Page 22 of Holding Penalty

My climax barrels through me, and my eyes clench tight. Jets of cum shoot from my cock so hard that my release makes a dull thud against the glass shower wall. My chest heaves as I’m wrung dry, so thoroughly that my balls ache when I finally let go of myself.

I finish showering and get dressed. I need to get in the right mindset for practice tomorrow. I need to stop thinking about Piper. Who knows if I’ll ever see her again.

But I do know one thing: if I do see her again, I’m going to look at her left hand. And I hope that I won’t see a ring.

9

PIPER

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” my sister Hallie asks.

I nod to her. She’s walked me downstairs from her apartment, and my rideshare is just pulling up. “Yeah, I’m sure. I can handle it.”

I spent yesterday recovering from my hangover at Hallie’s place and filling her in on what happened. I finally responded to Crew, telling him I needed space but would be willing to hear him out today. He assured me over and over again that the whole incident was a big misunderstanding. That I’ll be able to see that when I give him the chance to explain himself.

I’m not sure if I’m being foolish even entertaining the thought that he might be telling the truth. But we’ve been together for years and are scheduled to be married next week, so I should hear him out.

“If you need to come back here after, you know you can. You can stay as long as you need to.”

I smile at her, knowing full well how sad it looks on my face right now. “I know.”

“And if you need Crew murdered, or castrated, or just beaten up, I can take care of that, too.”

A laugh sputters from me in spite of my anxious mood. Hallie is the biggest sweetheart in the world. The idea of her committing any act of violence against someone is absurd.

But for me, I know she’d do it.

I see my ride heading toward us from up the street. I take a deep breath and prepare myself. “Alright, this is me,” I tell my sister.

Technically, she’s my “half” sister. We share the same father, a man who was in neither of our lives. But our moms got in touch when we were young and thought we should know each other. We grew up best friends, and she’s as much of a sister as any person in this world can ever have. There’s nothing halfway about our relationship.

“Come here,” she says, pulling me into a hug.

I squeeze her back and get in the car. As my ride pulls away from the curb, I try to control my breathing and loosen some of the nerves knotting through me. Before long, I’m at Crew’s apartment building.

Our apartment building. It’s so funny, how I’ve already started to think of the place where we’ve lived together for two years as being his.

The doorman in the lobby smiles and nods at me casually like he always does, and I do the same. He doesn’t know anything’s changed. Why would he? It’s funny how life goes on without a hitch for everyone else, even when your own is falling apart at the seams.

Tension twists behind my chest when the doors of the elevator open with a ding on our floor.

My knuckles rasp against our door, it swings open, and I’m face to face with my fiancé for the first time since he drove off and left me on the side of the road.

It’s like there’s a tornado inside me, scattering too many emotions all over the place for me to feel any one distinctly.

There’s anger, because I still don’t believe him. Anxiety about what this all means for my future. Guilt at the fact that I totally overreacted, if he’s telling the truth. A desire for everything to go back to normal, so I can get my inheritance and own the bakery that I love.

Looking into his eyes, memories of the good times sprout in my mind. Of our first night living together, dancing barefoot in our tiny kitchen. Of me resting my head in the crook of his neck when he made me laugh. Of the sweet smile on his face and the nervous hope brimming from his eyes when he dropped to one knee and held out the ring that’s now on my finger.

I remember the bad times, too.

How he’ll sometimes talk dismissively of my job, comparing it unfavorably to his own because I don’t make as much money and my title doesn’t sound impressive. How he’ll sometimes get too flirty with other girls, even though I’ve never seen him cross a line in person. How he’ll always find a way to make sure we do what he wants to do or go where he wants to go.

“Babe,” he says, his voice sounding like he’s happy and relieved to see me, as if I just got back from a trip that he couldn’t join me on. He leans forward to hug me. I’m not sure what to do, so I let him, though my body goes stiff.

It’s my instinct to put out my hand to stop him, but I’m over here to hear him out and give him a chance to explain himself, after all. Not to treat him like the cheater he seemed to be two nights ago in the limo.

Not yet, at least.