Jett doesn’t move. He’s all coiled tension and clenched jaw.
She climbs right into his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, hands sliding into his hair, and takes her kiss. It’s not soft. There’s no easing into it. She kisses him like she’s trying to ignite a fire behind his teeth. Open-mouthed. Hungry. Dirty.
The bar goes silent for a second.
Jett growls something low, and his hand fists her hair. Her fingers dig into his thigh.
When she pulls back, Jett looks like a man who’s had something taken from him.
Benji doesn’t even wait for the signal. He’s already standing, arms wide, grinning like he’s about to win the lottery and walk into traffic at the same time.
“Benji,” she says, breathless and sweet, like he’s her reward.
“Yes ma’am,” he breathes, and she launches herself into his arms. He catches her, lifts her like she weighs nothing, and kisses her like she’s everything.
This one’s different. Softer at first. Tender. But it spirals fast, hands in hair, her thighs around his waist, his big hand under her ass to hold her up while he devours her.
There’s a cheer somewhere. Someone whistles. I’m gripping the edge of the table so hard my knuckles hurt.
I don’t know if I’m jealous or turned on. If I want to fuck her, fight them, or thank God they love her too.
She lets Benji set her down, breathless and glowing.
She turns back to me. “Your turn again on Tuesday.”
I forget how to breathe.
Journal Entry #9
Friday August 6th
Therapy Journal
Dear Rhys,
What. A. Fucking. Day.
I don’t even know where to start except to say I may never emotionally recover and also I’m possibly glowing?? A slutty radioactive raccoon caught in a dumpster fire of my own making. But a hot one.
So. Morning: Jett bailed me out. Plot twist: Benji bailed him out.
Further plot twist: I went home with Jett and we completely shattered each other in the way you’re probably contractually obligated to frown at but spiritually you know it was necessary. Sometimes people aren’t puzzle pieces. Sometimes they’re jagged shards and the only way to make them fit again is to smash them hard enough they melt a little. That’s what Jett and I did. Therapy by way of carnage-fucking. Not gentle. We had to break ourselves apart just to feel right again. Glass-shard kisses. Bruises. Claw marks. One of us might be cursed now, not sure which. We needed it.
Anyway. Moving on!
I left you a present. And one for Benji. And another for Jett. You all got little breadcrumbs from my delirious little heart, glitter-coded and scandalously specific. I think you liked yours, because, well. You kissed me.
Rhys.
You.
Kissed.
Me.
And not in the way you kiss someone you’re still trying to keep in your caseload, okay?? That was a full-body, soul-melting, career-ending kiss with tongue and intentions. That kiss had consequences. It was not a kiss like “oh thank you for the roses, m’lady.” You kissed me like you forgot we weren’t fucking yet.
Oh, and I may have possibly stalked you into art class. Surprise! I kindly suggested the original model explore a new path in life, somewhere far away, ideally in mime. She left. I posed. You judged me with those silently feral eyes of yours. It was glorious. But still you kissed me so I assume that’s forgiven.
