Chapter 145: Like Home?

Roman There are a thousand ways I imagined our reconciliation would happen. Maybe I’d slip her a dinner date through the crack of the door. Maybe I’d flood her workplace and our home with flowers until the scent became unbearable. Maybe I’d buy her a signed album from that artist she loved so much—the one whose songs she used to hum absentmindedly while brushing her hair. Or maybe I’d hand her a key. To a car. To a house. To whatever version of peace she wanted from me. But never—not in all the sleepless nights I replayed us—did I imagine it would happen like this. Not with her leg draped over my shoulder, her voice breaking into small, pleading sounds as I moved inside her. Not with her mouth doing the things it did earlier—pulling every rational thought out of my head until there was nothing left but the ache of her name in my mind. God, that felt good. The memory of her lips on me still burned through my nerves like wildfire. The heat, the glide, the soft suck of her mouth—each moti