STORY EXCERPT

We had detonated our carefully constructed lives just to be together. I had stood in front of cameras and shareholders and executives and let the world know who I was because of Chris. Because he mattered more than my reputation, more than the safety of hiding. And now he was gone anyway.

Sometimes the unfairness of it hit me so hard I had to grip the counter to steady myself. Then my mind would drift back to the only text he’d sent me since leaving.

Chris: Please give me space.

That was it. No, “I love you.” No, “I’ll come back.”

He wanted distance. To be away. From me.

I stared at those four words so often they’d become etched into my mind like a scar. I could practically see them floating in front of me even when my phone was dark.

Please give me space.

The worst part was that I wanted to ignore him. Every instinct in me screamed to get in the car and drive to Ottawa. To show up at his apartment and pull him into my arms and tell him we could fix this. That whatever damage I’d caused, I would spend the rest of my life making up for it.

But that was precisely the problem. I still wanted to override what he needed with what I wanted. Even now.

My head pounded.

I lowered myself into one of the kitchen chairs and dragged both hands over my face, exhausted in a way sleep couldn’t touch. I tried to imagine what it would take for me to leave Chris. Really leave him.

I searched my mind carefully, almost methodically, looking for some equivalent betrayal. Some line he could have crossed that would have made me pack a bag and walk out the door.

Public humiliation? No. A screaming fight? No. Infidelity? Still no.

Every scenario ended the same way. Hurt, yes. Furious, maybe. But leaving him? Ending us? Never. Nothing would have been enough for me to abandon him.

And yet Chris had felt so diminished beside me, so managed and controlled, that leaving had become necessary for his survival. That thought hollowed me out.

My mind twisted itself trying to defend me from it. I could feel the instinctive narratives forming automatically, seductive in their simplicity. Chris was overreacting. Chris didn’t love me enough.

Those explanations would have been comforting. They would have protected me from the unbearable possibility that the man I loved had felt emotionally suffocated by me. But deep down, I knew those explanations were bullshit. They were escape hatches.

And for the first time in my life, I understood that my greatest talent had always been finding exits before consequences could truly touch me. Money solved problems. Power and influence fixed almost anything.

That had been my entire identity for so long that I’d stopped noticing how dangerous it was. Somewhere along the way, decisiveness had morphed into control. Leadership had become domination so subtly I barely recognized it while it was happening. And if I was truly honest with myself, I had to admit it. I liked being obeyed.

Christ.

My chest felt heavy.

I liked walking into a room and having people defer to me. I liked making decisions quickly and having the world rearrange itself around those decisions. I liked knowing I could force movement with a phone call, a signature, a strategic donation, a carefully chosen threat.

It made me effective. Powerful.

And apparently, it made the love of my life feel small.

A strangled sound escaped my throat, and I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes until lights burst behind them. I thought about texting him constantly.

I’m sorry.

I understand now.

Please come home.

At one point I actually unlocked my phone and typed it out. I think I’m having an existential crisis. I stared at the message for nearly a minute before deleting it. Because even that was selfish.

I was still trying to make Chris responsible for stabilizing me. Still reaching for him to soothe the damage I had caused.

This was mine to survive. Not to fix. To untangle.

ADULT EXCERPT

I pushed myself up onto my elbow, needing him to see me. Really see me. I tipped his chin gently, forcing his gaze to meet mine.

“No.” My voice was steady, even if everything inside me wasn’t. “You are not deviant. Do you hear me?” I held his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. What we have, what we are, is not wrong.”

“I know,” he whispered, but there was hesitation there. Because old wounds don’t close that easily. “But the shame…it’s still there. It doesn’t just go away.”

I leaned in, closing the space between us and softly brushed my lips against his. Careful. Like he might break if I wasn’t. He melted under me, just slightly, like something in him was letting go.

“I need you,” he breathed against my mouth. His voice was low, fragile in a way that triggered something protective in me. “I need you to fuck me. Please, Chris.”

“Of course,” I murmured, pushing his hair back, my hand lingering on his face. His eyes burned brightly, as if a silent rebellion against this inner torment.

I moved him, turning him onto his side, keeping my lips on his. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried. I needed him to feel me there. I wanted to make sure he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t alone in this.

First, I stroked his shoulder, the skin supple and smooth over powerful muscle. I traced a line down his thick chest and leaned over to kiss his nipple. Then my hand slid down to his abs, my fingertips tracing the ridges of muscle.

When I touched his cock, he was already hard. He needed release. Connection.

I took my time, letting my hand move over him, slow and steady, feeling the tension still held in his body. I traced my finger down his back and then further, taking my time. His body resisted at first, still holding on to the weight of the day. But I stayed patient and present, waiting for him to open up and let me in.

And then he did.

He moaned softly, as my fingers entered his body, his mouth opening against mine, breath warm and uneven. I gently moved in and out and circled his tender flesh, my own arousal growing with every breathy sound that came from him.

“Are you ready?” I asked, needing to hear it from him.

“Yes,” he whispered. “No condom.”

My pulse quickened at the thought. I pressed my cock against him gently, feeling his flesh stretch as I entered him. His body tightened, then gave way, heat wrapping around me, pulling me deeper.

“Oh, God,” he breathed.

The feeling was overwhelming, and not just in a physical way. It was never just physical with him. It was connection and trust. And utter surrender.

We moved together, slow at first, like we were finding our way back to each other. My hands stayed on him, holding him while I stroked his leg, his waist. I wanted to show him safety.

“Harder,” he said, his voice stronger now, but still threaded with something raw. “Fuck me harder.”

The words ignited a nurturing instinct deep inside of me. I gave him what he asked for, my movements picking up, meeting his need.

I reached around him, my hand finding his cock again, hot and slick with pre-cum. I stroked him in time to my thrusts, his body responding to every movement.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice low, close to his ear.

“Mmm…yeah,” he murmured, shifting his hips, changing the angle. The sensation felt like heaven. I pushed deeper, harder, and the sound that left him sent a jolt through me.

I slowed again, just for a moment, letting myself feel him. Every inch. Every breath. I kissed and licked at the skin of his chest and breathed in his heady scent.

“I love fucking you,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

“Good,” he breathed. “Because I love getting fucked by you.”

That nearly did it.