Page 47 of Bend

It hits me like a goddamn tidal wave, crashing into me hard and fast.

My body tenses, toes curling into the sheets, and I cry out against Thorne’s mouth, cum spilling over his fist in hot pulses that streak my stomach and chest. The pleasure rips through me, leaving me shaking, clinging to his wrist like it’s the only thing grounding me.

Inside, he feels even bigger somehow, the clench of my release pulling a deep, shuddering groan from him, his hips stuttering as he rides it out with me.

“Bloody hell, fuck.”

Thorne follows right after, his groan turning into a guttural shout as he quickly pulls out, and fists his cock. He strokes himself twice, three times, eyes squeezed shut in that intense focus before he starts cumming—ropes of it landing on my chest, mixing with mine in warm, sticky trails.

His body shudders above me, hips jerking with the aftershocks, as a low, broken sound escapes his throat and he collapses forward just enough to brace on himself on the headboard.

His breaths come in heavy pants against my neck as he comes down from the high.

Even in the release, there’s a vulnerability in how he trembles, forehead pressing to my shoulder like he’s anchoring himself there.

Beside us, Echo’s smile is all satisfaction as she presses kisses to both of us, my temple, his jaw, her hands stroking soothing patterns over our sweat-damp skin. “That may have been the hottest shit I’ve ever witnessed.” she breathes, voice soft with that wicked edge still lingering.

The room finally goes quiet, my pulse is still running high and my head feels fuller than it should.

Echo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hair mussed, and her mouth swollen from kissing.

And Thorne is already pulling away.

I know before he even reaches for his shirt that he’s about to bolt.

“Hey,” I say quietly, but he doesn’t even look at me.

“I should go.”

Echo’s expression shifts, that usual amused softness fading into something more knowing. “Thorne.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s clear to both Echo and I that he’s very obviously not fucking fine.

He drags a hand through his hair and finds his shoes, his movements jerky, like if he slows down for even a second he might have to actually feel what just happened.

I step closer. “You don’t have to run.”

That gets me a flash of eye contact. Bright and stripped, but gone too quick.

“I’m not running, mate.” His jaw ticks. “It’s late, innit? And in case you forgot Andre expects us in early, and I’m not trying to get my head chewed off before ten.”

That’s not the reason and we both know it.

Still, I don’t push. I want to. God, I fucking want to. But I can feel how frayed he is, and there’s a difference between asking somebody to be honest and yanking them open before they’re ready.

So I let him go.

He slips out the door with tension pulled tight through every line of him, and the silence he leaves behind feels so goddamn loud.

For a second I just stare at the closed door.

Then Echo says, softly, “Don’t chase him.”

I look back at her.

She’s dressed now, swallowed up in an oversized tee, her dark hair pulled up into a messy top knot like she threw it up in a hurry. The sight of her like that, rumpled, warm, still a little wrecked around the edges, is somehow calming.