Fucking hell. Two attempts. Two. That's all it takes to realize when the chemistry just isn't there. Lying here next to a warm body that might as well be a stranger, my pussy is literally aching for something it can't have. It's not just about getting fucked—it's about that specific way someone knows exactly how to make you lose your mind, the way their cock feels like it was made just for you. I miss the desperation, the sweat, the way my nails would dig into a back I knew by heart. This 'convenient' relationship is the most inconvenient fucking torture. My body has a goddamn memory, and it won't stop screaming his name.