“You’re so fucking hardheaded,” he groaned, grinding his hips in slow, punishing circles as if he was savoring release.
Despite my disregard for his instruction, Khalil didn’t stop like I thought he would. Instead, he kept fucking me through it, holding me in place as if my body belonged to him entirely, his voice dropping lower, darker, each word sinking deeper into my mind. “Next time I tell you to wait, you better listen, or I’ll make you come so many times your pussy starts to feel raw.”
His rhythm never faltered until I felt him stiffen, a low groan leaving his throat as he came deep inside me, his dick pulsing with every thick, hot spurt.
When he finally pulled out, I slumped against the wall, legs weak, mind scrambled. I couldn’t feel anything but the mess dripping down my thighs and the sting of how good it felt to be broken like that.
Khalil stepped back and adjusted his pants. “Go clean yourself,” he ordered, pointing to the restroom tucked inside his office.
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, my voice shaky as I grabbed my shorts with trembling hands and stumbled toward the door, my body still humming from the wreckage he left behind.
Back home in my room, the noise was gone. The music, the laughter, the heat of his hands had all faded the second the door clicked shut behind me. I stood there for a moment, still breathless, still aching from everything Khalil had done to me. However, the longer the silence stretched, the more the emptiness crept in like a hollow scraping beneath my ribs, making me feel as if someone had carved out everything vital and left only the shell.
The rush had worn off.
The high from attention, the illusion of control, and the power I thought I had when I straddled his lap and made him lose it in front of everyone had all vanished like smoke. My legs trembled, and my throat was dry, but water couldn't quench this thirst.
Nothing could fill the cavern that gaped wider with each passing second but one thing, and it was more potent than Khalil’s dick. The pills didn’t talk back, kidnap, or command. They didn’t demand eye contact or expect vulnerability. Hell, they didn’t ask for anything but silence and a glass of water. That was the kind of love I understood.
I crossed the room and dropped to my knees. Reaching behind the panel I’d loosened in the back of the closet, I quickly found the small black pouch I’d tucked away for safekeeping. My hands were shaking as I unzipped it and pulled out the little orange bottle Tandy had slipped me days ago. I’d taken one of the Xanax before I left for the club to help stave off the temptation through the night. Otherwise, I would’ve wanted to indulge in any and everything.
But now, the energy I carried just hours ago had gone, and what lingered in the darkness was guttural and pressing. The room was too still and too quiet. The version of me that took control earlier didn’t exist in this space. She disappeared the moment we slid inside Khalil’s vehicle. All that was left was the part I tried to keep buried, the one that always came crawling back whenever I was alone.
The loneliness hit harder than the orgasm, and I hated it. My skin felt like it was shrinking, too tight for my bones, and there was this hollow ache in my chest that made every breath feel insufficient. It was time for me to take action.
I popped the cap and stared at the pills like they might save me from myself. All I needed was one, maybe two,something to make me feel whole again, to silence the scratching under my skin that felt like insects trying to claw their way out. Because even surrounded by power, pleasure, and eyes that wanted me, I still felt invisible. The craving was a living thing now, demanding and desperate, and I both worshipped and despised its hold on me.
I brought the pill to my lips, my hand steady despite the monkey riding my back. The moment it touched my tongue, both bitter and familiar, the door creaked open, and I froze. My heart dropped like a stone, and blood rushed to my face so fast it made me dizzy.
Khalil stepped inside as if he already knew something was off. His gaze swept the room, then landed on me—on my hand, on the bottle, on the guilt that hadn’t even had time to settle.
He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t yell or ask what the fuck I was doing. He just stared, his expression unreadable, but his eyes said everything.
There was disappointment etched deep in his stare, like he’d expected better from me and hated that he hadn’t gotten it. Disbelief followed, swift and silent, as if he couldn’t quite process what he was seeing, not after the night we just had. And beneath all of it, his eyes expressed the betrayal he felt, and that stung more than anything he could’ve said out loud.
Khalil didn’t just walk in on me taking a pill. He walked in on the facade I had built with confidence and carefully timed smirks. He saw a junkie struggling to stay clean, reaching out for something to quiet the noise. He didn’t catch me slipping. Nah, he caught me unraveling—alone, vulnerable, and risking everything for a high I couldn’t relinquish.
What gutted me most wasn’t the silence or the disappointment. It was the way he looked at me, like he’d finally seen the truth, and it matched everything he feared I was behind the performance. The shame settled in my chest like cement,because I had let him see the one version of me I never wanted him to witness again. The broken one. The addicted one. The one who didn’t have a single ounce of control left.
A single tear slid down my cheek without permission, ratting me out before I could spin a lie. Betrayal from my own damn body.
“You really about to do that?” Khalil asked, voice low but edged in steel, cutting through the silence like a switchblade.
I opened my mouth to lie to say it wasn’t what it looked like, but the truth sat like concrete in my throat.
“I wasn’t—” I started, but my voice cracked right down the middle.
He took a step closer, and it felt like the walls moved with him. His presence alone shifted the gravity in the room, and I hated how small I felt. How exposed. How fucking pitiful I looked with my knees buckled, lip trembling, and eyes glassy. A parody of control.
“Give me that shit,” Khalil said, palm open, tone sharp enough to carve through bone. “All of it.”
For a second, I thought about telling him to go to hell and clutching the pills to my chest like they were holy. However, that version of me, the fire starter, the smart mouth, the girl who weaponized her pain before anyone else could, was quiet now. Shrinking. Hiding in the corners of my shame. Not because I feared him, but because I feared what he saw.
He wasn’t looking at the temptress I dressed up as, and not the spoiled little manipulator I played on a loop. Khalil saw the raw version. The haunted one. The girl who didn’t feel human unless she was falling and taking everyone with her, and I could see the disappointment, maybe even the grief. I didn’t want to be the reason he looked like that.
Nonetheless, I still shook my head and clutched the bottle like it was the last photograph of someone I'd loved and lost,my knuckles becoming red with the effort. I tried to swallow the pill, but Khalil was on me in seconds, his thumbs pressing at the hinges of my jaw. We wrestled as his fingers dug into the hollows of my cheeks, forcing tears I didn't want to shed, and I fought him even as some quiet, buried part of me begged to be stopped.
When the pill slipped past my tongue, for a second, I thought I could get away with it, but then, he fished the pill from my throat with two fingers and pried the bottle from my hand. He trembled slightly as he wiped my saliva on his shirt, the only sign that this hurt him as much as it hurt me. Afterward, he emptied my pouch, scooped up every little thing that rattled, and didn't say another word as he shoved it all into his pocket.
