Step three: blog work. I hole up in the conservatory with my laptop, the twins napping in their bassinets, and start writing up the Climax trip. I describe Lianne and Rush’s punk-soft energy, the stained glass vulvas, the local erotic art, the way a community-run sex shop feels fundamentally different from some faceless chain selling candy underwear and poor quality plastic cocks.
When I get to the part where I talk about the back room, about the shelves of toys, about the vibrating nipple clamps, I can still feel the way Jacob’s hands tightened on my hips. The way hisvoice broke when he begged me to tell him what to do. How he looked at me afterwards like I’d delivered him some kind of longed-for holy text.
“Focus, Mills.” I scrub a hand over my face and keep typing.
My phone buzzes.
Jacob
I can’t stop thinking about the taste of you.
Heat slams through me so hard I have to set my laptop aside.
I stare at the message. He’s never texted me like this before. Flirty, yes. Curious, yes. Enthusiastic, definitely. But this is… bold. Unapologetic.
Another message pings.
Jacob
Sorry, that was blunt. Practising being direct. But it’s true. You’re still on my mind. And my tongue.
I bite down on a whimper. God, I adore this version of him. The one who’s still shy but trying so hard to stepintohis wants instead of skirting them. The one who told his father to take a long walk off a short pier and then came to this house looking wrung out and so brave about it I nearly kissed him in front of everyone.
I type and erase three separate replies:
I miss you too.
I want your mouth back on me.
Come over after work and I’ll give you something to taste.
Every version feels like stepping off a ledge.
I promised myself this morning I was going to keep my distance. Let him enjoy his new self-confidence without entangling it with me. If I let this go any further, it won’t just befunanymore, it’ll be… something else. And he deserves better than having that something else with a woman who will always, always choose departure over domesticity.
I force my fingers to type something breezy.
Tippi
Look at you getting all filthy over text. Proud of you, Professor ;)
Tippi
Been working today. Big meeting about future projects coming up. Brain’s all over the place.
I hit send before I can chicken out. It’s not abadreply. It’s not cold. But it’s not an invitation, either.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Jacob
Didn’t mean to distract you.
Jacob
Good luck with the meeting. They’d be mad not to give you whatever you want. x
The little x sits there, neat and careful.
