Night So Tender

He didn’t answer right away, his hand sliding down my waist, pulling me flush against him. The sudden contact, the heat of his body against mine, made me gasp, and the tension between us thickened.

"But it does seem like it, Adele," he murmured, his voice dangerously close to a growl. "You want me too... And you’re not the type of woman who walks away from a challenge."

My pulse quickened, my breath shallow, as his words sank in. Was he right? Was that really how he saw me? Ryan had said I was boring and lacked a fighting spirit. And this stranger was saying the opposite.

I should have said something, anything. I should have resisted. But instead, I found myself leaning in slightly, just enough for him to close the gap between us.

And then, with a sudden force, his lips found mine.

I jolted, suddenly feeling like I was cheating on Ryan, but his hand around my waist tightened as he claimed my lips like he knew every inch of it.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, and full of a kind of hunger that made my heart race and my thoughts scatter. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of my back, pulling me closer, as though he couldn’t get enough.

His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer, while his other arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me like I weighed nothing.

I gasped into his mouth, and he groaned against my lips, pushing me against the wall with reverence and fire. His body was hard, his need was undeniable.

But then he slowed.

His lips traced down my jaw, to my neck, to my collarbone. It was slow, painfully slow, open-mouthed kisses that made my knees weak.

“Adele…” he rasped again, my name foreign on his tongue but sacred in his voice.

“Yes,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his dark hair.

His hand slid beneath my blouse, brushing across my stomach before cupping my breast through the fabric of my bra. I arched into him, moaning softly as a load of pleasure shook every part of me, making my body tremble with anticipation and excitement.

Every touch, every brush of his mouth and hands was deliberate, like he was learning my body and memorizing it.

Ryan was my first man, yet he'd never touched like this, so tender and careful. Like I was some treasure.

I felt desired. I felt Worshipped. I felt loved.

He undressed me slowly, piece by piece, eyes never leaving mine. When his fingers found my skin, they lingered. When his lips found a path, they followed it all the way down, igniting fires through my exhausted bones.

My body ached and begged for more. For all of him.

And when we finally sank into the bed, tangled together, breathless and bare, I didn’t feel like a discarded ex-wife. I didn't feel like an “embarrassment”, like my son and husband called me. I didn't feel I was “boring”, like my husband said I was.

I felt like a woman rediscovering herself in the arms of a stranger whose name I hadn’t even asked. A stranger who made me feel seen and desired.

His weight pressed into me, grounding me and setting me free all at once. His skin was hot against mine, his breath ragged against my throat as he hovered there, just inches away, staring down like I was something sacred. Something rare.

And for the first time in years, I felt that way.

And then his pride surged forward, strong, hard, and thick. It nestled on my entrance, and then, slowly, deeply, he pushed in, filling me inch by inch until I cried out and clung to him, overwhelmed by the intensity of him inside me.

Every nerve came alive, screaming for more, and at the same time, begging him to stop.

He paused, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath shaky. Our eyes locked and muscles coiled.

Something passed between us in that moment, wordless and unexplainable.

Then he moved his hips.

Slow at first, torturously slow, like he was savoring every second, every sensation. Like he'd never experienced this kind of connection either.

Our bodies fell into rhythm, a perfect, primal dance. Each thrust, each grind of hips brought us closer, not just to release, but to something deeper.

"Aaahh!" I moaned loudly, almost a cry.

"Moan my name, Adele," he growled.

"I don't know your name," I cried in response.

“Detroit,” he groaned into my mouth. “Call me Detroit.”

"Oh, Detroit... Ah.. Uuhm..." I moaned his name once, and he cursed under his breath, burying his face in my neck. His hand found mine, fingers interlocked, grounding us both as the pace quickened.

Heat spiraled tighter and tighter in my belly. My whole body coiled, trembling. He kissed my cheek, my temple, my mouth, like he needed every piece of me.

Like he couldn’t believe I was real.

“Adele…aah!” he gasped, his voice breaking. “You feel like… fire.”

I couldn’t respond. I was too far gone. My nails dug into his shoulders, my back arching as wave after wave of pleasure built inside me. It was hot and wild and completely consuming.

Then he angled his hips just right…

And I shattered.

My body convulsed around him, stars bursting behind my eyes. "Detroit!" I sobbed his name, trembling under the force of it.

"Uugh!" He followed with a deep, guttural groan, driving into me one last time as he came hard, burying himself in my heat with a raw vulnerability that shook me.

We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and breathless wonder. For a long time, we just lay there, bodies still joined, hearts racing in sync.

I knew by morning I'd regret this. I'd hate myself for letting a stranger into my treasure trove. But at this moment, I didn't care. Because, for the first time in years, I didn’t feel empty after sex.

I felt whole. And this, this was the best sex I've ever had in my entire life.