We’d agreed it was just a casual thing. No sleepovers, no breakfast, no pretending it was anything more. So when he texted me late saying he was “just in the neighborhood,” I already knew what that meant.
He showed up still smelling like the bar whiskey and trouble and within minutes, we were tangled in my sheets, all breathy moans and half-laughed kisses. He made me come so hard I nearly forgot my own name.
But then he didn’t leave.
He stayed, chest to my back, one hand curled around my waist. I thought he was asleep until I felt his fingertips start to wander. Light at first, barely grazing over my skin. But then he slid between my thighs, still warm and wet from before.
He didn’t say a word. Just pressed against me from behind, slow and deliberate, letting his breath tickle my neck as he filled me again. No rush. No performance. Just… hunger.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like more. But that second time? It did. And as I lay there, the weight of his body enveloping me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… just maybe this was something deeper. Something I wasn’t ready to admit. Can you relate? Let’s talk about it. Share your thoughts!