Warmth pulls me from the depths of sleep, a slow-motion surfacing through layers of unconsciousness. I'm drifting in that perfect space between dreams and waking, where reality hasn't quite solidified yet. My body feels impossibly heavy, pleasantly anchored to the mattress.
Something feels good. Really good.
My hips are moving before my brain catches up, responding to a rhythm I didn't consciously start. Heat surrounds me, wet and tight and perfect. The sensation ripples through my body like waves lapping at shore.
I keep my eyes closed, savoring this half-dream state where pleasure blooms without thought or consequence. My arm is draped over something soft, someone warm. Summer.
She rocks against me with slow, deliberate movements, each one sending sparks through my nervous system. My cock is buried inside her, though I have no memory of how it got there.
"Mmm," I hear myself groan, my voice rough with sleep. My arm tightens around her waist instinctively.
Summer's breathing changes, a little catch in her throat that tells me she knows I'm waking up. Her movements don't falter, if anything, they grow more purposeful, more precise. The soft curves of her ass press back against my hips with each motion, creating a rhythm that's making my toes curl.
"Good morning," she whispers, voice honey-sweet and triumphant.
My eyes finally open, morning light filtering through the blinds and painting stripes across our tangled bodies. Summer's head is turned slightly toward me, just enough that I can see her profile, the curve of her cheek, the satisfied smile playing at the corner of her lips.
"What are you doing?" I manage to ask, though my body hasn't stopped moving with hers. The question sounds ridiculous even to my own ears.
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating through her body and into mine. "Loving my husband," she says simply, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like we haven't spent the past year apart.
"We said we'd take things slow," I mumble, my voice thick with sleep, even as my body betrays my words by continuing to move with her.
Summer looks back at me over her shoulder, her blue eyes gleaming in the morning light. "I am going slow, baby," she whispers, the rhythm of her hips never faltering. "So, so slow."
She reaches for my hand that's resting on her waist, guiding it up and under the sweater she's still wearing until my palm cups the soft weight of her breast. I notice immediately that something's different. My fingers search for the metal barbell I felt yesterday, but there's nothing there, just the familiar softness of her nipple hardening against my palm.
"I took them out for you," Summer says, watching my reaction carefully. "So it could feel the way it used to."
My breath catches in my throat. The simple act feels more intimate than being inside her somehow, this deliberate return to our past, this erasing of the marks from her time away. I find myself kneading her breast, my thumb circling her nipple in the way that used to make her gasp.
"Stop," I say, but there's no conviction behind it, no real fight in my voice. Just a token protest while my body continues its betrayal.
Summer's movements become more deliberate, her hips rolling back against mine with renewed purpose. "Just let me love my husband," she breathes, the words settling over me like a spell.
She increases her pace, and a groan escapes me before I can swallow it back. The pleasure is building low in my spine, coiling tighter with each thrust. My fingers tighten on her breast, and she makes a soft, encouraging sound that sends heat rushing through my veins.
"Summer," I whisper, torn between surrendering to this moment and holding onto my resolve. But it's hard to remember all the reasons I should stop when my body is singing with sensations I've been denied for so long.
She quickens her pace, each movement more urgent than the last. The friction builds, sending waves of pleasure through my sleep-addled brain. I can't help the moan that escapes me, raw and unfiltered.
"That's it," Summer purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Come on, Scotty. Give it to me."
Her hips work faster, more desperate now. She's chasing something, determined to drag me along with her. My body responds against my better judgment, heat building at the base of my spine.
"I can feel it," she breathes, reaching back to grip my thigh. "You're close. I know you are."
She slams herself against me, the impact sending sparks behind my eyelids. The sound she makes is primal, victorious. My fingers dig into her flesh, marking her in ways that feel both wrong and perfectly right.
"Come on," she demands, her voice breaking. "Cum for me, baby."
"Fuck, Summer," I growl, suddenly aware of what's happening. I try to pull away, to create distance, but her body locks around mine. Her arms tighten on my thighs, trapping me inside her with surprising strength.
The climax hits without warning, crashing through me like a tidal wave. Summer screams, a sound of pure triumph that echoes off the bedroom walls. Her body pulses around mine, milking every last drop.
"That's right," she cries out, voice ragged with pleasure. "Cum in me. Mark me with your colors."
Her words cut through the haze of pleasure, something desperate and raw in them that makes my chest ache despite everything.
"Show me you still love me," she whispers, her voice suddenly small, vulnerable in a way that feels more naked than her body.
I collapse against her back, breathing hard, my mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Pleasure and regret war for dominance as the last tremors of orgasm fade from my body.
The aftershocks of pleasure still pulse through me as Summer rolls over, facing me with a triumphant smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"You didn't fight me that hard," she says, her voice teasing but with an edge of accusation.
I pull away slightly, creating space between our bodies.
"You need to take a morning after pill today," I say, my voice firmer than I expected.
Summer's smile widens as she nestles against the pillow. "I have an IUD, remember?" she coos, looking pleased with herself. "We're safe."
I exhale slowly, tension draining from my shoulders. "I forgot about that," I admit, running a hand through my sleep-mussed hair.
"Do you want to go again?" she asks, her hand already sliding down my chest. There's something almost desperate in her eyes, hungry for my approval. "I could make it even better this time."
"No, Summer," I say, catching her wandering hand. "We're supposed to be going slow. That was the deal."
She flips onto her side, facing me fully now. The morning light catches in her blonde hair, making it glow like a halo around her face – an angel or a devil, I'm not sure which anymore.
"But you need me," she whispers, leaning forward to press her lips against my neck. Her mouth is warm, familiar. "You need to feel me."
She wraps her arms around me, her body molding against mine as she kisses the other side of my neck. Her lips trace a path up to my ear, breath hot against my skin.
"Can you tell me you love me now?" she whispers, her voice small and hopeful.
I pull back enough to look into her eyes. "I'm not ready yet," I say quietly. "You agreed we'd go slow."
Panic flashes across her face, her pupils dilating with fear. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, desperate to maintain contact.
"Please," she begs, voice breaking on the single word.
Something in me hardens, a wall of self-preservation rising up after months of therapy and rebuilding. "Stop trying to make me do things I don't want to do," I say firmly.
She recoils as if I've slapped her, eyes widening with hurt. For a moment, she looks genuinely wounded, and guilt twists in my gut. But then her expression shifts, rearranging into something calculated.
She nods slowly, her eyes downcast. "You're right," she whispers. "I'm sorry."
She leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my lips, so different from the desperate ones before. It's almost chaste, an apology rather than a demand. When she pulls back, her eyes meet mine with what seems like genuine remorse.
"I'm sorry," she repeats. "I promised we'd go slow and I... I got carried away."
I nod, accepting her apology even as I try to process everything that's happened this morning. The intimacy we just shared sits uncomfortably in my chest, wanted and unwanted all at once.
"I have an NA meeting to go to soon," I say, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Nine-thirty. Still time to shower and make the eleven o'clock meeting.
Her face brightens immediately, that familiar spark of enthusiasm lighting her eyes. "I can go with you," she offers, sitting up straighter. The oversized sweater slips off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin I try not to focus on. "I'd love to see that part of your life now."
A knot forms in my stomach. The thought of Summer in that space, my safe space, makes my palms sweat. Those meetings are sacred to me, the one place where I can be completely honest about my struggles without judgment.
"Did they..." I hesitate, the question that's been burning in my mind finally surfacing. "Summer, did they get you addicted to anything while you were gone?"
Her eyes widen with surprise, then soften again. She shakes her head emphatically.
"Oh no, baby, no," she says, reaching for my hand. "We would just smoke weed sometimes, but no one ever made me try anything harder." She squeezes my fingers. "I saw what it did to you. I wouldn't go down that road."
I exhale slowly, a tension I didn't even realize I was carrying releasing from my shoulders. The relief is so intense it makes me dizzy for a moment.
"That's good," I murmur. "I'm glad to hear that."
She watches me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to accept her offer to join the meeting. I can see it in her eyes, that desperate need to be included, to be part of every aspect of my life now that she's back.
"I think it'd be better if I went alone today," I say carefully, watching her face for signs of another mood shift.
Summer laughs, the sound bright and dismissive as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. "No, no. You definitely need me to go with you." She reaches for my hand, her fingers wrapping around mine with insistent pressure. "I should see this part of your life. I want to understand what you've been doing while I was... away."
"Summer," I say, carefully extracting my hand from hers, "I want to go alone."
Her face transforms instantly. The smile vanishes, replaced by trembling lips and eyes that fill with tears so quickly it's almost theatrical. One perfectly round droplet spills over, tracking a path down her cheek as her shoulders begin to shake.
"You don't want me there," she whispers brokenly. "You're ashamed of me."
I watch the performance unfold, recognizing the manipulation for what it is. In another life, I might have crumbled, might have given in just to stop those tears.
"Crying isn't going to make me say yes," I tell her, my voice gentler than my words. "These meetings are important to me. They're private. I'm not ready to share that space with you yet."
Her sobbing cuts off abruptly, like someone flipped a switch. She stares at me with wide, startled eyes, as if she can't quite believe I didn't fold under the pressure of her tears. Then something shifts in her gaze, calculation replacing hurt.
"Ugh, fine," she finally sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically. The tears vanish as quickly as they appeared, leaving no trace on her perfectly dry cheeks. "I guess I can survive a few hours without you."
Before I can respond, she lunges forward, capturing my lips with hers. This kiss is different from the gentle one before, deeper, more urgent. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer with a desperation that sends shivers down my spine. I feel myself responding despite my better judgment, my hands finding her waist as she presses against me.
When she finally pulls away, we're both breathing hard. Her eyes are dark with something that looks like hunger, maybe even possession.
"I'll look into tattoo removal while you're gone," she whispers, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. "Start making arrangements today."
The promise hangs between us, heavy with meaning.
"Okay," I say simply, not trusting myself with more words.