“Come for me. I want to feel it,” Kai says, biting the side of my neck. “Give your wife a show.”
“F-fuck,” I stutter.
Everything bunches inside of me, and then the pleasure explodes through me unexpectedly. I cry out at the force of it. Kai is muttering something behind me as it feels like I tumble down a steep cliff. My cock leaks cum at first, and it merely dribbles down, but then Kai reaches around and wraps his hand firmly around my shaft, and it’s suddenly like a fountain. I’m shaking, convulsing, jerking… I come for what feels like an entire minute. And maybe I do. There’s so much cum, so manyaftershocks. Every time Kai moves inside of me, another pulse has it hitting the wall.
It’s fucking endless.
“Fuck yes,” Kai says. “That felt incredible. I’m going to come.”
I don’t have it in me to do anything but moan when his cock curves and bows. My eyes roll back, and I can feel him pulse deep inside of me. His free hand digs into the flesh at my hips, pulling my arse onto his cock as he jerks. And then he sighs, staying inside of me as he catches his breath.
I hear him press stop on the video, and then he pulls out of me slowly. I bite my tongue at the strange sensation. Expecting him to pull away, I stand there with my arse exposed. But instead of leaving or saying goodbye, he helps me out of my shoes, and then my clothes. When I turn around, he’s naked, too.
And he’s holding a bottle of bodywash. “Do you want me to wash you?”
There’s something acutely intimate about it—just us. Him and me. His version of aftercare. I nod, smiling. And then he comes to stand under the shower with me, pulling us both under the spray of the warm water.
My heart is still pounding, and as Kai begins to clean me, I realize that maybe, just maybe, this could all work out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE VIDEO
Sophie
“Oh my God, it’s huge,” Stella says in awe as I hand her the neon, flashing sculpture above the register, an abstract design made entirely of flowers. The shape is unmistakable, the curves and lines arranged just subtly enough to make people look twice. “I love it!” she adds, laughing as she takes in the vibrant, cheeky arrangement shaped like a cock. It’s bold and playful, but just subtle enough to leave anyone who doesn’tget itblissfully unaware.
I adjust the angle. “It’s certainly… bold.”
“Bold? This is a masterpiece. You’re going to have the horniest bookstore in Crestwood.”
“Not sure there’s much competition in that area,” I reply, stepping down from the stool to admire our handiwork. The warm glow of the pink-and-red interior is cozy and kitschy—exactly the balance I envisioned.
“Now imagine a giant poster of tits and fannies in the loo,” Stella adds, waggling her brows. “I’m telling you, nothing says feminism like anatomically correct vaginas at eye level.”
I roll my eyes, but the grin won’t leave my face. “We are an equal opportunity bookstore, after all.”
Her arm slips around my shoulders in solidarity. “I love it. Are you nervous?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I look around. The bookstore is complete—aside from the books, which are arriving bright and early tomorrow, and the bespoke sign painter I’d hired for the name. But the shelves are built, secured to the walls, and painted a light pink. The floor is gleaming, thanks to the wood polish Julian picked up the other day. The side tables are red, as is the cash register. There’s a pink-and-white checkered rug on the floor, and a teal chaise lounge. Stella even managed to find the giant, light-up cock, as well as matching leg lamps.
The area behind the register has an electric fireplace, a cozy, magenta-colored velvet couch, and a fluffy, cream-colored rug. There are plants in every available corner, and all that’s left is to get “The Story Nest” painted onto the light pink facade above the front door in gold, and then to decorate the window display—something Stella promised to help me with tomorrow.
“I’m excited,” I tell her honestly. “It feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. To have something of my own, just for me…” I trail off.
Stella’s knowing eyes drift over me like she’s reading every thought I haven’t said aloud. She squeezes my shoulder, understanding.
“I’m proud of you,” Stella says, squeezing me once before walking into the back room.
I should feel proud. Idofeel proud. But that pride has been shadowed by the ache I’ve tried—and failed—to ignore since Kai left.
I miss him. And not in the soft, fleeting way you miss a friend. It’s bone-deep, a hollow ache I carry around likean unwelcome houseguest. It lives in the space between every breath I take.
It’s pathetic, really. We told him he could have the time he needed. I meant it. I want him to figure things out. But no one warned me how much it would hurt when he actually walked away.
I thought I could handle it.
I thought I was tougher than this.
