My Boyfriend's Ex Wants Him Back

I still remember the exact weight of his hands on me that night. James had cooked dinner — nothing fancy, just pasta and garlic bread — but the way he kept looking at me made it feel like the most romantic meal of my life. I was sitting on the kitchen counter in one of his old t-shirts, bare legs swinging, watching him move around like he owned every inch of the space… and me. He wiped his hands on a towel, walked over, and stepped between my knees without asking. His palms slid up my thighs, slow and warm, until they rested just under the hem of the shirt. “You’re staring again,” he said, voice low. “Can you blame me?” I tilted my head. “You look good when you’re feeding me.” He smirked, that crooked little smirk that always made my stomach tighten. Then he leaned in and kissed me. Not a soft hello kiss. A real one. Deep and unhurried, like he had all night and planned to use every second of it. His tongue brushed mine and I made a small sound against his mouth. His fingers flexed on my thighs in answer. When he finally pulled back, my lips felt swollen. “Dinner first,” he murmured, but his eyes said otherwise. “Then I’m taking my time with you.” We ate on the couch with the plates balanced awkwardly on our laps. He kept feeding me bites even though I could feed myself just fine. Every time I licked sauce off my bottom lip, his gaze dropped there and stayed. By the time we finished, the air between us felt thick. James took the plates away, came back, and dropped to his knees in front of me. He pushed my legs apart gently and rested his hands on my bare thighs again, thumbs stroking slow circles. “Come here,” he said. I slid forward until I was almost in his lap. He kissed the inside of my knee, then higher, soft open-mouthed kisses that made my breath catch. When he reached the edge of the shirt he looked up at me, eyes dark. “Still okay?” I nodded, already a little breathless. “More than okay.” He smiled against my skin and kept going, pushing the shirt up as he went. His mouth was warm and deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He never rushed with me. He kissed a path up my stomach, between my breasts, then finally reached my mouth again. This time the kiss was hungrier. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer until there was no space left. We stayed like that for a long time... kissing, touching, whispering things that made heat pool low in my belly. His hands were everywhere: in my hair, under the shirt, gripping my hips like he needed the anchor. I could feel how much he wanted me, hard against the softest part of me, but he still took his time. Eventually he stood, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing. I locked my legs around him as he carried me to the bedroom. He laid me down on the bed and followed, covering my body with his. The t-shirt came off. Then his clothes. Skin on skin felt like coming home. James braced himself above me, forehead against mine. “I love you,” he said, voice rough. “You know that, right?” “I know.” I ran my hands down his back. “Show me.” And he did. He moved inside me slow and deep, eyes locked on mine the entire time. Every thrust was deliberate. Every kiss was placed like a promise — on my lips, my cheeks, my forehead, the side of my neck. I came first, gasping his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He followed soon after, burying his face in my hair and holding me so tightly it almost hurt. Afterward we lay tangled together, sweaty and quiet. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my bare hip while I listened to his heartbeat slow down. “Six months tomorrow,” he said into the dark. I smiled against his chest. “Best six months of my life.” “Mine too.” He kissed my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Lora. You’re stuck with me.” I believed him completely. That night I fell asleep with his arm heavy across my waist and his breath warm against my neck. I felt safe. Chosen. Loved in the exact way I had always wanted. 🥺 I had no idea that in less than two weeks, the same mouth that covered me in kisses would start going quiet. That the hands that couldn’t stop touching me would begin to pull away. That the man who just told me I was stuck with him would start slipping through my fingers. But that night… that perfect, steamy, ordinary night… I still thought forever was guaranteed.