Back In His Bed
I came back to life with his cock buried deep inside me.
One second I was dying on cold asphalt — blood filling my mouth, my father’s last smile burning behind my eyes, the taste of metal and rain mixing with the last prayer I would ever say. The next second my back was arched clean off the bed, a broken, wet moan tearing from my throat as Adrian thrust into me hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall.
The room was dim. Rain hammered against the tall windows of the overseas apartment we shared in 2018. The air smelled of sex and his skin and the faint citrus of the sheets we always used. My wedding ring flashed every time my fingers clenched the dark fabric.
Twenty-one again.
Still wearing his ring.
Still his wife.
Adrian was braced above me, one hand locked around my left wrist, pinning it to the mattress, the other gripping my thigh so tightly I already knew there would be bruises shaped like his fingerprints by morning. His cock dragged out almost all the way — I felt every thick inch leave me — then slammed back in to the hilt. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. My walls fluttered around him, already close, already betraying me the way they always had.
“Fuck— Vesper,” he groaned, voice rough, almost desperate. “You’re so tight… taking me so well.”
My mind split open, and I started remembering everything at once..
Chloe’s slap across my face the morning I tried to leave for work. The years of polite silence that followed. The two blue lines on the pregnancy tests I never got to show anyone. The blood between my legs in a hospital bathroom while no one came. Emilia’s soft, cruel laugh. My father’s body hitting the floor. The blinding headlights. The cold asphalt. The prayer as the darkness took me.
And now I was here — legs spread wide, wedding ring glinting, moaning under the same man who had watched pieces of that life happen and said nothing.
Pleasure still ripped through me like a knife.
Every deep thrust forced another helpless sound from my mouth. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes and ran into my hair, hot and shameful. I hated that my body remembered him better than my mind wanted to. I hated the way my hips lifted to meet him without permission.
Adrian slowed, but he didn’t stop. He rolled his hips in a dirty, grinding circle that pressed the head of his cock against the spot that made my vision white out. His thumb found my clit and rubbed in tight, ruthless circles, the way he always had when he wanted me to come fast.
“You’re crying,” he whispered against my mouth. His breath was warm. Familiar. Dangerous. “Did I hurt you?”
I stared up at him, chest heaving, hatred and old love and raw need tangled so tightly I could barely breathe. For a second his eyes looked different — darker, almost haunted — like he was seeing a ghost too. Then the look vanished, replaced by pure hunger.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, heels digging into the small of his back.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I rasped.
Something dangerous flashed in his gaze.
He obeyed.
He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder, folding me open until I was almost bent in half, and started fucking me in earnest — deep, heavy strokes that made the entire bed frame creak. The new angle was brutal. Every thrust dragged along my front wall, forcing wet, broken sounds out of me that I couldn’t swallow. My free hand scored down his back. I felt skin break under my nails and didn’t care. I wanted him to feel something. Anything.
“Look at you,” he growled, watching my face the entire time. “Taking every inch… dripping down my cock. You missed this, didn’t you?”
I hated how true it was.
I hated how my body clenched around him like it had been starving for three years of death. I hated the broken moan that left me when he pinched my clit between two fingers and kept thrusting, hard and steady, like he was trying to fuck the tears out of me.
The orgasm hit like a punishment.
My back bowed clean off the mattress. My mouth opened on a silent scream. My pussy locked down on him so tightly he cursed and had to fight to keep moving. Wave after wave tore through me until I was shaking and sobbing and still coming, the pleasure so sharp it edged into pain. I felt myself gush around him. Felt the wetness run down between us onto the sheets.
He didn’t give me time to recover.
He pulled out suddenly. The emptiness made me gasp. Before I could speak he flipped me onto my stomach with one strong movement, yanked my hips up until I was on my knees, and sank back in to the root in one smooth, filthy thrust. The new angle punched a raw cry out of me. He covered my body with his, chest to my back, one hand fisting my hair and pulling my head back, the other sliding under me to rub my oversensitive clit as he fucked me harder.
“One more,” he demanded against my ear, voice wrecked. “Give me one more, Vesper. I want to feel it.”
I came again, weaker this time, almost painful, my walls fluttering and spasming around the thick length still pounding into me. The pleasure was so sharp it made fresh tears soak the pillow. I could hear how wet I was. I could hear the slap of his skin against mine. I could feel him swelling even thicker inside me.
Adrian’s rhythm finally broke. He buried himself as deep as he could go, hips stuttering, and groaned my name like it hurt him.
“Vesper—”
I felt every hot pulse as he came inside me, filling me until it leaked out around his cock and ran down the insides of my thighs in thick, warm trails. He kept moving through it, small, shallow thrusts, like he didn’t want to leave my body even while he was still coming.
For a long moment the only sounds were rain against the glass and our ragged breathing.
He stayed inside me, forehead pressed to the back of my neck, heart hammering against my spine. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out. I felt the rush of his cum sliding down my skin. He rolled me over with surprising gentleness and stared down at my face.
My cheeks were wet.
My lips were swollen.
My eyes were nothing like the girl who used to look at him with pure, stupid love.
Something i couldn’t read flickered across his expression , almost like recognition — then he masked it carefully.
I reached up, touched his jaw with trembling fingers, and smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
“I’m fine,” I lied softly. “Just… overwhelmed.”
His gaze searched mine for a second longer than usual. His thumb brushed the tear track on my cheek. Then he leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth, almost carefully, like he was afraid I might break.
I closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see what was really inside them.
This time I already knew how the story ended.
This time I would not be the only one who broke.
And I would make sure of it.
