"Welcome to the other side," he whispered.
But as I lay there in the aftermath, something shifted inside me. It wasn't just about the orgasm anymore. It was about him. The way he looked at me. The way he touched me like I mattered. The way his voice dropped when he said my name.
I was falling for him, and I knew it was a mistake.
Over the next few days, we continued our sessions. My body became more responsive, more willing. I learned to recognize the signs of my own arousal—the way my hips would slow grind, the warmth that would spread through my core, the sensitivity that would bloom across my skin.
But with each session, with each orgasm I achieved, the emotional stakes grew higher. I found myself wanting more than just his hands and his mouth. I wanted his attention. His care. His love.
One morning, after a particularly intense session, I lay in his arms and felt the weight of what was happening.
"Syx," I whispered.
"Yeah, baby?"
"I'm falling for you."
He went still. His arms tightened around me for just a moment before he pulled back to look at me.
"Nyne," he said, his voice careful. "We talked about this."
"I know what we talked about," I said, my voice breaking slightly. "But I can't help it. You make me feel seen. You make me feel like my pleasure matters. Like I matter."
He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "You do matter. But this—" he gestured between us, "—this has an expiration date. You know that."
I nodded, even though it broke something inside me to do so. I knew the rules. I'd agreed to them. But my heart wasn't listening to logic anymore.
"I know," I whispered. "But I needed you to know anyway."
He kissed my forehead, and I closed my eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of his lips against my skin, knowing that soon, this would all be over.The next few days, we fell into a routine. Mornings were for talking and talking education. Afternoons were for sexual exploration. Syx touched me for hours each day, learning my body and figuring out what made me respond most strongly.
He discovered that I was most sensitive on my clit when he licked and sucked on it. That I liked firm and fast licks, rather than slow ones. Also having my nipples played with while he touched me intensified everything. Another thing, I love when he talks nasty to me.
"You got a wet, pretty pussy," he'd murmur as his fingers stroked my pussy, creating a creamy coating around them.
Oddly, I found myself getting comfortable with him and more willing to communicate what felt good and what didn't. I learned to recognize signs of my own arousal. For instance, whenever Syx is fingering me and I'm enjoying it, my hips would slow grind and my body would feel warm and tense.
Turning over a new leaf I guess, Syx wanted to try something and I was okay with that. After breakfast, which consisted of an omelet and dry mangoes with coconut water, Syx told me to meet him in the office, again once more.
I wasn't expecting the inevitable anymore after not being able to succeed the second I touched down. After a while, I figured he'd given up because he probably felt like I wasn't putting in effort, but the truth is, I was and with little to no luck, I was coming up short every time and it was sort of embarrassing.
Standing in front of him now, I didn't feel so sexy. Part of me knew this was trial and error, but the process was mind fucking.
He told me to meet him down here naked, after breakfast and a shower. What I didn't expect was for him to be naked too. Our first two sessions, he guided me with what to look forward to. Days after, I went with the flow and never knew what to expect out of him.
Syx's dick was the biggest I'd seen and I don't think I've had one bigger. Every time I saw it my eyes would grow wide and I'd get chills down my spine, because how in the hell do women handle all that dick without complaining or running from it. I wouldn't be able to handle all that and if those were his plans then, I'm backing out.
"You okay," Syx spoke, his voice roared through the room like thunder.
His body was glistening with body oil as my eyes roamed all over him. I stood on the opposite side of the room, near the massage table, waiting for him to command me to do something, or whatever was required of me. I was willing to do anything he needed me to do.
"Yeah," I sighed, then released a nervous laugh. "I'm okay. Why'd you ask me that?"
"You're still attached to the lying phase I see. I know you well enough to know when you're lying." He mentioned, inching closer to me.
"I'm not lying," I lied."
The closer he reached the more my breath became lodged in my throat and chill bumps rushed up my spine.
