He seems to have grown so much audacity in the past four years, transitioning from ridiculous to downright entitled.
At any rate, I was livid and distracted for the rest of the evening, and Danika got the short end of the stick of my changing moods.
We did spend time together, and I fucked her like I always do after dates, against the kitchen counter, making sure she orgasmed. After all these years, I’ve learned to touch her the right way to have her shake around my cock.
It’s kind of my favorite part about sex, just seeing her enjoy what I give. It’s how I manage to reach a climax myself.
Yesterday, though, I had to keep going for quite a bit. My thoughts drifted elsewhere, and my body was stiflingly not really into it.
Though really, sex is a habit at this point, which is natural for long-term relationships, I believe.
So when Danika said her dad expected her back to discuss their family’s situation, I just let her go, then proceeded to toss and turn in bed.
When that got to be too much, I indulged in bad habits—things I always told myself I’d never do again.
I swipe open my phone and see a message from an unknown number. My brow furrows.
My phone number is encrypted, so no one should have access to it, let alone someone unknown.
Every instinct tells me not to open it, but then again, I need to know who the hell got hold of my number.
Unknown Number
For your entertainment
With a deepening frown, I click on the cloud link attached, and it takes me to a video.
The footage is a little unsteady, with faint light barely illuminating what appears to be a hotel room.
At first, I can’t make out what I’m seeing as the camera trembles slightly, but gradually, it steadies, coming into sharp focus.
A huge hard cock lies between big breasts with brown areolas. I tilt my head to the side, a prickling sense of recognition washing over me.
“Damn, these tits are fucking amazing.”
Thevoice.
The deep, slightly raspy voice, low and raw, like smoke curling in a noose around my throat.
That damn voice I’d recognizeanywhere.
FuckingYulian.
“You don’t mind me filming, yeah?” he speaks again, thrusting his cock between the breasts cradled in a pair of scarlet-tipped hands.
“Why are you filming?” she asks in an extremely familiar breathy moan.
My fingers tighten around the bottle of milk.
“Because I want to keep this memory, beautiful.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t post it online.”
“I won’t. This will be ourdirtylittle secret.” I can hear the smirk woven through the lazy drawl of his “dirty.”
I don’t need to see their faces to know exactly who’s speaking. They’re both etched so deep in my psyche, it’s impossible not to recognize them.
Still, a part of me refuses to accept it.
