Page 118 of Returned Mail

He curses roughly, grinding into me hard, completely stealing my breath. “Oh, I will,” he says, voice breaking with desire.

I wrap my legs around him tight, pulling him deeper, my hips aligning with his. “Fuck Mia⁠—”

He pulls back slightly, then thrusts forward hard, and the sensation is overwhelming.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please—” I can feel him so incredibly deep inside me, hitting places that make my whole body quake, that my legs almost give out.

And then—the front door slams open.

The sound is violent, echoing through the apartment. I jerk beneath him. George freezes above me, and his muscles go rigid. “What the hell is happening here?” A woman’s voice. She sounds sharp, loud, and furious.

Monica.

My blood runs cold.

George lifts his head, eyes flashing with disbelief and something darker. He turns slowly, protectively, shielding my body with his. Monica stands in the doorway of my bedroom, arms crossed, eyes wild with outrage. She takes in the scene, my bare legs tangled with his, his body hovering over mine, the shirt halfway pushed up my ribs, his hair messy from my hands, my panties on the damn floor.

Her face twists.

“Oh. My. God.” She spits. “Do you think just because you’re renting my apartment, you get to fuck my fiancé?”

“Ex-fiancé,” George snaps instantly, voice low and lethal. He stands, pulling the blanket over me with one quick, possessive movement. He doesn’t hide me out of shame. He hides me like he’s preparing for war.

Monica laughs, sharp and cruel. “Funny, I don’t remember us talking about breaking our engagement.”

“That’s because you dumped me in a letter,” he says, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, in a letter you never cared to reply to, so that doesn’t give you the right to⁠—”

“To what? To come back to my apartment?” George cuts in. “To be with someone who actually gives a fuck about me. To move on from someone who couldn’t be bothered to show up when I almost died?”

Monica’s face goes pale. “You—wait, what? Nobody told me that.” She snaps weakly.

“Well, Monica, you never reached out to me. You never replied to any of my letters. But yes, I almost died.” He steps forward, still half shielding me. “You lost the right to be angry the second you walked away without looking back.”

I rise slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

Monica’s gaze snaps to me, full of venom. “I did write to you. I explained it all in my letter. What are you even⁠—”

“Oh, yeah, that letter. Mia sent it to me after you told her to discard all of my mail to you.” George looks at me, then really looks at me, and something fierce settles into his expression.

Monica recoils. “ I wrote back to you, and I never heard back. How was I supposed to know you moved on?” She spits, grabbing her bag from the doorway.

“I was alone for months and months. I never heard from you, and now you think you have the right to what? Come into my house and cause a scene? In your letter, you told me not to contact you, that you needed space, that we’ll talk about all of this later. But that later never arrived. That sounds like a breakup to me. So no, we have nothing left to talk about.”

I sat frozen in bed. I don’t know what the hell I am supposed to be doing right now. Should I say something?

“You are unbelievable, and you little slut⁠—”

“Don’t you dare to disrespect her like that.”

“Oh. We need to talk about this. Now.” That’s when she storms out, slamming the door so hard the frames rattle.

Silence follows.

George turns back to me, chest rising and falling with adrenaline. “Are you okay? I'm so sorry about this, Mia. Oh fuck, I'm so sorry,” he says softly.

I nod, breathless and shaking.