Reunited Flame's Lighthouse Solo Surrender

I came back alone. The key still worked after all these years, cold iron turning in the lock with that same reluctant click I remembered from the nights when we used to sneak in after dark. Salt air hit me first, thick and briny, mixed with the deeper scent of old wood and iron rust that had soaked into every plank of this lighthouse. My body knew it before my mind caught up. Heat uncoiled low in my belly, slow and inevitable, the way it always had here. Twenty-eight years old and still undone by the smell of this place.

I stepped inside and let the door shut behind me. The ground floor was dim, dusty motes floating in the shafts of late-afternoon light that slanted through the high windows. Everything was the same: the coil of rope in the corner, the rusted lantern on its hook, the narrow spiral staircase corkscrewing up into the tower. No one else for miles. Just the endless crash of waves against the rocks below and the cry of gulls. I was completely alone with the throbbing that had started the moment the scent reached me.

I pressed my back to the door and closed my eyes. Memories rose like tidewater. His hands. The way he used to pin me against these very walls, mouth hot on my throat while the wind howled outside. We were younger then, reckless, fucking like the world might end if we stopped. I could still feel the ghost of his cock stretching me open on the cold stone floor, my legs locked around his waist, begging him quieter, harder, please. My nipples tightened under the thin cotton of my sundress just thinking about it. Wetness gathered between my thighs, slick and sudden. I had driven three hours for this. For the chance to be here alone and finally give in to every filthy recollection I had tried to bury.

I climbed.