A spark rekindled

I grabbed my purse from the sanctuary and left Mike, along with his two kids at the church. A half-mile into my walk home, I heard a voice call out, "Hey! Get in! It's too hot to be walking!" I looked up to see my neighbor from across the street, Deb, waving me over.

"Are you sure?" I asked, grateful for the unexpected offer.

"Absolutely," she said, gesturing to the open passenger door of her SUV. "Hop in. Let me get you home."

I got in, and she didn't ask much. As we drove, she glanced over at me. "Are you doing okay? You seem a little rattled."

"I'm fine, really," I said, offering her a smile. "Just a long morning."

She nodded and pulled into her driveway. As we got out of the car, I thanked her again. "Thanks so much for the ride, Deb. You were a lifesaver."

"You're welcome," she said simply. "I'm just glad to help."

As soon as I was inside my house, I texted Mike. "I'm home safe."

His response came a moment later: "Thanks for letting me know."

I went upstairs to change when my phone rang. It was Matteo.

"Hi," I said, picking up.

"You're not going to believe what happened," he began. "I walked into my house recently and found my now former fiancée fucking his cousin. The engagement is over."

"Oh my god, Matteo," I said, my voice full of sympathy. "I'm so incredibly sorry to hear that. That's just awful."

"Thanks," he said quietly. "It's a mess."

"Are you free this afternoon?" he asked. "I'd love to come over if you are. I'll bring some food and wine."

"Yes, I'm free," I replied. "Come on over."

"I'll be there in about an hour," he said.

"Sounds good," I said, and ended the call.

I finished changing and tidied up the house a bit. I knew Matteo was fastidious with his appearance and grooming, so I knew he'd be a little longer than an hour. I'm appreciative that he takes care of himself, and I knew he'd want to look his best, even after a day like this.

A little over an hour later, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to see Matteo standing there, looking exhausted but still put together. He leaned down to kiss me gently on the lips and then kicked his shoes off. As I was closing the door, I glanced across the street and saw Mike looking at me from his front door. I immediately shut the door.

I followed Matteo into the kitchen as he brought in the fast food and wine. "I figured fast food was one of the ways to help me," he said, setting the bags on the counter.

I laughed. "And what else do you think would help?" I asked.

He turned bright red, winked at me, and said, "I was hoping you could help with that part."

"I'd be happy to," I said with a laugh.

We ate the fast food and drank some of the wine, which honestly, didn't go with the food. As we ate, he told me the full story: after a particularly long day of teaching and coaching, he walked in on his now former fiancée fucking his cousin—the same cousin that was going to be his best man.

"That's just unbelievably terrible."

My heart ached for him. The reality of his pain hung in the air, heavy and raw. I slowly set my wine glass down on the coffee table, the clink of glass on wood echoing in the quiet room. Before I could say another word, Matteo leaned over, his eyes searching mine. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away an unfallen tear that I hadn’t even realized was there.

He kissed me, but it wasn't the tentative, gentle kiss he'd given me at the door. This one was deeper, more assured. It was a kiss of shared comfort and a silent promise of something more. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling. The weight of the moment was profound. The fast food, the bad wine, the devastating story he'd just told me—it all felt like background noise to this single, intense moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice husky. "I shouldn't have..."

"Don't," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling his lips back to mine. This wasn't about comforting a friend anymore; it was about two people finding a sanctuary in each other's sadness. The kiss deepened, and the fast food was forgotten. The wine was forgotten. His ex-fiancée was forgotten. Everything was forgotten but this.

After a long while, we broke apart. He didn't pull away completely, just shifted so he could look into my eyes. "Is it okay?" he asked.

I gave a small, genuine smile. "It's more than okay," I said. "It's exactly what I needed."

He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. A soft smile broke across his face, the first one I'd seen all night that wasn't tinged with pain. "Me too," he said.

I looked at him, and in that quiet moment, a different kind of thought formed in my head. "Do you want to go upstairs?" I asked.

He gave me a simple, solid nod. "Yes."

We began to gather the remains of our lunch. I picked up the half-empty bottle of wine and the two glasses, while Matteo grabbed the fast food bags. "I've got this," he said. “I brought the food and the wine….I’ll clean up.”

“Thank you,” I said.

We quickly brought everything into the kitchen. Then, hand in hand, we walked upstairs to my bedroom. As soon as we entered the room, our clothes began to come off, and soon we were both naked. I wasn't entirely sure if he was truly in the mood for sex, given the emotional turmoil he'd just shared with me. But his eyes, full of fire, and the way he had just kissed me told a different story. It was clear from his actions that he was looking for more than just comfort.

We both got on the bed, and our lips met in a passionate kiss. After a few moments of kissing and our hands roaming the other’s body, Matteo pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes full of fire. He then gently moved to spread my legs. He leaned down and began to eat my pussy, using his lips, tongue, and teeth to devour me. "Oh, God, Matteo..." I moaned, as I climaxed repeatedly on his tongue, my hands clutching his hair as my hips bucked. "Yes! Oh, yes!" I cried. Just when I didn't think I could cum again, I did, my final cry echoing in the room. After that last, shuddering climax, he rose and quickly lined up his massive dick to my pussy. In one swift, forceful thrust, his dick was deep inside of me. My breath hitched. His size was overwhelming, a delightful ache that filled me completely. He held still for a moment, letting us both adjust to the sensation, his eyes locked on mine. "God, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "So unbelievably good."

He began to move, slowly at first, a long, deep pull and then a return. "Oh," I gasped, my fingers digging into his back. "Matteo..." The pace quickened, becoming a steady rhythm, a primal dance of our bodies moving together. My hips rose to meet each of his thrusts, and I could feel my release building once more. "Don't stop," I pleaded, a breathless whisper that he seemed to understand instinctively. His pace intensified, and the room was filled with the sounds of our breathing.

My body convulsed with another climax, then another, each one more powerful than the last. He groaned, a deep sound in the back of his throat, his body tensing with the force of his own release. My legs clamped around his waist as he pushed in one final, deep thrust and poured himself into me. We both collapsed, breathless and spent our bodies entwined in the soft sheets.

After a long while, our breathing returned to normal. We slowly disentangled ourselves from one another and began to get dressed. Matteo looked at his watch, a sigh escaping his lips. "It's late," he said softly. "I still need to prepare for teaching and coaching tomorrow. I dread Mondays."

We headed downstairs. Matteo grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys. I walked him to the front door. He'd opened the door and neither one of us noticed that Mike was there walking from his SUV to his front door. My door opening caught Mike's attention.

Matteo bent down to kiss me gently and I gladly leaned into the kiss. We heard someone clear their throat and we both looked to see who it was and that's when we noticed it was Mike.

"Mike," Matteo said, stepping in front of me as if to protect me.

"Matteo," Mike replied, a slight smirk on his face. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"I was just visiting. I should get going," Matteo said smoothly, keeping his body positioned between us.

He turned back to me and his hands cupped my face. He kissed me a bit longer this time, a deeper and more meaningful kiss that felt like a promise. "Thanks for this afternoon, doll. We need to do this again."

I smiled at him. "We do." I reached for his hand. "Text me when you get home."

He squeezed my hand. "I promise." He then turned, got in his car, and drove away.

Mike began to walk over to me, but I cut him off. "Don't. I don't want to hear it."

"I thought we had something," he started to say, his voice low.

I cut him off again. "We did, until you decided you had the right to judge how I live my life." I turned and walked back into my house, shutting the door in Mike's face.

It wasn't the most adult thing to do by shutting the door in Mike's face, but he wasn't going to ruin the afternoon that I had with Matteo. Sure, I felt bad that his former fiancée was found fucking his cousin but I didn't regret the fast food, mediocre wine and the great sex we had.

I was slightly happy that Matteo was single again because despite how he and I ended, I still had some lingering feelings for him that I hadn't let myself acknowledge until now. Our past had been messy, and the breakup had stung, but this afternoon felt like it was wiping the slate clean. The candid conversation, the easy intimacy, and the incredible sex we had just shared made me realize that the old feelings weren't just a memory; they were a spark ready to ignite. I found myself wondering, cautiously and excitedly, what it would be like to actually explore this connection again and see where things could go this time.

Sunlit summer moving

The sun slipped through my blinds, brushing my face with warmth that pulled me reluctantly from sleep. I stretched, the scent of summer air drifting through the open window, carrying hints of freshly mowed grass and the faint aroma of the neighbor's hydrangeas, plump and blue like little clouds. I stayed for a moment in the soft morning light, my mind replaying a brief text conversation from the night before—a simple "See you tomorrow?" followed by Mike's equally simple "Looking forward to it."

I had never anticipated a sequel to our story. We had been a chapter of my life I’d assumed was finished, a beautifully written but self-contained volume I would occasionally pull from the shelf to reread, but never one I expected to continue. His return to the neighborhood, after all this time, felt less like a new beginning and more like a ghost suddenly sitting down at my kitchen counter.

I moved toward the kitchen, the cool wood floors a welcome shock under my feet. The first thing I did was set about breakfast, a ritual I found comfort in. I laid five strips of bacon on the skillet, listening to the happy, greasy song as the pan filled with sizzling fat. I then carefully cracked three fresh eggs into a bowl, whisking them until they were a uniform pale yellow. The scent of bacon filled the room, and I added the eggs to the pan, stirring them slowly until they formed soft, buttery curds. After removing the bacon and eggs, I pressed a few slices of bread into the hot grease, letting them crisp up and soak in the rich flavor. I didn’t bother setting the table; instead, I stood at the counter, fork in hand, savoring each bite. It was the small domesticity of a life I had built for myself, piece by piece. But thoughts of Mike crept in, uninvited but not unwelcome. I thought of our conversation yesterday, the way he smiled when he mentioned his SUV, a small, wry curve of his lips that was exactly how I remembered it. He’d seemed… different. Older, maybe. More settled. The chaos that had always swirled around him, the restless energy, seemed to have been replaced by a quiet, determined calm. It was a good look on him.

By the time I finished, I had decided I’d walk over to Mike’s to see if he wanted any help with settling in. I didn’t bother grabbing keys or my wallet; the house was only a short walk, barely a couple hundred feet through the summer-warmed grass to his new front door. My feet carried me over the familiar path. I could see his large, dark SUV parked out front, its back hatch a gaping maw as he adjusted a few things inside. He was wearing an old t-shirt from a local brewery we used to frequent, and my chest gave a little, unexpected flutter.

“Hey,” I said lightly, keeping my tone casual, as if seeing him again after all these years was no big deal. “Need a hand with anything?”

Mike looked up, and a wave of relief and a wide smile crossed his face. “Actually, yeah. If you don’t mind, a few boxes from the garage could use another set of hands. They’re a bit heavier than I thought.”

We moved at a steady rhythm, carrying boxes from the SUV to the garage and then to the house. Nothing chaotic, nothing rushed—just two people falling into a comfortable cooperation. The air was thick with the scent of cardboard and Mike’s understated cologne. We worked in a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of our feet on the pavement, until he finally broke it.

“You haven’t changed at all,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He leaned against the open hatch of the SUV, wiping sweat from his brow.

“I could say the same,” I replied, taking a gulp of water from the bottle he’d handed me. “You still can’t lift more than two boxes at a time without complaining.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “You’ve got the lighter boxes, obviously,” he joked as I lifted a particularly heavy one labeled ‘BOOKS.’

“I’m saving you from injury,” I said, grinning. “You can thank me later.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’m a big believer in showing my gratitude.”

Once the boxes were inside, I paused to catch my breath and noticed a photo lying on a small table near the entryway. I picked it up carefully, my fingers tracing the outline of a simple wooden frame. It was Mike and two children. A girl with wide, curious eyes and a boy with a mischievous smile, both with a smattering of freckles across their noses. They were standing on a beach, waves lapping at their ankles. He saw me studying it.

“Those are Sydney and Dixon,” he said quietly, his voice softening. “Eight and six.”

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, but inside a complicated mix of emotions roiled. We had already established my feelings about kids, and Mike respected that. My decision not to have them wasn’t something I ever hid, and it had been one of the many reasons we had drifted apart all those years ago. It was a chasm that was too wide to bridge. And yet, seeing this photo, seeing the clear love in his eyes as he looked at them, a small, sharp pang of something—jealousy? regret?—pierced through my carefully constructed composure. I didn’t press him for more. The unspoken understanding between us was enough.

“You know, I’m feeling pretty grimy,” I said, setting the photo back down, the image of his family still seared into my mind. “How about we take a shower break? I’ll head back to my place, and you can take a quick one here. Then we can do lunch at my place?”

He agreed with a nod. “Sounds good. I’m starving.”

I headed home to shower, and the cool water felt like a balm on my skin after the morning's work. I put on a fresh, comfortable t-shirt and shorts. Feeling refreshed, I returned to my kitchen and laid out the ingredients for sandwiches—fresh bread, deli meats, a platter of different cheeses, a bowl of chips, and a couple cans of soda. Mike showed up a few minutes later, looking equally refreshed. His eyes lit up. “The full spread,” he said, grabbing a slice of turkey. “You always did know how to do lunch right.”

I got to work assembling mine while Mike did the same, stacking his sandwich impossibly high. The morning had been warm, and we both appreciated the simple pleasure of sitting at the table, eating, and chatting. Conversation drifted from light teasing about our work pace to observations about the neighborhood, finally landing on memories from years ago. We talked about a disastrous camping trip where our tent collapsed in a downpour and a time we got lost in a city we’d only been to once. The shared memories felt like a language only we understood, a secret shorthand we had never forgotten.

“You haven’t changed much,” Mike said with a smirk as I laughed at one of his jokes.

“I could say the same,” I replied, taking a bite of my sandwich. “You’re still the only person who can make me laugh so hard I can’t breathe.”

Lunch passed easily, accompanied by laughter and stories neither of us had told in years. Afterward, we returned to his house, the boxes and tasks waiting patiently for us. The afternoon was a blur of unpacking, arranging furniture, and a surprising amount of cleaning. We hung up a large, framed map of the world in his living room, something I remembered he’d always wanted. We worked side by side, our hands occasionally brushing, a spark of electricity passing between us each time. The rhythm was easy and natural, as if we had never stopped.

By mid-afternoon, I pulled out my phone and texted Aditi about bringing dinner over to my new neighbor’s house later.

“Cute?” she asked, a single word that carried a world of meaning.

“Yes,” I typed back quickly, a little surprised by the honesty of my own admission.

“Okay, I’ll bring it by,” she responded, and I knew she’d be full of questions.

We continued working, moving boxes, setting up furniture, and arranging things inside the house, all with a rhythm that felt both productive and strangely comforting. Around 6:30, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and Aditi asked what time she should deliver dinner.

“7:15,” I replied.

“Okay, see you then,” she texted back.

I turned to Mike. “Dinner’s coming at 7:15. I say we stop around then so we can both get a shower and get set up. I’ll go home to shower, and you can take one here, and I'll come back afterward for dinner.”

He agreed with a nod. “Sounds like a plan. I’m just about to call it a day anyway.”

I headed home to shower while he took a quick shower at his house. The air of the early evening was cooler now, but still comfortably summer-warm, and I felt refreshed afterward. I put on a simple sundress and tied my hair back, feeling a little self-conscious. This wasn’t a date. It was just two old friends having dinner. Still, I wanted to look nice.

Returning to Mike’s place at seven, we began setting up the kitchen with paper plates and plastic utensils in preparation for Aditi’s arrival. He had a brand new coffee machine, and he made us both a fresh cup. “I’m still working out the kinks,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “But I think it’s pretty good.”

He was right. It was a perfect cup of coffee, rich and smooth, and as we sipped it, the doorbell rang. Mike and I answered together. He invited Aditi in, and she brought in the bags of food. She gave me a knowing look and a hug, then turned to Mike with a bright smile. “You must be the famous Mike,” she said.

“I don’t know about famous,” he said, laughing. “But I’m Mike. It’s nice to meet you, Aditi. And thank you so much for the dinner.”

I offered her money, but she declined politely, insisting that helping was enough. We thanked her, walked her to the door, and wished her a good night. As she left, she gave me one last glance over her shoulder, a silent promise to get all the details later.

Back at the kitchen table, we served ourselves dinner. Conversation shifted naturally to church. Mike asked which church I attended, and I extended an invitation for him to join me the next day. He accepted readily.

“Sounds good,” he said, smiling. “I was thinking about finding a place to go, but I wasn’t sure where to start. I’d love to join you.”

The rest of the evening was easy, comfortable, filled with small details: the clinking of utensils, the shared enjoyment of food, and the quiet pleasure of being in each other’s company. We laughed, teased, and talked about everything from local events to our shared memories of the past. There was no pretense, no awkwardness, just a sense of returning to a place we had always belonged.

We finished dinner, and Mike took the empty plates to the trash. “You know,” he said, turning to me, “I forgot how good it felt to just… be with you. No pressure. No games. Just us.”

My heart did another of its little flutters. “Yeah,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Me too.”

As the night drew on, I felt a sense of ease and familiarity, a reminder of the deep connection that had never fully disappeared between us. The house was finally quiet, the boxes a silent testament to a day of hard work. Sydney and Dixon were absent, and that suited the flow of the evening perfectly—just Mike and me, rediscovering our rhythm together, sharing a meal, and talking like we had all the time in the world. As I stood up to excuse myself, Mike reached out and gently took my hand, pulling me just a little closer. He leaned in and kissed me, and the kiss lasted for what felt like hours, though it was only a few minutes—a slow, tender reconnection that spoke of all the years that had passed and the possibility of a future. When I finally pulled away, my heart was racing. "Good night, Mike," I whispered, and then I turned and walked out the door.

 

Wine, cheese and memories

The night carried that lingering summer warmth, the kind that wrapped around me and made the air feel like velvet. It was far too perfect to keep the top up, so I’d driven home with the convertible open, the warm wind teasing through my hair as the cicadas hummed their endless chorus. Even now, parked in my driveway at ten o’clock, I let the engine tick down slowly, reluctant to let go of the moment.

The scent of freshly cut grass clung to the neighborhood, that sharp, green perfume that reminded me of being young, of long evenings when the world felt wide open. I cut the engine, climbed out, and grabbed my work bag, but before I could sling it over my shoulder, I noticed movement next door.

A man—broad-shouldered, steady—was carrying boxes up the walkway of the house beside mine. His shirt clung slightly to his back with the effort, and something about the shape of him made me pause. Attractive, definitely. But there was more to it, something oddly familiar in the way he moved.

I set my bag down on the grass, not even bothering to hide my curiosity, and called out, “Need a hand with those?”

He looked up, and the porch light caught his face. Recognition slammed into me.

“Deppgrl?” he said, voice roughened by surprise.

I blinked. “Mike?”

I couldn’t believe it—my former lover turned boyfriend from the community college we both attended. Two decades had slipped by since those days, but in an instant, it was him. Older, yes, with lines etched into his face and a gravity that hadn’t been there before, but it was still Mike. The one who had once made my pulse race.

“Well,” I managed, a nervous laugh slipping out. “Of all the people in the world…”

He grinned, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe it either. “Of all the streets in all the towns.”

We stood there for a moment, both rooted to the grass, the air between us buzzing with memory. Then he gestured toward his front door. “Come inside. I’d offer you dinner, but right now I’ve only got wine and cheese. Don’t judge—it’s all I managed to unpack.”

“Wine and cheese sounds perfect,” I said, following him inside.

The place was still bare, boxes stacked along the walls, the faint smell of paint and cardboard lingering in the air. He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a half-opened wedge of cheese, two mismatched plates, and a bottle of red he worked open with practiced ease.

“Welcome to my glamorous new bachelor pad,” he said, handing me a glass.

I laughed. “I’ve had worse welcomes.” I raised the glass toward his. “To surprises.”

“To surprises,” he echoed, and we clinked gently before sipping.

The wine was warmer than it should have been, the cheese unevenly cut, but none of it mattered. Sitting across from Mike again after twenty years was surreal. His eyes hadn’t changed, that sharp, direct way he looked at me like he was still trying to read my thoughts.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence first, “what’s your story now? Last time I saw you, we were still figuring out majors and cheap beer.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. A lifetime ago. I married young, had a couple of kids. Joined the military, spent more years than I can count being shipped in and out. I’m in the reserves now—less traveling, more stability.” His expression shifted, quiet for a beat. “Separated from my wife. We’re leaning toward divorce.”

I set my glass down softly. “I’m so sorry, Mike.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s not all bad. The marriage just ran its course. But my kids? They’re incredible and healthy. They’re est part of me, really.” His eyes softened when he said it, and for the first time that night, his grin wasn’t a mask—it was genuine.

I studied him, searching for the traces of the man I once knew. He was still there. Beneath the years, beneath the weight of life, he was still unmistakably Mike.

“What about you?” he asked, nodding toward me. “Where’s life taken you all this time?”

I smiled faintly. “Everywhere and nowhere. Work, travel, burning out, starting over. I’ve had my share of detours. You know me—I never was good at sitting still.”

“That much hasn’t changed,” he said with a grin. “You always had that restless streak. I used to think you’d outrun the whole world if you could.”

“Maybe I tried,” I admitted, laughing softly.

For a while, we traded pieces of the last two decades like puzzle fragments. He told me about the endless blur of deployments, about learning to live out of a duffel bag, about how quickly his kids grew every time he came home. I shared stories of airports and strange cities, of the risks I took, the chances that flamed out, the ones that turned into something real. I never told him about the abortion nor the possibility of who of the four men could’ve been the father.

And when the conversation turned back to the past—our past—it was almost seamless. We laughed over professors we’d both hated, friends who’d vanished into the fog of time, nights we shouldn’t have stayed out so late.

“You remember that old diner?” he asked suddenly, shaking his head with a grin. “We practically lived there. I’m surprised they didn’t name a booth after us.”

“Oh god,” I groaned, laughing. “Don’t remind me. That coffee could have stripped paint.”

“Didn’t stop you from drinking four cups a night.”

I tossed a piece of cheese at him, which he caught easily. “Some things never change.”

The laughter died down, but the warmth lingered, filling the quiet spaces between us. There was an ease here, a familiarity I hadn’t expected.

Eventually, I glanced at the clock and realized how late it had gotten. “I should let you get back to unpacking. You’ve got a long week ahead, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But tonight was better than unpacking, trust me.”

I stood, and so did he. For a moment, neither of us moved toward the door. Then, with a quiet smile, he said, “It’s good to see you again, Deppgrl.”

“It’s good to see you too,” I said softly.

The night air was warm as I stepped back outside, the scent of grass still heavy in the breeze. It took me all of thirty seconds to walk across the short stretch of lawn to my stuff still thrown on the grass next to my car to my front door, but everything felt different. My house was the same and the street was the same. But Mike was next door now, after all these years.

Inside, I leaned against the door once it clicked shut and let out a slow breath. I could still hear his laugh in my head, still feel the warmth of his gaze. I hadn’t expected to feel this—this rush, this pull—but it was there. And it left me standing in the dark of my living room, smiling like a secret I wasn’t ready to share.

 

Steadfast

Kay arrived at my house two days before she stepped into the office in my place. I was still in recovery—both physically and emotionally—from the abortion, and each morning felt heavier than the one before. The air inside my home seemed to carry its own silence, pressing against me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Over coffee, she studied me with the sharpness of a lawyer and the tenderness of a best friend.

“I’ll keep everything running,” she said simply. “You need to focus on healing.”

I managed a weak smile, though my guilt sat heavy in my chest. “Eight to fourteen hours a day is too much, Kay. You can’t carry it all.”

She smirked, but her eyes stayed warm. “You’ve done it for years. I can do it for a few weeks. Tara can’t shoulder this on her own.”

I wanted to push back, to tell her she didn’t need to drown herself in my responsibilities, but the truth was unavoidable: I wasn’t ready to return. My body still ached, and my heart was even slower to mend. So I nodded, surrendering the fight.

Kay set up in my personal office at the company, anchoring the staff with a steadiness that surprised no one but me. Her primary partner was Tara, but the whole team relied on her presence. James and Jimothy orbited naturally toward Tara as she grew more confident, their respect for her becoming clear in every conversation. Kay, Tara, James, and Jimothy reserved the conference room a few times each week to strategize over the Madison account. For those two hours each time, the room hummed with arguments, calculations, and decisions.

One afternoon, Kay tapped her finger against the Madison file as the others sat around the long table. “This account has been stagnant too long. James, numbers first.”

James glanced at his papers. “We’re behind by two weeks. Revenue is stable, but projections need to be finalized.”

“Then finalize them,” Kay said evenly, before turning. “Jimothy?”

He leaned back, speaking with easy confidence. “Clients are nervous, but willing to follow our lead. They just need reassurance we’re ahead of the game.”

Tara leaned forward, her pencil tapping. “I’ve drafted a more aggressive diversification plan. Riskier than what Deppgrl usually signs off on, but it could build trust by showing initiative.”

Kay considered them all, her tone sharpening. “Prepare both plans—the conservative one and Tara’s aggressive model. Nothing goes forward without Deppgrl’s approval. But we need to show clients we’re not standing still.”

James frowned slightly. “Running both tracks will strain deadlines.”

Kay met his gaze without flinching. “Then tighten the schedule. Daily updates, no surprises. Jimothy, summarize the client concerns. Tara, polish your model. James, finish the projections and prepare the executive summary. I want clarity first, then action.”

Jimothy smirked. “Organized chaos. I can live with that.”

Kay’s reply was immediate. “Efficiency isn’t chaos. Stay focused. The clients trust us because we see ahead.”

The work became a rhythm. Reports refined, strategies sharpened, and the Madison account—once stagnant—finally began to move forward. At home, Kay would recount the day, her exhaustion softened by pride. “They’re stronger than they realize,” she told me one night, wine glass in hand. “Tara especially. You’ve built something solid.”

Her words comforted me, but they also stung. “That’s all I ever wanted,” I admitted quietly. “For them to survive without me.”

“You didn’t fail them,” she said. “You survived.”

During those weeks, I kept the office fed with catered meals and quietly made sure bills were paid. Several staff members had been struggling financially, their credit cards stretched thin. I’d covered their payments under the guise of an anonymous donor. “They’ll never know it’s me,” I told Kay one evening, the weight of memory pulling me back to when I had lived paycheck to paycheck.

She only shook her head softly. “You always take care of everyone. Just remember to take care of yourself too.”

A week and a half after sending Tara the email about her promotion, I returned to work full-time. Kay had urged me to name her junior partner, and after watching Tara rise to every demand in my absence, I agreed. My email confirmed it: as soon as I was officially back, she would assume the role. Her reply came within minutes—grateful, humble, and quietly proud.

The familiar hum of printers, the smell of coffee, and the murmur of voices washed over me like something both foreign and dear. Kay had prepared every legal document for Tara’s promotion. Together, Tara and I signed them, her new title marking a turning point for the company. Afterward, Kay hugged me hard and whispered, “You’re back. Time for me to step away.”

That evening, she rolled her suitcases out of my house. I stood in the doorway, reluctant to let go. “You saved me, Kay.”

“Not saved,” she corrected. “I stood where you needed me. You did the hardest work.”

Before long, I spoke privately with Tara about her salary. “Because of the credit card payments and recent raises, it’ll take a little time before I can adjust your pay to match your new role.”

Tara gave a small, cautious smile. “I don’t expect a raise.” But I could see the quiet hope behind her words.

“When I can, I will,” I promised.

Through it all, Vince’s first edition deliveries arrived daily, each book carrying a note folded between the pages. Some were long, others no more than a single line: You are not alone. I read them late at night, running my fingers over his handwriting, torn between gratitude and exhaustion.

And at the very end, when I was ready to close that chapter for good, I gathered every book and every note and boxed them. I returned them to Vince with one final message tucked inside. I thanked him for thinking of me, for caring in his own way, but told him he had pushed me past my limits. Our friendship—and any chance of reconciliation—was over. He had chosen to listen to his priest instead of the woman he claimed to love.

I ended the note with finality: the pressure from both him and his priest had been too much. He needed to take a step back, to reclaim himself. And I reminded him he should get his money back on the books. I had already reached out to the vendors, remembering exactly where we’d first seen them, and they were willing to accept the returns and issue a full refund.

That was the end—not just of the books, but of us.

Carried alone, surrounded by love

That afternoon and into evening, Vince and I didn’t talk much. He understood he had a one-in-four chance of being the father of the fetus, but his Catholic faith weighed heavily on him—the classic Catholic guilt. I tried to tell him that this decision was mine alone, that he wasn’t at fault, but the truth was I couldn’t lift that burden for him. There was nothing I could say to erase the guilt that wrapped around him so tightly.

“Do you want to step out to your parish so you can go for confession?” I asked softly, my voice barely above the hum of the house.

He gave a small nod, almost imperceptible. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“Good. Go. Clear your conscience,” I said.

He gathered his keys and wallet, lingering for a moment by the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he murmured, as if even saying it out loud made it feel real.

I watched him leave before heading upstairs, needing the solitude of a shower to scrub away the tension that had settled on my shoulders. I dressed in something comfortable and finally made my bed, smoothing out the wrinkles with slow, deliberate movements. Coming downstairs, I sent a text to Aditi to see if I could order food.

Don’t bother ordering, she replied almost immediately. I’ll just bring a bunch of food over in about an hour and a half.

You’re a lifesaver, I replied, smiling at my phone.

I headed to the kitchen, pulled out my mixing bowls, and started making homemade brownies—melting the butter and chocolate together, whisking in sugar, eggs, and vanilla, folding in flour until the batter was thick and glossy. The oven filled with the warm scent of chocolate and vanilla as I poured the batter into a pan and slid it in. While the brownies baked, I set out plates, trays, and utensils for dinner. In the basement, I retrieved a $3,500 bottle of wine I’d been saving for a special occasion—Vince, the oenophile, would appreciate it tonight, and I was hoping it would lift his spirits—and slid it into the freezer to chill.

The doorbell rang just as the oven timer was counting down its last minutes.

I opened the door to find Aditi, grinning, juggling four large paper bags.

“Wow,” I said, stepping aside. “You brought a feast.”

She laughed softly. “Of course. You deserve it, shona.”

As she unpacked the food—butter chicken, paneer tikka masala, vegetable biryani, garlic naan, samosas, chickpea curry, and her mother’s homemade cucumber raita—she explained how feeding people was her and her mother’s love language. I smiled, breathing in the mingled aromas of spices and chocolate.

The brownie timer went off while we were both still in the kitchen. I pulled them out, the edges crisp, the center still soft. I slid them onto a platter, cut them up, and covered them with foil.

“Thank you for bringing all this,” I told her. “You didn’t have to do so much.”

She returned the smile and hugged me warmly. “I love feeding you. It makes me happy.”

When she was leaving, I handed her the brownies. Her eyes widened. “Oh! You made these?”

“Just a little something,” I said softly.

“Thank you, shona,” she said, still holding the platter. She waved goodbye and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

The house felt quiet again. The scent of spices and chocolate lingered, but it was the kind of quiet that made my chest ache with anticipation.

Minutes later, Vince’s key turned in the lock. He stepped inside, kicking his shoes off at the door and tossing his keys and wallet onto the stairs. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. His mouth found mine in a deep, urgent kiss—hungry, searching, full of longing and unspoken confession. His hands gripped my face, then slid into my hair, pulling me closer as his body pressed into mine.

I melted against him, arms circling his neck, my own need answering his. The kiss deepened until I was dizzy, breathless, my chest tightening with something that was part desire, part sorrow. When he finally broke away, his forehead rested against mine, his breath ragged.

“Thank you for suggesting I go,” he murmured. “I needed that. I feel lighter, somehow. But I still…” His voice faltered. “…I still feel so guilty.”

I touched his cheek, sliding my hand down to his chest. “I know. I can’t take that from you. You’re not alone in this, Vince. Not ever.”

He kissed me again, slower but just as charged, the kind of kiss that lingered in the air long after it broke. “I want to forget everything for a moment. I want to just be with you,” he whispered against my mouth.

“Then we’ll be together,” I murmured back, “right here, right now. No guilt. No outside world. Just us.”

Dinner was quiet at first, but Vince’s mood softened as the wine opened up, his appreciation for it showing in the way he lingered over each sip. By the time we were done, conversation and laughter had found their way back between us. We cleaned up side by side, moving easily around each other.

Afterward, we curled up on the couch and put on my favorite World War II movie, produced by Steven Spielberg. Vince held my hand through much of it, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. When the credits rolled, we were both silent, the weight of the evening and everything between us thick in the air.

We went upstairs to bed, stripping completely before sliding into the cool sheets. Vince pulled me close, chest to chest, arms wrapped tight around me.

“I should tell you something,” he said softly, breath warm against my ear. “After confession and my priest telling me to say a million Hail Marys and only six hundred Our Fathers, he also said I need to make an honest woman out of you and marry you.”

I pressed closer against him. “That’s a lot,” I whispered. “You know my answer for that, Vince.”

“I only said half of both on my way back here but will finish the rest another time. I wish you’d marry me but I know the whole thing with Xavier caused severe PTSD.”

“Go home,” I whispered.

“What? Why?” he asked.

“First, your priest telling you to make an honest woman out of me makes me want to be with you less. Second, we don’t say his name in this house. Third, I will be in therapy for the next five eternities to get over that. And finally, marriage is not my thing and you know that!”

“Babe, I am so sorry,” Vince said as he got up.

He dressed, headed downstairs, stopping briefly for his wallet and keys. He opened the door but then closed it again. I heard his keys jangle for a second; I knew he was taking my house key off his key chain. Then he left. The door closing hurt.

Minutes later, I started cramping. I got out of bed, threw the lights on and saw the blood on my favorite sheets. I immediately tossed the sheets into the washer and started the machine. I packed a bag, my license, the prescription bottle of misoprostol and my insurance card. I headed to the ER.

On my way, I called Sarah—yes, that Sarah, Randy’s ex-wife—and asked her to meet me at the hospital. She immediately agreed without asking questions. I could hear Emma and Max shouting in the background that they’d tag along with her, but Sarah immediately shut the kids down and told them: “No, you’re not going. I was invited, not you.”

She met me right at the ER entrance, eyes scanning my face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant,” I said flatly. “And I’m not sure who the father is.”

Her voice sharpened. “Is Randy possibly the father?”

“Yes. But this was before you two got back together.”

We checked in, and the nurse led me to a private room. Sarah stayed until they wheeled me to a small private suite upstairs. I told her that I wanted her to stay.

The nurse returned mid-morning with the misoprostol in a paper cup. “This will start the process,” she said gently. “We’ll keep you on monitors for at least five hours.”

I swallowed it, chasing it with water. The cramps began slowly but grew sharp and relentless. The hospital kept me another thirty-six hours—it took every one of them to pass the pregnancy.

Sarah stayed the whole time, stepping out only to make calls. When Randy came to the door, Sarah intercepted him in the hallway before he could step inside.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” she told him firmly, blocking the doorway with her body.

He frowned. “Just for a minute—”

“No,” Sarah said, voice like steel. “Turn around and leave.”

She did the same when Dom arrived hours later, a coffee in his hand.

“Can I just—” he began.

“You can leave,” she cut him off. “She doesn’t want to see you either.”

Dom hesitated, then walked away.

When it was finally over, Sarah drove me home. As soon as I stepped through the door, I froze—my house was spotless.

“Dom came over while you were in the hospital,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “He cleaned the whole place. When he tried to come see you at the hospital, I took your house key from him.”

Upstairs, she helped me into the shower, then into clean clothes, and finally into bed.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Thank you for everything. Can I pay you for helping me?”

She waved that off. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then… could you call Kay for me? Please?”

Sarah nodded, pulled out her phone, and stepped into the hall. I heard her explaining the situation in a low, even voice.

An hour later, Kay came through the door, lugging three suitcases. She came straight to my room. Sarah and I hugged briefly before she left.

Kay set the suitcases down and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sarah told me everything,” she said.

“I knew she would,” I replied. “Not to be mean—she called my bestie because she knew I’d need you.”

Kay nodded. “Normally, I keep at least two of these bags packed with my clothes, multiple passports, and other paperwork just in case you ever need me to travel with you or keep you out of legal trouble. But this time it’s because I’m staying here. I’ve already reached out to Tara about me stepping in for you at work for the next two weeks—or however long it takes until you’re ready to go back.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thank you, Kay.”

“Always,” she said simply.

Looked doors and secrets kept

Twix and I arrived at the medical center well ahead of my appointment time. The halls were quiet, almost empty. We found an abandoned office nearby and slipped inside, locking the door behind us. I shed my shorts and panties as Twix shed his shorts and boxers simultaneously. We stood partially bare and breathless in the dim room.

Twix grabbed his dick. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

I nodded, saying. “Hell yes.”

He lined up and pushed inside me forcefully. A sharp, pleasurable pain shot through me, and I nearly gasped. “God, you’re big,” I whispered.

His hips started pumping steadily, deep and relentless. “You feel so tight,” he growled.

I moaned, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Twix, don’t stop.”

As we were having sex, his hands roamed over my body, returning again and again to my breasts, squeezing and teasing my nipples as he drove deep inside me.

We both climaxed, sweat slick on our skin.

When we were done, we got dressed and walked to the lobby of the office I needed to go to. After checking in with the receptionist, I asked Twix to wait there for me while I was in the exam room.

He nodded. “I’ll be right here.”

A nurse led me to the exam room, took my vitals, and confirmed my pregnancy.

“Are you sure about the abortion?” she asked.

I met her eyes. “Yes, I am.”

She returned with an 8-ounce cup of water and a small paper cup containing the mifepristone pill.

“Take it with the water,” she said. “I need to see that you took the pill.”

I swallowed it and showed her I had done so.

“You can lie down if you want,” she said. “We’ll be back in 35 minutes to check on you. Sometimes, women feel nauseous afterward.”

Before leaving, I asked, “Could you please send Twix back when you return?”

“We will,” she promised. “Twix isn’t his real name, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Honestly, his friends and I don’t remember his legal name. It’s at the point that his boss calls him Twix,” I explained.

A few minutes later, Twix arrived at the exam room. I stayed seated as he entered, and the nurse left and I took his dick in my mouth.

“Keep going…don’t stop,” he panted. He groaned, thrusting deeper, and murmured my name, his voice rough and urgent. He groaned again, thrusting deeper, his voice rough and urgent. He climaxed several times. When he was done, he got dressed.

Ten minutes after that, the nurse returned to the exam room with the rest of my medication, handing me a prescription bottle of Misoprostol pills labeled with my information and carefully explaining the directions.

“You take both pills within 24 hours to complete the abortion,” she said.

I asked, “When can I have sex again?”

“You can have sex any time between now and when the abortion starts,” she said. “However, you need to wait four to six days after the abortion is complete before resuming sexual activity.”

Twix and I thanked the nurse then headed to his car.

We left the office and hopped into his EV Hummer, heading to my house. We didn’t talk much during the ride, but I asked, “Will you tell your wife about us?”

He shook his head. “I won’t tell Diana.”

“I won’t either,” I said.

We arrived at my house, and Vince was waiting at the door, smiling warmly. Both he and Twix helped usher me inside. Immediately, I noticed the fake floral arrangements scattered throughout the house, a thoughtful nod to my allergy to real flowers.

“Look at these,” I said softly, gesturing to the bouquets. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” Vince replied with a smile.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” I said, turning to Twix. “And thank you for driving me.”

Twix gave a small grin. “Anytime. Just wanted to make sure you got to the office and back home safely.”

I nodded, feeling comforted by their presence. The day had been long and intense, but seeing both of them there made me feel grounded, safe, and supported. 

Twix kissed my cheek and left.

Vince and I spent a few moments walking through the house together, Vince pointing out little touches he had arranged for me—the fake flowers, clean spaces, and reminders that he remembered my allergies and preferences. I felt a warm wave of gratitude wash over me.

Burning in the crossfire

In the living room, Vince and I sat on the couch watching the football movie he wanted to watch. He was focused, eyes glued to the screen. Occasionally, he muttered under his breath, reacting to plays or calling out a player’s name.

“Come on, make the pass!” he said quietly, leaning forward.

“You know they can’t hear you, right?” I asked as I chuckled.

“They should be able to,” he said without looking away. “That was wide open.”

“Maybe he thought the other guy had it covered.”

Vince shook his head. “No. That’s hesitation. Costs games.”

“You act like you’re the coach.”

“I’d be better than whoever told him to run that play.”

“It’s just a movie,” I said.

“It’s a football movie,” he corrected.

I smiled faintly and went back to watching him more than the screen.

With about ten minutes left in the movie, I got off the couch to grab the bedding off my bed. I bundled the bedding in my arms, walked into the hall, and threw the entire bundle of bedding down the stairs.

I went into the linen closet located in my bathroom, grabbed fresh bedding, and carried it back to my room. I made my bed. I then headed downstairs and put the bedding into the washer. I also added the washcloth used from aftercare from sex with Vince earlier to the machine and started it.

When I got back to the living room, Vince was asleep. The credits were playing. I sat beside him on the couch and pulled part of the blanket over my lap. I thought about telling him the secret that both Jerry and Twix knew.

Vince stirred and woke up.

“Did I miss the end?” he asked, voice low.

“You passed out during the credits,” I said. “Guess I kept you up past your bedtime.”

He laughed softly. “You really did.”

“We should go upstairs to go to bed,” he said.

“You go ahead,” I told him. “I’m going to grab some water for us before coming up.”

He nodded and went upstairs.

I went to the kitchen, filled two glasses with cold water, and carried them upstairs. Vince was naked and just getting into bed.

I set his water glass on the nightstand on his side of the bed, then walked over to mine and placed my glass down. I took my shirt off and slid into the cool sheets next to Vince.

He wrapped one arm around me and pulled me close to his chest.

“I have an appointment fairly early in the morning,” I said. “Either Jerry or Twix will take me.”

Vince pulled back and rolled me onto my back so we could face each other.

“Why would one of them take you?”

“It’s my appointment,” I said. “And I already asked them both to see if one of them were available to take me.”

“Oh,” he said, and kissed me.

As we kissed, his hands found my tits and squeezed them gently. I moaned. God, they were so tender but I didn’t say a word.

I shifted beneath him, spread my legs, inviting him to sex with me.

He pushed his hard dick into me, moving slowly at first.

“Vince, don’t stop,” I whispered.

“I won’t,” he said against my ear.

The rhythm deepened, his pace quickening.

“Please… keep going,” I breathed.

“Oh, I will,” he said, voice tight. “God, you feel amazing…”

Each movement sent another rush through me, my body trembling as I clung to him. I couldn’t stop climaxing. When he finally slowed, climaxed, and came in me, he eased down beside me, resting his head on my tits. His mouth brushed over my skin, warm and slow, lips teasing, before he nuzzled my nipples, then sucked and bit them gently. I moaned louder.

He paused, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

I nodded, heart pounding.

He cupped my tits and squeezed them as he spoke, voice low and rough. “I can feel it. Your body’s already changing.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Who’s the father?” he asked softly, breath teasing my skin.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Between you, Vic, Randy, and Dom, I am not sure who the father is.”

Vince’s expression darkened, pain flashing across his eyes. He tightened his hold on me. “And the appointment? That’s to terminate the pregnancy?”

I nodded again, swallowing hard.

He ran a hand through my hair, voice thick. “I wish you’d talked to me first but I’m here now. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. “I appreciate you being here.”

“Jerry and Twix… they found out already?” he asked.

I nodded. “I thought I had a bad stomach bug at first, so when I was feeling better a few days later, I headed to Twix and his wife’s house for dinner. Jerry and his wife were already there. The second I smelled dinner—steak and potatoes—Twix’s wife knew the second I ran into the bathroom.”

Vince’s brow furrowed, his thumb brushing over my nipple. “She noticed immediately?”

“She knocked, asked if I was okay, and there was that look. Later she found me in the kitchen and asked how far along I was. I told her without thinking. She promised she wouldn’t tell, but Twix knew before I left.”

“And Jerry?” he asked.

“That was the next day. He stopped by, and I was still queasy. He said I had that ‘pregnant glow,’ which is a nicer way of saying I looked flushed and exhausted.”

Vince let out a slow breath, the weight of it settling in the room between us. He pressed his forehead to mine for a moment, quiet.

“I’m with you,” he said. “Whatever you decide.”

“Thank you,” I said again, voice small but steady.

He wrapped me tightly into his arms and pulled me tight to his chest, his fingers strumming and squeezing my sensitive nipples. I could feel his hard dick press against my back so I lifted my leg to subtly tell him that I wanted him again.

“You want me again, don’t you?” Vince asked softly.

“Yes,” I said.

Vince pulled away from me, grabbed his fat dick, lined up, and pushed his dick into my sore pussy. I moaned in pleasure.

He thrust in and out of me, squeezing and massaging my big tits, driving me crazy with each movement. We moved through multiple positions — me on my back with him on top, then him flipping me over onto my stomach. When he had me in doggy style, my sensitive tits swayed with every thrust, aching deliciously from the constant movement and his rough hands playing with them. I gasped and moaned uncontrollably as he hammered into me.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” Vince groaned, his voice rough.

I clung to the bed frame, biting my lip, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through my body. We came multiple times — bodies trembling and slick with sweat — the air thick with our moans and cries of pleasure.

After we collapsed together, spent and breathless, Vince curled me into his side. We fell asleep. Twenty minutes before my alarm went off, Vince rolled me onto my back, spread my legs, shoved his dick in my now swollen pussy, and rode me until we climaxed again, multiple times. His hands never left my tits — squeezing, pinching, flicking my nipples mercilessly. I screamed and moaned, lost in the endless pleasure.

When we finally pulled apart, we headed to the shower, the hot water pouring over us as we washed away the night.

Vince pressed me against the tile wall, hands sliding down to my ass. He slid a thick finger inside slowly, making me gasp. When I was ready, he pushed his fat dick into my tight ass, the warmth and tightness overwhelming. His hands kept playing with my tits, squeezing and pinching them hard with every thrust. My tits bounced and ached deliciously, making me moan louder as he pounded into me relentlessly.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” he growled.

His hips moved like pistons as he thrust in and out of my ass.

Afterward, we stepped out, dried off, got dressed, and sat down to drink coffee, the quiet comfort of the morning wrapping around us.

Just then, Twix swung by to pick me up for the appointment.

Vince kissed me fiercely, then pinched both of my nipples hard, making me gasp.

“Be careful,” he whispered.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and slipped out the door with Twix.

Shattered and held

He didn’t say anything as I stood, didn’t ask me to stay, didn’t stop me. He just sat there, staring down into his drink like it had the answers he didn’t. That silence—his silence—was all the confirmation I needed.

I left Dom inside the coffee bar.

As I walked out to my car, the late afternoon sun hit me in the face, too bright for how I felt. I fumbled with my keys and my purse, juggling everything as I tried to find my phone, which had inevitably sunk to the very bottom. My fingers brushed pens, receipts, a tube of lip balm I never used, before finally wrapping around the cool, flat rectangle of my phone.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I called Vince.

“I broke up with Dom,” I said. “I need you to come over.”

“I’m on my way,” he said.

By the time I was parking my car in my unnecessarily large driveway, Vince was already walking up to my front door, shoving his keys into his jeans front pocket. I parked, grabbed my stuff, and met him at the front door.

He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and took some of the stuff out of my hands.

“I need to be distracted,” I said.

“How do you need to be distracted?” he asked.

“Figure it out,” I said as I unlocked the door.

We entered, and he closed the door behind us. We kicked our shoes off and walked into the kitchen. We plopped my stuff on one of the kitchen table chairs.

Vince turned to me and kissed me. He told me that he was going to distract me by showing me what I deserve inside and outside of bed.

As we made our way to my bedroom, we stripped, and our clothes fell on the floor. When we got to my bed, Vince lifted my fat ass onto the bed and then followed suit as I was getting situated on my back.

He hovered over me and kissed my neck, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping my thighs as he spread them open beneath him. I could feel how hard he was as he pressed between my legs, and I arched into him, needing the contact, needing the weight of him against me.

“You want this?” he asked, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.

“Yes,” I breathed. “God, yes.”

He didn’t waste time. He pushed into me slow, thick, deep, making me gasp as my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His hands braced on either side of my head as he started moving—long, full thrusts that made the bed creak beneath us.

“You feel so good,” he groaned into my neck.

“Harder,” I whispered, digging my nails into his back.

He obeyed, and I met him stroke for stroke, lifting my hips into his thrusts, moaning his name without apology. The tension built fast, sharp, and sweet. I felt my orgasm start to crest, my thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” I panted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice rough with restraint.

I came hard, clenching around him, dragging a low, guttural sound from his throat. He cursed, buried himself deeper, and came inside me, his body tensing above mine as he let go.

We stayed like that for a moment, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us catching our breath.

Eventually, he kissed me again, slower this time, his hands still exploring, still wanting.

The second time was slower, more intimate, but no less intense. He started by rolling me onto my side, pulling my leg over his hip. He entered me again and moved with a steady rhythm that let every thrust draw out the pleasure. His lips stayed on mine, or my neck, or my breast, like he couldn’t stop needing to feel me everywhere at once.

“I love having sex with you like this,” he murmured into my skin.

“Then don’t stop,” I whispered.

He didn’t. He made me come again with just the grind of his hips and the weight of his hand on my thigh. I moaned loud, no shame, and he kissed the sound right out of my mouth as he finished again, pulsing deep inside me.

We rested for a bit, tangled in each other’s limbs, sweat cooling on our skin. I ran my fingers through his hair, and he traced lazy circles on my hip.

Then we went for a third round. This one was rougher—more urgent. He bent me over the bed and took me from behind, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip. He filled me again and again, his pace relentless.

“Is this what you needed?” he asked, breathless.

“Yes,” I moaned. “Don’t stop. Just like that—please.”

He didn’t stop until we were both shaking, and I felt him spill into me once more with a groan that echoed in my chest.

Afterward, we finally got out of bed, both of us moving slower now. We pulled our clothes back on—me in a tank and shorts, Vince slipping his jeans back on. I padded into the kitchen barefoot, still flushed and warm.

“I’m starving,” I said when he joined me.

“Same. What are you thinking?”

“Aditi’s,” I said without hesitation. “Butter chicken. Garlic naan. You want your usual?”

He nodded, already pulling out his phone. “Extra samosas this time.”

I smiled and tossed him the menu from the drawer even though we both knew it by heart.

We ordered the usual spread: rich, creamy butter chicken with extra sauce to soak up with the garlic naan, Vince’s lamb vindaloo with just enough heat to make his nose run, and plenty of paneer tikka for sharing. I couldn’t decide between jeera and basmati rice, so I asked for both, and Vince threw in extra vegetable samosas like he always did when he was starving. I asked for a mango lassi, and he got a chilled Limca. For dessert, Aditi always included warm gulab jamun because she knew I had a weakness for them.

We ordered enough for two people who had just had multiple rounds of sex and weren’t planning to do much else the rest of the night. He texted our order to Aditi. Knowing my sweet friend, she would add a little bit more food than what was ordered.

We curled up on the couch while we waited, still a little breathless, very satisfied, and not saying much at all. Knowing the food would arrive soon, I got up and poured the both of us red wine. As I was heading back to the couch to rejoin Vince, the doorbell rang. Since he was getting up to get the plates and utensils ready, he said that he’d get the door. On his way, he grabbed his wallet.

“It’s Dom,” Vince said after looking through the peephole. “Want me to say something or do you want to?”

“I will,” I said as I placed the wine glasses down. “Please let me handle this myself.”

Vince nodded in agreement as I opened the door. I knew that he wanted to disagree with me but he knew how much Dom had meant to me when we were together and he still means something even now.

“Dom,” I said, holding my breath. “You smell like cheap whiskey. That shit can destroy your stomach and intestines.”

“DeppGrl, what can I do to get you back?” he asked.

“You can’t,” I said as I sat next to him. “I know that you didn’t mean to hurt me but you did. Women are wired differently than men are.”

“Can we be friends sometime in the future?” he asked.

“I’d like that but I can’t promise t,” I said as I noticed his car parked askew. “I’ll call a friend and his buddy to take you home. I can’t let you leave my house this drunk and expect you to not hurt anyone including yourself.”

“So you still care for me?” he asked hopefully.

“I always will, Dom,” I said as I texted my friend to come get Dom and his car. “However, do not keep your hopes up.”

“Will you ever come by the restaurant again?”

“No, I won’t,” I said as I spotted my friend….glad that he lived down the road from me. “My friend is here. He’ll get you home safely.”

“And my car?”

“Yes,” I said. “Hey, Jerry. Dom, Jerry. Jerry, Dom.”

They both did the “man nod” that showed that they acknowledged each other.

“Where’s Twix?” I asked Jerry.

“He’s on his way,” he said. “He had to go grab his wallet.”

“Ah, cool,” I said. Twix – a dear friend of mine who’s legal name I never knew and the man loved Twix chocolate bars – lived across the street from Jerry. He was known to have a Twix candy bar or five handy most times.

I texted both Jerry and Twix Dom’s address as we saw Twix jogging over.

“Hey, DeppGrl,” Twix said as he hugged me. “This is the dude that has the ancient beater?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s always loved that junkyard car more than he loved me!”

Dom was denying that as I told him that I was joking even though I really wasn’t.

“This is a 1964 Ferrari 250 GTO in original candy apple red,” Twix said in awe. “I’ve always wanted to see one in person and now I get to drive one?”

“Be careful with my baby,” Dom said without even thinking. I made a good choice in breaking up with him.

I tossed the keys to Twix and thanked both men for taking care of my former boyfriend. They nodded and helped Dom into Jerry’s four door sedan. I was thankful that I have friends like Jerry and Twix. I loved them dearly and appreciated them both more than they’d ever know. They and their wives were all close friends but no one in the neighborhood knew that they were all swingers. I kept their secret and they kept mine.

I went back inside to find Vince asleep on the couch. Fifteen minutes later, Jerry texted me saying that he and Twix got Dom home safely and they have him wash off that horrid whiskey. I thanked Jerry for taking care of Dom for me.

As I stared out the kitchen window, I saw headlights sweep across the neighbor’s house. I knew it was Aditi so I stepped outside to greet her so Vince wouldn’t wake up. We greeted each other with a hug and she handed over four full bags of food. Before I could ask her why so much food, she said that she knew that Vince and I would need it to keep up our energy. I handed her $300 for the food though I knew it was more than the food was worth. She was grateful. She handed over the food and we waved to each other as she got in her car.

When I got back inside with the food, Vince was awake and ready to have sex again before eating. The second I put the food on the counter, I turned around to kiss Vince. As we were kissing, I slid my shorts and my barely there panties off and Vince slid his shorts and his boxers off. In one swift movement, Vince lifted me up to the counter and gently put me down on the marble countertop. The marble felt cold against my skin as I spread my legs.

Vince entered me again without hesitation, one hand braced against the counter, the other gripping my hip as he rocked into me. His thrusts were slow but powerful, the sound of our bodies echoing in the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close as our mouths collided.

"You never get tired of this, do you?" he asked between kisses.

"Not even a little," I said, breathless.

He groaned, his hips moving faster, deeper. "You feel so damn good."

I clung to him, trembling as my orgasm hit again, sharp and hot. Vince followed moments later, his moan low and rough in my ear as he came inside me for the fourth time that day.

We collapsed against each other, laughing quietly, still tangled. I was still trembling when Vince pulled out. “Wait here,” he said, disappearing upstairs. A moment later, he returned with a warm washcloth, gently wiping me clean. The softness of the fabric against my skin was comforting—an intimate care that made me feel safe and cherished. He threw the wash cloth into the laundry room then helped me off the counter. We pulled out clothes back on, cleaned where we had sex and took dishes and utensils out to serve the food.

“Now,” I whispered, “we eat.”

“Finally,” he grinned, breathless.

We settled back down to devour Aditi’s feast, the scent of spices wrapping us in comfort. Between being in Vince’s arms and eating Aditi’s amazing food, the day was finally turning around.

We ate until we were stuffed. We packed up the rest of the food, poured ourselves more wine and cleaned up the kitchen, putting the food into the fridge. As we headed to the living room, we were contemplating whether or not to watch something on Netflix or not. We agreed that we’d watch a movie of his choice. It was a football movie – which surprised me but I said that I’d watch something of his choice.

After a while, I looked over at Vince, feeling a surge of something tender amid the chaos. I reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.

“Vince,” I said softly, “can you stay the night?”

He looked at me, surprise flickering in his eyes before a slow smile spread across his face. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

And just like that, I felt a little less alone.

The morning after

I arrived at work in a remarkably good mood, a subtle ache in my hips making it a little hard to walk "normally” but last night and this morning with Vic was worth it. Thankfully, I managed to hide my awkward gait.

Tara, my assistant, soon popped into my office with coffee for me. "How are you?" she asked, her usual cheerful self.

"I'm good," I replied, a genuine smile on my face. A part of me wanted to spill everything about the night with Vic, but work had boundaries I wouldn't cross. Still, I couldn't help but add, "I had a great night." She beamed, clearly happy to see me smiling and in such high spirits.

I spent the next five hours catching up on emails and voicemails that had accumulated on my work phone, taking a few coffee breaks to stretch. After ordering lunch for the office, I called Tara into my office. She entered, looking visibly nervous.

"Tara," I began, leaning forward slightly, "as you know, I'm still dealing with some emotional stuff with Randy, and now a bit of a hiccup with Dom. I just want to tell you how proud I am of you for stepping up, filling in for me, and being incredibly discreet with the staff about my absences."

Her eyes widened, clearly not expecting this. "It's been a few months since your last raise," I continued, "so I wanted to ask, what percentage raise would you like?"

She looked utterly confused. "You're currently making twenty-five dollars an hour, correct?" I asked.

“Yes," she said, a hesitant nod.

"You've been stepping into a more senior role when I'm not available, you'll now be making thirty-five dollars an hour," I stated.

Tara practically launched out of her seat, rushing around my desk to hug me tightly. "Thank you!" she exclaimed.

I laughed, returning her hug. "You absolutely deserve it." She sobered for a moment, pulling back slightly. "Is the business doing well enough for me to get that kind of raise?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Yes, it is," I assured her. "And in fact, we have potential new clients knocking at the door. We need to hire five more people to take on twenty-five more clients—five extremely high-maintenance clients apiece."

I then laid out the next steps. "The list of new clients and new staff will be on your desk before I leave today. I need you to send everyone the appropriate paperwork before the end of business."

"Shouldn't you just email everything to me so I can get on it right away?" she suggested, already looking eager.

"No," I replied, shaking my head gently. "You need to take care of the clients you have scheduled already. When you're done with those, then you can take care of this."

She nodded in agreement, a determined look on her face. She only had two more clients for the day, both virtual appointments, each lasting forty-five minutes.

After I packed up my things, I emailed everything to Tara and also dropped off the physical paperwork in her office. Before leaving, I told her I'd packed up the extra catered food from lunch and asked her to spread the word that the staff could take as much as they wanted home. We both knew I paid the staff well, but some were still struggling financially, even with purchasing food. Tara made sure the announcement was office-wide, ensuring no one would feel singled out but rather included.

This was especially important given a recent situation. One of our employees had just returned from a ten-day "vacation" that was actually the funeral of her grandmother. They were incredibly close; her parents had died in a car accident when the employee was two, and her grandmother had raised her. Knowing she couldn't afford the funeral, casket, the flowers, both the church service and  quick service at the cemetery, I had paid for everything anonymously. Tara had walked in at one point while I was talking to the flower vendors and the funeral home, so I brought her into it, and she had chipped in some money to help offset the costs for me.

After work, I stopped at Aditi's restaurant to pick up some food for dinner. As I approached the entrance, I saw Dom inside. My stomach clenched, and I immediately turned around, leaving without a second glance. I ended up getting soul food from a fast-food restaurant instead. I didn’t want to see Dom at the moment as I was still riding high from my time with Vic.

Back home, I kicked off my shoes and shed my work attire, instantly more comfortable in just my panties and bra. After eating, I moved the bedding from the washer into the dryer. I then tossed the bedding from my night with Vic into the washer, added the soap, and, without changing the knobs, turned it on. Once that was taken care of, I gathered the rest of my stripped work attire, went upstairs, completely stripped, and tossed everything into the hamper before hopping back into the shower.

I took a twenty-minute shower, letting the scorching hot water scald my skin. I got out, dried off, hung up my towels, applied deodorant and lotion, then threw on one of my favorite oversized shirts. I padded downstairs to grab a glass of wine.

I checked my phone. There was a text from Dom.

Dom: How was your day?

Me: It was fine. I'm drinking wine right now, so it's not a good time to chat. Are you available for lunch tomorrow?

Dom: Yes, I am. How about that new coffee bar? It's someplace we've never been to.

Me: Sounds good. I’ll see you there at 12:30.

I set my phone down on the coffee table, the weight of the conversation settling over me.

I poured some more wine, picked up a book, and started reading. An hour or so later, my phone vibrated. Vic texted me again that day for what felt like the thirtieth time to thank me for the previous night and that he loves me. I decided to call him.

“Hey, Vic. How has your day been?”

“It’s been pretty great, thanks. I can’t stop thinking about our time together….It was amazing. You?”

"I had an amazing time too but it was intense in the best possible way. Maybe we need a little space for a bit?" I said. “I’m not sure what’s going on with Dom and you’re….well, married.”

"I was thinking the same thing. Last night and this morning was incredible and something I won’t forget for a long time. My wife already is aware that I’m not being faithful and has a gut feeling that I am with you."

"Exactly, amor. It was too intense, in an amazing way, but for now, we should put some space between us until we know what’s going on.”

"Agreed. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"You too."

“Amor?” he said before I hung up. “I meant what I said this morning – I love you.”

“I love you too, Papi. Let’s hold on to this….we shouldn’t be hurting our partners.”

“Verdad, amor,” he said…..confirming that he believes that it’s true/he agrees that I am right.

“Good night, Papi,” I said.

“Good night, Mama,” he said.

We got off the phone. I had two more glasses of wine as I read ten or so more chapters of my book despite wanting to finish the entire thing.

The dryer buzzed. I immediately grabbed the bedding out of the dryer, tossed it into a basket, and cleaned the lint trap. I tossed the bedding from the washing machine into the dryer and started it. I went up to my bedroom in order to make my bed and brought the basket back into the laundry room. I cleaned up from dinner and wine, grabbed my travel mug, and filled it with both ice and water before heading to bed.

I slept like a rock that night and woke up around 10:15 am. I got up, showered, brushed my teeth, got dressed and padded down the stairs to fold the spare bedding for my bed and brought it up to put in my linen closet and did some light cleaning. I looked at the time and it was 11:45.

I had about ten minutes to get ready so I threw in my contacts, put on a pair of shorts that were practically Daisy Dukes – IYKYK – and threw on a cute top that revealed my large breasts….I purposely did NOT put on a bra. I slid on sandals, sprayed some perfume on and grabbed my purse then left. I was going to be cutting it close because I didn’t realize how far it was from my house until I was driving.

Thankfully, there was limited traffic and I parked a few minutes before Dom and I were supposed to meet. I went in, chatted with the host/barista for a second and was told to grab a seat towards the corner. A few minutes later, Dom walked in. It took him a second to find me and when he did, he smiled his smile that made my stomach flutter and walked back to me.

I stood up to hug him when he arrived to the table. As we sat, we sat across from each other. We caught up on pleasantries when an employee stopped by to see what we were getting to drink. I told the employee that I wanted the largest possible mug of coffee that was light and sweet and also had Hazelnut flavoring and Dom said that he wanted iced black coffee. I looked at him, smiled and asked: “Just like my heart?”

Dom, the employee and I all laughed. The employee went to go get our coffees as we debated whether or not to get something to eat. I went for a pain au chocolat  and he went with a croissant. We placed our order when we received our coffee.

As we were sitting across from each other, the space between us felt heavier than it should have, like the weight of everything we weren’t saying had settled in the quiet.

He didn’t ask if Vic and I had slept together as he had already knew. He had known the night before what would happen between Vic and I, and he didn’t need it confirmed.

After a moment, he asked, “Did last night help you figure out what you want?”

I kept my eyes on the coffee in front of me. “It helped me understand what I needed,” I said. “Emotionally, romantically, physically… it gave me that. However, it was with someone I don’t have a future with.”

He nodded, slowly. His iced coffee sat untouched between us, the glass sweating onto the table. He looked tired, not in the way sleep fixes, but in the way someone gets when they stop hoping.

I added, “Dom, I’m still hurt by what you said. Last night didn’t fix and another night with Vic or anyone else will fix that”

He nodded again. “Because of the joke?”

“Because of how flippant it was,” I said. “Like I was just something to be clever about. Like none of it mattered.”

He looked down for a long time. Then he asked, “What would it take for you to heal from that?”

“Nothing,” I said.

His eyes met mine. “Why?”

I didn’t look away. “Because how would you feel if I did the same thing to you?”

His voice came out carefully. “I’d be hurt too.”

He sat back, one hand resting on the edge of the table. “Do you think we should take a few more days? Sit with it, figure out if this is something we want to keep going? Or…” He hesitated. “Or do we end it here?”

I looked down at my coffee. “I want to end it,” I said. “I can’t come back from this especially being hurt from something almost as flippant from Randy. I didn’t feel respected when you joked about us not working out and you covering up a tattoo that you just got stating how I am your everything. If I was – or if I still am – you wouldn’t have joked about it.”

He didn’t push and he just nodded once.

After that, the food came. We made awkward conversation as we ate, neither of us touching the deeper silence between us. It was just enough to fill the space until we were done.

When the check came, I picked it up and paid for it with cash. I put  the money down with the slip and then looked across at him one last time.

“Thank you for everything,” I said quietly.

He gave a faint nod.

I stood up, stepped away from the table, and left.

A night's reckoning

After I read Dom's note, which he had slid under my front door, I thanked him for it. I then silenced him on my phone; I would still receive messages from him, but I wouldn't be notified.

Shortly after, I texted Vic, inviting him over. Moments later, my phone vibrated with his reply.

"Hey, did you eat anything yet?" Vic's message appeared on the screen.

"Does a banana count?" I typed back a hint of hopeful inquiry in my question.

His immediate response was a firm, unequivocal "No." Another text followed almost immediately. "I'll be over in about an hour. Want to hit the grocery store first. Can I just use the key I still have to let myself in?"

"Yes, you can," I replied.

With that settled, I got up from the couch and started a quick clean of the main areas of the house: the kitchen, living room, downstairs bathroom, and cleaned my bathroom. As I cleaned, I lit a few sandalwood scented candles. I then moved to my bedroom, stripped my bed, and put on fresh bedding before heading to the shower. After showering, I dressed in short shorts and an old but comfortable shirt. I padded downstairs just as Vic let himself in.

He walked in, laden with grocery bags, which he heaved onto the kitchen counter. Then, he wrapped me in his arms, kissed me softly, and murmured, "Hola, mi amor." I kissed him back, returning his greeting.

"Was I being too forward?" he asked, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"No," I assured him, shaking my head.

We began to unpack the groceries, a comfortable rhythm settling between us. Soon, Vic took over the kitchen, preparing both chicken marsala and chicken piccata. I opened the wine we'd be drinking, while he used the cooking wine for his culinary creations.

As we worked and ate, our conversation naturally turned to why I'd invited him over. I brought up Dom's tattoo, the one declaring me his "everything." Then, I recounted his casual joke about covering it up "when" we broke up, and how deeply that comment had stung. Even his subsequent clarification, that he truly hoped we'd last a very long time and he wouldn't actually cover it up, hadn't erased the hurt. I admitted that despite only being in a relationship with him for six weeks, the remark had wounded me profoundly.

Vic listened intently, nodding. "That was a poor joke, and his comments would hurt anyone," he said, his voice gentle. "If someone said something similar to me, I'd be hurt too." He took a sip of the red wine he'd brought, then leaned in to kiss me. "What do you want?" he asked softly.

I sighed, looking away for a moment. "I don't know what I want. I'm still so hurt by what Dom said."

"Am I spending the night?" he asked, his gaze steady.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Since you just kicked Dom out of your house without actually ending the relationship, it would probably be best if you let him know I'm over and spending the night," Vic suggested.

I glared at him, a sharp look.

He held up a hand, a serious expression on his face. "Look, I'm stuck between the wife and the woman I'd rather be with, and I hate where I am. I just think honesty would be best with you and Dom, so if you two did decide to stay together, nothing was being hidden."

I grunted, a sound of reluctant agreement, and went to the living room to grab my phone. There was no response from Dom from when I thanked him for the note and I understood why. Deciding a phone call would be best, I expected to go straight to voicemail, but Dom picked up.

"What's up?" he asked, his voice sounding cautious.

"I invited a friend over for dinner," I explained, "and due to the amount of wine we've both been drinking, he's spending the night."

"Is it Vic?" he asked, a hint of recognition in his tone. Dom had always known about Vic.

"Yes, it's Vic," I confirmed.

"What do you want?" Dom asked again, his voice softer this time.

"I don't want to hurt anymore," I said. "The last relationship I was in, with Randy, I ended it because I was hurt, and I don't want to go through that again."

Dom sighed. "I'm so sorry for hurting you," he said. "I want to show you how much you really mean to me."

"If I mean something to you," I countered, "I want actions of you wanting to be with me instead of forever marking your body so early in a relationship."

He sighed again, a long, drawn-out sound. "You're right," he conceded. Then, his voice dropped to a soft whisper. "Are you going to have sex with Vic?"

"I want to," I admitted, "but I don't know where we stand."

"I have an idea," Dom said, "but I want your input first. I would like you to have an open mind.”

“Okay," I said.

"Let's break up for just tonight," he suggested, his voice firm. "That way, if you want to have sex with Vic, you can without feeling guilty. And in a few days, we can meet on neutral ground and discuss where we go from there."

"Are you going to screw anyone in the next few days?" I asked, a sharp edge to my voice.

"No," he replied instantly. "There's only one person I want to make love with, but I've hurt her."

"I understand," I said, my voice quiet, before ending the call. I set my phone down on the coffee table, the weight of the conversation settling over me, but it was quickly overshadowed by Vic's presence.

Vic was already in the living room, having quietly moved from the kitchen. He didn’t even make it past the threshold before he was on me — kissing me hard, one hand cupping the back of my neck, the other grabbing my hip like he owned it. We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His mouth told me everything. I pulled at his shirt, he pulled mine over my head, and I backed us toward the couch until we both stumbled down into it.

Round one started right there, with me on top, grinding against his jeans until he groaned and unzipped them, his dick thick and hot in his hand as he pushed my panties aside. He didn’t wait. He didn’t ask. He slid inside me slow, stretching me, filling me, making me gasp — and then he held still, buried deep, his eyes locked on mine like he wanted to memorize every second. I rode him hard, slow, then hard again. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me, his dick stroking deep. When I came, I screamed in pleasure and collapsed against his chest, and he kept moving beneath me until he followed with a shudder, pulling me down and holding me there as he pulsed inside me.

We barely made it to the bedroom before round two started. He caught me in the hallway, spun me against the wall, and kissed me again — slower this time, but deeper. When we reached the bed, he stripped me bare, laid me out, and knelt between my thighs like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted. He ate my pussy until I came again, moaning into his mouth, and then he slid his dick back in and fucked me slow. Deep. Rhythm so steady it wrecked me. He whispered my name when he came this time, low and reverent, his forehead pressed to mine, our bodies locked tight.

Round three was messier. I’d fallen asleep for maybe ten minutes when I felt him hard against my thigh. I reached for him, stroked him, and before I knew it, he was kissing down my stomach and spreading my legs again. He entered me from the side, curling behind me, one arm under my neck, the other between my thighs. He fucked me slow like that, lazy and thick, his dick stretching me open until I whimpered. We both came together, shaking, breathless.

We finally showered after that — together, but not to get clean. Round four happened in the steam, with me pressed against the tile, one leg hooked around his hip, his hand gripping the back of my neck as he pushed inside me again. The water hit my back while his dick drove into me, slow at first, then faster, rougher. I came with a broken cry, body shaking under him, and he held me steady while he finished inside me again, coming in me with a groan that echoed off the walls.

After towels and water and laughter, we finally made it to the bed. The sheets were cool. My body was not. Round five was slower. Tender. I was on my back, legs spread, his body heavy over mine. He kissed me for a long time before sliding inside. We both gasped. He fucked me like he wanted to stay inside me forever — deep strokes, hips grinding, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. When I came, I clung to him. When he came, he held still, buried all the way, his breath warm against my throat. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

But at some point in the night, I stirred to the pressure of his hand on my thigh, the slow nudge of his dick against my entrance — already hard, already wet from everything we’d done. He didn’t speak. Just pushed forward and filled me again. Round six began in the dark, on my side. He spooned me close, one hand under my neck, the other gripping my waist. His dick slid in smooth, thick and slow, and I gasped into the pillow as he started to move. It was dreamlike — lazy, intimate, his breath in my hair as he stroked in and out of my soaked pussy. I came quietly, shaking under the weight of him, and he came a minute later, body curled tight around mine, moaning low into my skin.

I thought we were done. But round seven began when I rolled over, and he kissed me awake. His hand slid between my legs, fingers stroking gently, already getting me wet again. When he slid inside this time, I was on my back, legs wrapped around his waist, my heels digging into him as he fucked me slow and deep. He stayed pressed against me, our chests flush, his hands tangled in my hair as he whispered my name and thrust harder, deeper. I screamed in pleasure, hips lifting into him. He groaned when he followed, kissing me as he came in me again.

We dozed again, briefly. Skin sticky, limbs tangled. Round eight started with laughter — him kissing my neck, teasing me about how many times I could take him. I pushed him onto my back and climbed on top, but he flipped me easily, pinning my wrists above my head and sliding back into me in one hard stroke.

“Still want more?” he growled.

I moaned. “Yes.”

He fucked me harder this time, hips slapping, dick thick and deep and relentless. I came again, screaming in pleasure, body arching under his, and he didn’t let up until he came with a groan, jerking inside me, still holding me down.

We were breathless. Shaking. But not done. Round nine was slower again. He kissed me soft, touched me everywhere. I rolled to my stomach and looked back at him, and he slid in from behind, hands on my hips, dick thick and hard as ever. He moved slow. Deliberate. Stretching me open again, every stroke a deep pulse that left me breathless. When he came, he bent low over my back, groaning, hips grinding until he came in me again.

I was wrecked. But I still wanted him.

Round ten was the last. I rolled onto my back, spread my legs, and looked up at him. “Again,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “You’re insatiable.”

He lowered himself over me, kissed me slow, and slid back in — thick, smooth, deep. I gasped, legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him close. This one was different — tender, aching. He moved slow, hips rolling, dick stroking deep with each thrust. I held him tight as he fucked me, my body raw and oversensitive and wanting more.

When I came, I screamed in pleasure as did he came when he came, buried deep inside me, and kissed me like it was the last time. Then we lay tangled in silence, skin to skin, breath slowing together. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Eventually, we got up to shower and brush our teeth. He stripped the bed as I went downstairs to make coffee."Should I start the first set?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Soap's in, and the buttons are set. Just hit start." He did.

As we were drinking our coffees, his boss called. "You're late, Vic," I heard the voice through the phone.

"Something important came up last night," Vic said, his tone firm. "I'll be at work in the next thirty minutes." He hung up, kissed me, and thanked me for a great night. "I don't expect you to say or do anything about this," he added, his gaze soft, "but I just wanted you to know." He then left.

I smiled, got ready for work, and headed in.