“There’s something else we can do,” I say, grabbing her hips and lifting her, rolling us so she is beneath me. I lick my way down her body, sucking and kissing in places where I couldn’t see last night until my head is between her thighs.
She is a little swollen, but there is no bruising. I suck one pussy lip into my mouth and swipe my tongue over it with varying pressures until I find the one that draws out a long moan. Then I take the other side in my mouth and do the same.
I stay between her thighs for what feels like hours, worshipping her pretty pussy until she is begging me to let her come.
I love that I can bring this out of her. That she barely knows what she is asking for but her body knows it needs to fall apart.
“Please, please, please,” she repeats, over and over again, her pelvis moving in time with her pleading.
I make a V with my fingers and smooth them over either side of her entrance, not penetrating her with anything other than my tongue.
“Please, please, please,” she continues, her hand on the back of my head, trying to take control.
Firming my tongue, I swirl it around her entrance before swiping it up to her clit. Her hips buck and she makes a sound like a broken gasp of surprise. I pull my tongue away and she moans, repeating her earlier pleading.
I lift my free hand up to cup one of her pert tits, and then roll the thick, dark red nipple between my finger and thumb.
This time when I cover her clit with my mouth, I tense my tongue into a point and flick relentlessly until she screams. I hold her against my face as her body shatters and shakes around me so hard the bed rattles against the floor and wall.
I drag every ounce of pleasure out of her, lap up her juices, and once the orgasm has passed, I slide my tongue back into her channel to feel the last quivers of her spent pussy.
“Oh,” she gasps, when I place one last, long lick over her slit and move back to lie beside her.
Emma
The day feels unreal in the way everything does after change. Like the world has been turned up a notch and I’m finally registering things I used to glide past on autopilot.
I sit in the passenger seat as Avros drives, the estate gates already far behind us, my ankle braced and elevated, my hands folded loosely in my lap. He drives with the same quiet control he does everything else, one hand on the wheel, eyes forward, posture relaxed but alert.
“So,” he says after a while, voice easy, like this is a normal errand and not the dismantling of my entire former life. “Tell me what you wanted before ballet swallowed everything whole.”
I blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of the question.
“I don’t think I ever let myself want anything else,” I admit. “I started young. It was always next class, next audition, next role. Anything outside of that felt… indulgent and wasteful.”
“Dangerous,” he supplies.
“Yes.” I smile faintly. “Exactly.”
He nods, like that confirms something he already suspected.
“And now?” he asks.
I look out the window as the city slides by. “Now I want a life that doesn’t disappear if my body fails me. I want to wake upwithout measuring my worth by pain and exhaustion. I want to build something that stays.”
He glances at me then. There’s something in his expression that makes my chest tighten, something warm and steady and frightening in how sure he looks.
“That’s what I want too,” he says. “Stability. Continuity. A home that isn’t conditional.”
We lapse into a comfortable quiet after that, the kind that doesn’t need filling. I’m aware of him in every way; his presence, his calm, the way he listens without trying to steer me. But it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels grounding.
When we pull up outside my apartment building, my stomach sinks.
The place looks smaller than I remember. Narrower. Like it’s already begun shrinking away from me now that I’ve stepped outside of it. I stare at the front door, keys not in my hand for once, and realize something with startling clarity.
I don’t want to go in.
That version of my life feels finished. The rooms where I lived in silence, where I told myself everything was fine, where I learned how to swallow resentment and call it dedication. I don’t want to pack up those memories and carry them forward.
