“Oh, Ben, yes!” she screams.

My hands find her toes curled into my calves and I clutch them as she rides another wave of pleasure and then another. With my heart pounding in my ears, I crawl up her body and hover over her and stare down at her. Again I have to swallow the lump in my throat, but it has nothing to do with sadness. It’s her beauty and I don’t understand where these feelings are coming from, but at the same time I don’t care. Her hands glide down my face, and the smile on her lips grows wider.

Unable to speak, I simply stare into her eyes. Her hands move to my cock, and her finger goes right to that spot beneath it. Fuck, if I weren’t already ready for her, what she’s doing right now would make me hard instantly. Finally I reposition myself and slide my straining c**k slowly inside her. Her pu**y is wet and as I fill her I can’t stop from shuddering at the overwhelming pleasure.

Her back arches.

“Oh God,” I groan, and bury my face in her neck.

Pleasure strikes immediately. She feels warm, welcoming, and so ready for me that I can’t control myself.

She smooths her hands down my back and runs her nails over my muscles. My blood feels as if it’s on fire. I push deeper, move faster. She urges me faster with her hips and this time I can’t hold on. When she moans louder suddenly, that’s all that matters. In this one single moment all I can feel is the need for release.

“Fuck,” I call out when she changes the angle of hips by wrapping her legs around me, allowing me to thrust even deeper inside her. I’ve had sex with countless women over the last three years, but not one of them has made me feel like this right now.

I chance a look in her eyes and I’m done. It’s a bolt of lightning crashing through my body.

“Come with me,” I plead with her, my voice hoarse.

“I will, I will, I promise,” she cries in a ragged tone.

I close my eyes. My muscles tense everywhere. And as we call out each other’s name in unison, my body jerks and I feel as if I’m breaking through some unknown barrier I didn’t know existed. I open my eyes to look at her as I come harder than I’ve ever experienced. I feel as if my body is exploding—as if it’s separating into smaller pieces and leaving this universe for another. The feeling scares the living shit out of me.

It takes me a few minutes to collect myself. Sweat coats my body, my c**k throbs inside her, and finally I collapse next to her, unable to move. I bury my face in her neck and when I feel the air return to my lungs I kiss her softly. First her shoulder, then her neck, her jaw, and finally her mouth. She kisses me back, mimicking my own pattern. She kisses my mouth, my jaw, my neck, my shoulder. I shiver at her gentleness. Maybe that’s what’s different about her? The f**king isn’t just f**king. It’s intermixed with tenderness. I haven’t felt that in a long time. I think I missed it.

I roll off her, the weight of my odd feelings heavy on my mind. She stays silent and so do I. But I pull her to me and then tug the sheet back over us. I bury us in our cocoon where I don’t have to try to figure out what the hell is going inside my head.

I must have fallen asleep, because when she turns in her sleep, it awakens me. Her back nestles into my front and I curl my arm around her. Her skin is warm and feels incredibly comforting against mine. My fingers mindlessly play with the shamrock in her belly button.

“You asked me if I knew if the baby was a boy or a girl,” she says, and the sound of her voice surprises me.

My movement stops for the briefest of moments but then I continue to finger the ornament. “Yeah, I did.”

“What I said sounded cold. But it wasn’t like that.”

I close my eyes. “I never thought you sounded cold.”

“I loved the baby. That’s why I knew I couldn’t keep it.”

I kiss her cheek and let mine rest on hers. Inside our cocoon we can talk about anything and I know this is something that she needs to share and I need to hear.

“Knowing the sex would have made it all too real. It was better for me not to know. Can you ever understand that?”

I kiss her cheek again, leaving my lips there because I feel the wetness of her tears. Then I turn her around to face me. “I do understand, S’belle. I do.” My fingers move back to the symbol of our baby she wears to remember, although I don’t think she needs to wear the shamrock to remember. “This is a beautiful thing,” I say, circling her belly button. “But you did what you thought was best for the baby and you don’t have to take the blame alone anymore. Let me help you.”

Her tears fall and her cries grow louder and I let her get it out. Let the emotion she’s kept bottled up for all these years spill out onto me. I know we can’t change the past. I have no idea what would have happened if she had told me, and that enables me to share in the blame. I want to help her heal the wounds that she hasn’t allowed to close. My arms tighten around her and I whisper, “It’s time to let go, S’belle. It’s time to let go.”

I don’t know how much time passes, but when I feel her breathing even out, I know she’s fallen asleep. I hope when she awakes, the burden she’s carried on her shoulders will feel a little less heavy. I carefully lift the sheet and slip out to shower. When I finish I go in search of my clothes, then remember I ripped the buttons off my shirt. I creep into her closet and find a USC sweatshirt large enough for me to wear. It looks familiar and I wonder if it’s mine from so many years ago.