Fucking my ex one last time wasn’t something I planned—it just happened when he showed up to grab the last of his stuff and we ended up on my crumpled sheets like old times. I still had on that thin tank top, and he pulled it off slow, his hands warm on my ribs, and I felt my breath catch the way it always did. He kissed down my stomach, and I guided him between my legs, already wet and a little embarrassed by how much I’d missed this. When I took him in my mouth, I went deep, sloppy, letting him hit the back of my throat until my eyes watered, and he groaned my name like a confession. Then he flipped me over, spread my ass wide, and pushed in rough, no condom, just skin and sweat and the headboard knocking against the wall. I arched my back, legs shaking, tattoos stretching across my shoulder as he fucked me hard and slow, then fast, and I came with my face buried in the pillow, muffling a sound I didn’t want the neighbors to hear. Afterward, we lay there sticky and quiet, and I knew it was really over—but for those twenty minutes, it felt like nothing had ever changed.
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Date: October 23, 2026
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