I grin, moving the toy lower. “I lied. Give me one more.”
I wish I could fuck her forever. I want to spend the day buried in her, tasting her, feeling her come on my fingers and my cock. I want to see how deep she can take me into her throat, want to show her how I like it, want to know every limit she has, exactly how much she can take.
But when she comes this final time—with a sharp cry, almost like she’s fighting it—I can’t pull myself back from the brink. I can feel her tightening and pulsing around me, and it’s too much, it’s too good. My control slips and I lose myself, fucking her hard and burying myself in her as deep as I can go before I come with a pained groan, my back arching, fingers digging into her flesh.
This is the moment.
When I die, when all my sins are finally tallied and my life flashes before my eyes, this is the moment I’ll want to play over and over again. Sydney, whispering my name, saying it like a prayer, as I fill her with my cum.
I don’t move after. I stay there, braced over her, my arms bracketing her face, her legs over my shoulders. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize I’m still holding her toy, that the vibration is turning my hand numb. I flick it off and toss it onto the bed next to us.
Sydney is limp beneath me, eyes shut, lips parted, a trail of tears drying on her cheeks. She makes a sweet, plaintive noise when I pull out, and it sounds so helpless and sad it’s almost enough to make me want to go again.
By the time I return with a wet cloth to clean her, she’s already half asleep. My sweet, cum-drunk mess. She murmurs something as I roll her onto her side, something too quiet to catch.
“Shhhh, rest, love,” I tell her, brushing the hair off her face and kissing the last of the tears off her cheek before washing them gently away with the cloth. Her curls are loose, her hair a wild halo around her, covering the pillow. “You did so well. You were so good.”
I don’t think she can hear me. She’s unconscious before I’m even out of bed.
Whatever time her alarm is set for, she’s sure to oversleep it in the state she’s in. That will upset her, and we can’t have that. I grab my phone from my pile of clothes and pull up my messages, briefly reading the ones I missed last night before opening a new text chain.
Sydney will be coming in late this morning.
The text I receive back is almost instant.
Jade Lee (the BFF): Doc?
Jade Lee (the BFF): I’m going to need proof of life. Send me a photo so I know she’s okay.
I glance over at Sydney. She’s fast asleep, skin glistening with sweat. Ruined. She looks perfectly ruined.
Trust me, you don’t want that.
Jade Lee (the BFF): EW
A quiet laugh escapes me. Setting my phone down, I start to get dressed. I keep my eyes on her as I pull my clothing on, taking my time, never looking away. I want to burn the image of her like this into my brain, I want to see it every time I close my eyes, projected against the lids.
I’m stopped on my way to the front door by a creature. A tiny, white thing that stands in the living room, barring my way.
Sydney’s new cat. I’ve seen her on the cameras, watched as she knocked empty mugs off the café’s tables, and ambushed customers’ ankles. She’s smaller than I expected, for the amount of trouble she causes, small enough she could fit in the palm of my hand.
The tiny kitten stares up at me with round, unblinking eyes, head tilted to the side, like she’s assessing me. She’s holding a toy in her mouth, caught between her teeth, but it’s mangled beyond recognition, nothing more than a lump of yellow and black.
“Hello there,” I say quietly.
That’s her cue. She prances forward and drops the toy at my feet, then sits back and looks up at me, expectantly.
I crouch, studying the destroyed toy between us. “I’ve read about this,” I tell her. “You’re showing me you can hunt, aren’t you?”
A soft purr emanates from her. When I reach out to stroke her tiny head with my thumb, her purrs get even louder, and she melts into my hand, arching against me.
“You are very brave and fierce,” I tell her solemnly, stroking between her ears. “For murdering that toy.”
She accepts the compliment with a pleased trill, rubbing the entirety of her body against my hand. Then she stretches her back and claws at the carpet before stalking away toward the bedroom, leaving her kill behind.
Cute.
There’s a bouquet of lilies waiting on Sydney’s doorstep when I step outside. I stare at them, frowning. None of my brothers sent these. They’re disgusting, well past their prime, wrapped in cheap cellophane. I’m still frowning at them when an audibleclickfrom the other side of the walkway makes me look up, toward the second apartment next door to Sydney’s.
