Page 145 of This Life of Mine

He pulls me back to where our bodies cling to one another, then turns my face to kiss me. As his tongue dives into mine, my body trembles as it gives way.

My orgasm crashes through me violently, my body convulsing as I come apart completely. Alex follows with one final deep thrust, groaning as he spills inside me.

After a moment, I fall forward as he holds my hips from behind.

He grabs my ass with both hands and gives it a firm shake. “This ass is incredible,” he says hoarsely.

I giggle with exhaustion.

Alex pulls out and rolls us onto our sides, gathering me against him. He nuzzles into my neck as the intensity gives way to a quieter kind of warmth.

“Fucking amazing,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder.

“So good,” I whisper, smiling as warmth and contentment wash through me. Sleep claims me moments later, pulling me under with a satisfied sigh.

Chapter forty-four

Alex

Lina’s asleep in my arms, breath slow and even, her body warm and relaxed against mine.

We’re both spent—used up in the best possible way—but I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to wrap my head around how easily she’s gotten me so wrapped up in her.

How effortless it feels to hold her like this, like it’s something I’ve been missing without ever realizing it.

I can’t get enough of her.

I can’t get enough of the way she moves or the way she sounds.

Though those sounds are burned into me now—it’sher. The quiet after. The way she melts into my chest. The way her fingers curl reflexively into my side even in sleep.

I’ve wanted things before. People, moments, relief.

This is different.

Do we have work to do? Of course. There’s history. Trauma. Messy truths still unfolding. We barely know each other in the ways that matter long term.

And somehow…none of that scares me.

I know I’ll still want her even if she has terrible taste in music. Even if she steals the blankets. Even if she snores a little—like she is now, soft and unselfconscious, something that could be annoying but isn’t. It’s… adorable.

I smile to myself at that.

We already have more in common than either of us expected. We’re both meticulous—borderline obsessive about cleanliness and order.

We both treat the gym like therapy, like maintenance for more than our bodies.

We both care about health, about discipline, about showing up even when it would be easier not to.

But more than that, we both know what it means to suffer. She more than I.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake her, and she instinctively presses closer—trust, even in sleep.

I’ve lived a life built on restraint—keeping people at arm’s length, on leaving before anything could root too deeply.

But lying here with her tucked into me, something eases inside me with quiet assurance.

I want this. Not only tonight while everything is intense and unfinished.