Page 50 of Never After Us
My hand moves faster—urgent, rough—because in my head it isn’t my hand anymore.It’s her.It’s her body taking my length in, gripping around me, pulling me deeper with every thrust I imagine.The fantasy is so vivid my breath stumbles, my muscles tightening like I’m actually inside her, moving the way I’ve wanted to since the moment she looked at me like she knew exactly what she was doing.
A sound tears out of me before I can stop it—rough, guttural—dragged from a part of myself I never let anyone close enough to touch.The need hits in a crashing wave, fierce and consuming, like my body is chasing something it’s already tasted in the fantasy of her.
My hips drive forward, instinct overriding everything else.My lower back locks in a tight, uncontrollable hold as pleasure barrels through me, wild and blinding.I gasp—then shout—because the release rips through me, pouring out in hot, urgent bursts I can’t temper or slow.
I sound nothing like the version of myself I show the world.
I sound undone.
Like she’s the only thing that can quiet whatever this is—whatever she’s turning me into.And that fucking scares me.I should stay here in my apartment or run away, but instead I finish my shower and I get dressed, hoping that I’ll forget the little things that are making me want her the way I do.
ChapterFifteen
Alec
I should be okay.
She’s out of my system by the time I’m dressed and ready to start my day.After I got dressed, I convinced myself I’m rational again.I even looked myself in the mirror and seemed normal.But all that confidence starts to crack the second I’m standing outside her door, palms sweaty, heart hammering like I’m about to do something unforgivable.
My body buzzes with warning signs I don’t have the vocabulary for.Old alarms.New heat.Muscles pulled tight like I’m wired wrong just by being near her again.
And then she opens the door.
And, fuck.
She looks at me like she knew I wouldn’t stay away.
The sight of her unwinds something in my chest and coils everything else lower.But it’s less urgent, which in a way, feels a lot more dangerous.
I walk through the threshold before I can talk myself out of it, barely keeping my breath in check.
The air inside hits me first.It’s different.It’s nothing like when her aunt lived here.It smells like tea—earthy and herbal—and rain.But there’s something else underneath it, too.
Sandalwood?Lavender?
Something warm, soft, a little mystical.Like a place owned by a woman who charges extra for crystal alignment and believes in moon water.And somehow it suits her.
God, it suits her.
It wraps around me before I can shake it off, soft and grounding and intimate in a way that makes my throat tighten.
It smells like a space I shouldn’t be in.
A space that makes me want to stay.
The moment I see the living room filled with half-unpacked boxes, I kind of go back to a closer version of myself.The place is too messy.There are blankets draped that look like a fort that’s been dismantled.Then, books stacked in wobbly piles waiting for a home.A stuffed unicorn sits on the couch, its beady eyes fixed on me like it’s evaluating my moral character.Honestly, I’m judging myself too.
Mara moves through the kitchen with an ease that shouldn’t be possible for someone who’s only been here less than a week.She opens a cabinet, makes a thoughtful little noise, closes it, opens another.She laughs softly when she finds what she’s looking for, the sound light and warm enough to pull my gaze without permission.
There’s something about the way she moves—unhurried but full of life, grounded but somehow floating—that draws my attention before I can stop it.Even tired, even damp from the rain, she radiates this strange mix of calm and resilience that makes everything else in the room fade a little.
And I hate that I notice it.
And I can’t seem to look away.
She grabs two mugs.One plain.One with a cartoon cat.
“Sit,” she says over her shoulder as if I’m a skittish guest or a stray animal she’s decided to adopt.“Coffee will be ready in a second.”
