves me.

Say it!

But she doesn’t. “Are we friends?” she asks instead, her face turning into my skin, peppering me with kisses. It’s not what I wanted to hear, but I can wait because it will come.

“We’re friends, baby.”

“I’m glad.” She sounds so content.

“Me too. So glad.”

“Where have you been?”

I still. My lungs still. My mind stills. Not this. She can’t spoil this beautiful moment with questions. Or, more accurately, I can’t spoil this moment with the answers. “It doesn’t matter, Ava.” Please, don’t ask me. Please, just let me figure out how the fuck I’m going to tell you what I’ve done.

“It matters to me.”

“You asked for space.” Deplorable. “I’m back.” And I don’t deserve to be. “That’s all that matters.” It isn’t, I know that, but I need to get us to a point where she will think twice about leaving. And that point isn’t now. My serenity is gone, and I can’t help feeling pissed off that she’s done that. I have no right. None at all, I’m reasonable enough to accept that. But the feelings are there, and I’ll be damned if I can stop them. I’m just one huge fuck-up, making mistake after mistake. I scowl to myself and feel for her arse, getting a good grip and tugging her closer, my soft, bare cock still warm and snug inside her.

She eventually sighs. Peeks up at me. She looks exhausted. I feel exhausted. Not physically, though. Physically, I could go on forever. Mentally, I don’t know how much more I can sustain before I crack. It’s an ironic notion. Physical well-being has always been an underlying concern. The drink, the sex. The true state of my mental well-being was masked. Now, I feel like I’m on a runaway roller coaster going one hundred miles an hour, no end in sight, and not a hope of getting off the fucker. And this woman? She’s the reason why.