I love this prompt. I loved filling this prompt. Cut for bad words.
When he’s in another world – his eyes shut, breath ragged, focus a thousand miles in the past—he fucks like a champion; the more it happens the more it starts to not bother her when he concentrates on her body but not her mind, her pleasure but not really her—he’s behind her in a time long ago, not in a bed in Paris or Morocco or New York, not really here, with Kara, but somewhere else entirely.
It’s as if she’s privy to a facet of his life long ago, and she thinks sometimes she should snap him out of it, but the way his kisses crash like Gulf waves and touches feel like faraway breezes, the way he thrusts as if his very life depends on it, it ruins her resolve and she just enjoys the feeling—she just enjoys being a part of this, a part of him, a part of a life that was obviously once deliciously happy.
It barely even hurts when he murmurs “Jessica” in his sleep. Barely.