For a long moment, we just looked at each other. The air between us was electric, charged with possibility and desire. It was something deeper, neither of us wanted to name.
He held out his hand. “Come here,” he said.
I took it, letting him pull me to my feet as I adjusted my dress. He led me to the window, positioning me so I was facing the club floor below, with his body pressed against my back.
“Look down there,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “All those people, experiencing pleasure without shame, including your faggot ass ex-husband?—”
At his last statement, I hit in in the stomach with my elbow, not that it fazed him at all.
“Just let me show you what your body is capable of.” He continued.
I nodded, unable to form words.
As we left the club, I didn’t look back and Malcolm was the last thing on my mind and I didn’t dwell on what I saw or what it meant anymore. All I could think about was Syx, and the promise in his voice, and the way my body was already aching for his touch.
Whatever happened next, I was ready for it.
Chapter Six
The next few days, we fell into a routine.
Every morning, I'd wake up sore in places I didn't know could be sore. My inner thighs ached. My pussy lips felt tender and swollen. My clit was sensitive to even the slightest touch. But none of it stopped me from showing up to Syx's office at ten o'clock sharp, ready for another session.
He'd have me lie back on the massage table, sometimes with my eyes closed, sometimes with them open and locked on his. He'd start slow—his fingers tracing patterns on my inner thighs, his mouth finding my clit and working it with deliberate precision. He'd bring me to the edge, right to that precipice where my body was screaming for release, and then he'd slow down, backing off just enough to keep me hovering there.
"Feel that?" he'd ask, his voice low and commanding. "That's your body telling you it's ready. You just gotta trust it."
But I couldn't. Every single time, just as I got close, my mind would kick in. I'd start thinking about whether I was doing itright, whether this was normal, whether something was wrong with me. And just like that, the sensation would slip away like water through my fingers.
I was frustrated as hell.
"Again?" I asked, my voice tight with irritation as Syx pulled away from between my legs for what felt like the hundredth time that week.
"Again," he confirmed, not bothered by my tone. "Your body's getting there, Nyne. I can feel it. You're getting wetter, your breathing's changing faster. You're making progress."
"Progress toward what?" I snapped. "I still haven't cum."
"You will," he said simply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But you gotta stop fighting yourself. Your mind is your biggest obstacle right now, not your body."
On day four, I was in his office when his phone rang. He was between my legs, his tongue working magic, when the phone started buzzing on the desk beside us. He ignored it the first time. The second time it rang, he pulled away slightly.
"Let it go," I breathed, not wanting him to stop.
But he didn't. He reached over and glanced at the screen, and I watched his expression shift. Something flickered across his face—something I couldn't quite read. He silenced it and went back to what he was doing, but the moment was broken. My arousal dipped. My mind started wandering.
"What was that?" I asked, even though I knew I shouldn't.
"Nothing," he said, but his jaw was tight.
"It didn't sound like nothing."
He pulled back and looked at me, his eyes unreadable. "It was a client. Nothing for you to worry about."
But I was worried. Or maybe I was jealous. I wasn't sure which, and I hated both feelings equally.
Later that evening, I confronted him about it in the kitchen while he was preparing dinner.
"So you have other clients here?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I chopped vegetables.
