This pussy is mine now, Natalia.
Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this for years.
You taste so good.
Come on my cock, sweetheart.
I was so wrapped up in him—thrown in the ocean without a life vest and drowning. I don’t even remember what the inside of his house or room looks like. And every time I try to think about it, I only see the images of our naked bodies, his head between my legs, and all I can hear are his words.
Fuck, sweetheart, no one else is fucking you ever again.
I am dangerously turned on at work, my skin tight around my bones, suffocating the muscles and veins, and my core clenches as more images flood my head, distracting me.
You and your perfect cunt are going to be the death of me.
It does not bode well for me that I’m considering finding a safe place to take care of this ache that has been pulsing within me ever since that night. He’s brought something out of me that I can’t seem to push back beneath the surface. Instead, it’s like a sexual awakening and I feel like the most sensual, sexy,wantedwoman because of him.
A part of me wishes it was bad. Thathewas an egregious lay and that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing and that he didn’t know exactly where to touch me. Instead, it was so good I built a wall almost immediately after it was over. I couldn’t afford to let the feelings linger in places they didn’t belong. I’d like to think love can be healing and beautiful and the furthest thing from heartbreak, and of course, I want that. But how would it be fair to want it and not give it. He needs the same things I do. He grieves and I break. Every day.
I used to think that, once I reached adulthood, it would go away and I’d be better. I used to think that by now, at twenty-seven going on twenty-eight, I’d be…cured. It doesn’t work like that, though; I’ve learned that the hard way.
My fist slams into the dough just as the kitchen door swings open. “Woah!” I turn and see Lana.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I wipe my jaw with the back of my wrist and blow upward to move my shorter curl out of my face. “Nothing,” I grumble. Groaning, I go to wash my hands and readjust my hairnet. “I’m fine.”
“You were just shouting a bunch of, what I’m assuming are, expletives, in Korean at the dough you’re making cookies out of,” Lana says, crossing her arms and cocking her hips. “I’ve only seen you do that once. So, what’s wrong?”
I sigh, long and dramatically, just before the words spill out quickly. “Rowan pretended to be my boyfriend for my dads and then he made us dinner at his restaurant andthenI find out he named his restaurantBeetlejuice. Forme!” I scoff. “Can you believe that?”
Lana blinks at me, gaping. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“What?”
“Obviouslyhe named it for you!” Lana chuckles. “I love you, Nat, but…are youdumb?”
“I—”
I’m on the brink of defending myself when the kitchen door swings open again and Isabelle comes in. “Hey, what did I miss?” Isabelle’s eyes observe me head to toe. “Lana called saying she heard you spewing angry Korean words so I came right over.”
“She just figured out Rowan named his restaurant for her,” Lana says quietly to Isabelle, who then laughs.
I hiss a few more Korean curses their way, most of which my cousins from Daddy’s side taught me when I was little. “Are you two kidding me right now?”
“Areyoukiddingus?” Isabelle asks and takes a seat on a stool at the clear workstation. “He opened that place like two years ago and youjustrealized? Even the color scheme is the same.”
Lana nods.
“What?No it isn’t.”
Is it?
There isn’t a lot of black but there is purple and green.Someblack—the bathroom tiles are checkered. The tables are a very deep violet but the flowers and decor everywhere else arelighter, softer shades.
“Yes it is,” Lana says. “It’s justreallysubtle. Took me a minute to figure it out until we sawBeetlejuicethat one Halloween.”
“I only figured it out when Lana told me,” Isa says. “Then I noticed the details.”
