Bad at Love (Behind the Scenes #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

CARI

Max bucks her hips, sliding the strap inside my dripping pussy, and I moan aloud.

My thighs straddle hers, and she’s playing with my tits as I get used to it.

It was a bigger strap than the ones we usually used.

I loved the thickness, but the length took a second to adjust to.

Max waits until I’m rocking my hips steadily before pulling me down to kiss her.

Her soft lips meet mine in a frenzy and her fingers are tangled in my long blonde hair.

I reach down and wrap my fingers around the sides of Max’s throat.

She groans under me, and her eyes darken with desire.

It took months to discover she was into choking, but when I did, she came almost instantly.

I rock my hips on her, hitting the tip of the strap she’s wearing.

It was ours, even though she wouldn’t call it that.

We kept it at my apartment, and she was the only one I used it with, but she got weird when I called it ours. So I kept that part to myself.

“Cari,” she says in a breathy moan. I tilt my hands on her throat to move her chin so she’s looking up at me.

“Yes, Honey. Tell me what you want.” I use my special nickname for her, the one I am only allowed to call her in bed. Or wherever else we hook up.

“I want you to fuck me harder,” she says. I let go of her throat to run my fingers through her short black hair and tug at the ends.

“Oh!” she gasps, and I smirk as I move my body so I can bounce easier on the strap. My knees will kill me later, but it’ll be worth it.

I bounce, hitting my g-spot each time, and I can feel myself dripping down my thighs. My hand wraps around Max’s throat again, and we keep eye contact. Her dark eyes melt into mine as I bite down on my bottom lip.

She tugs on her nipple piercings and I’m the one moaning.

They’re so out of character for her, but the first time I saw them, I almost melted into my panties.

Her tits are smaller than most, but so beautiful with the piercings.

And damn, when she plays with them, she could come from nipple play alone. Which she has, more than once, with me.

“Come on, Honey.” I grip her throat a little tighter.

She’s tugging on her nipples, the silver metal being pulled along with them, and she’s bucking her hips into mine at the same time. She likes it rough, and I like it however she does.

I rock harder, feeling the strap deep inside me. She’s watching my tits bounce while her free hand is on my thigh tattoo. I have the urge to reach for her hand, but I remember what happened the last time I did that.

She very clearly reminded me of what we were and that holding hands was ‘too intimate’ for us.

I agreed with her in the moment, and then spent three days crying about it.

It wasn’t her fault that I started to get blurred feelings about us.

I knew what this was when we got into it.

We’d been friends with benefits for over a year at this point.

The last thing I wanted to do was make it weird and lose what we had, again.

“Mmm, yes! Right there!” She groans as her eyes roll into the back of her head.

I use my free hand to reach between my thighs and touch my clit.

I pinch it lightly, knowing what gets me off the quickest. My pussy is soaked and throbbing.

I can’t hold on for much longer. Especially with Max groaning under me.

My eyes stay locked on her perfect lips, forming an ‘O’ as her body rocks into mine and her breathy moans escape.

“Oh fuck,” I mumble, something about watching Max finish always gets me.

My eyes shut as the orgasm rushes over me, and I mutter a string of curses as I cum.

I slide off the strap carefully and fall into the bed next to Max.

She wastes no time heading to the bathroom to clean off.

I reach for the washcloth I keep on my nightstand for this purpose and dry myself off.

Dropping it into the laundry basket at the end of my bed, I hear it plop in.

I pull a sheet over my body, which was quickly becoming covered with goosebumps from the cold.

The water is running in the bathroom, and I figure Max is washing the strap. I always tell her I’ll do it later but she takes care of it before I can. I wonder if she’s going to stay tonight.

It’s rare that she sleeps over, but sometimes after we would hook up she’d stay for a bit and watch a movie or something.

We used to hang out more, going to movies, dinner, or taking walks together through the park, but it has been a while since we’ve done anything like that.

Not since the first time we stopped hooking up.

We’ve been on and off more times than I care to remember, but this is our longest on.

Max comes out a few minutes later, the strap cleaned off, and she drops it in the dresser drawer full of toys. Then she looks around the room for her clothes and starts getting dressed.

I suck in a quiet breath. She doesn’t like to stay naked after sex. I only questioned it once at the beginning, and she said she felt more comfortable in her underwear. But when she pulls on her jeans too, I know she’s leaving.

Once she has on her jeans, I know she is thinking of a nice way to say goodbye. I wish she wanted to stay, but lately she has only been eating and running.

“You going home?” I ask, trying to sound casual, only to realize I am failing.

“Yeah, early morning tomorrow. Bridal shoot before noon.” She shrugs in between buttoning her jeans and tugging on her black t-shirt.

God, why does she have to look so hot with or without clothes on? I groan internally. I knew better than to get attached to her, but it wasn’t like I could help it.

Max is sex on a stick, a butch that is femme kryptonite.

I’ve seen the way people look at her, and the way they thirst over her online.

Sure, I get thirsted on online too, but I’m not replying to anyone beyond a polite thank you.

Max is single according to all her profiles, and I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me.

“Nice, have fun.” I try to sound relaxed. But it’s no use. Max raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t say anything as she puts her Vans on.

“Thanks, see you later this week?” she asks as she tugs on her black jean jacket.

“Sure,” I manage to say without sounding excited.

Max winks before letting herself out of my bedroom.

She looks around first, making sure she isn’t going to run into my roommate, and then heads out the front door.

It clicks behind her, and I collapse into the pillows.

Staring at the ceiling, I ignore the feeling of wanting to cry.

It wasn’t my fault that Max doesn’t want a relationship.

She doesn’t want one with anyone; it’s not just me.

So how can I be hurt by something like that?

I just wish I could shut off my heart in these moments.

I used to be so good at friends with benefits.

I could stay unattached like no one’s business.

But the last time I felt that unattached, I broke someone’s heart.

I miss Gus. I was their friend, and I still feel like shit about stringing them along.

But I thought it might make Max commit if she knew I was with someone else.

Yeah, I know how shitty that sounds. Which is why lately I haven’t been hooking up with anyone except Max.

I guess I’ve become one of those hopeless friends with benefits who hope they’ll change their mind.

Sighing, I pick up my phone and look at my notifications.

There is nothing pressing in my texts, so I leave them alone for now and head to Instagram first. Thousands of comments and likes are flooding my feed.

Most of them praising me for being so body positive and brave, a word I hate.

Why are fat girls who post themselves on the internet always referred to as brave?

I sigh. It is a common occurrence, but whatever.

I recently did a brand deal with a queer-founded organic makeup company in the city. I tried the products and loved them, so I made a makeup tutorial and did a little shoot.

The company is super happy about how the collab is going, so it is only a matter of time before they ask for another. I’ve got over 1.1 million followers, which makes me a mid-range influencer; most of them are there for my body-positivity content.

It had started by accident, posting photos without filters. Posting my bikini photos with stretch marks, my stomach rolls, all of it on display.

I’m not ashamed of my body, not like the media wants me to be.

And after I weeded out the losers who made unfriendly comments, I found my following by being authentically myself.

I shop local in the city, post about what I actually enjoy and where to find plus-size clothing that don’t make you look pregnant or a hundred years old.

It is successful enough that I could quit my job and do this for a living. It makes my taxes a pain in the ass, but besides that, it is fun.

My phone buzzes with a reminder alert

*Therapy on Monday at 11:15 a.m. Click to confirm*

I confirm my appointment and close my phone. I need a shower, and I hate to wash off the smell of Max so soon, but at least I’ll still have her on my sheets.

I’m having breakfast with my best friends, Aspen and River, tomorrow, and I need to look presentable. They are still in their honeymoon phase.

They married over a year ago after finding each other again at a LULY concert, their sapphic singer, and falling back in love. I was hesitant at first, knowing how heartbroken River was the last time Aspen left, but she happily proved me wrong.

I get out of bed, wrap a robe around me, and head to the front door to lock it properly.

The bottom lock clicked into place behind her, but before I become Jamie Lee Curtis’s mom in the shower, I want to lock the second one.

Sure, I live in midtown, but I don’t want to risk it; there are bad people everywhere.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were still up,” my new roommate, Hazel says.

“Just about to shower, I wanted to make sure everything was locked up,” I explain.

“Ah, I was up drawing. Do we have any coffee? I’m trying to stay awake.” She smiles.

I don’t know much about Hazel, she answered an ad in the paper a month ago.

When Aspen moved out I realized how much having someone rent a room helped out financially.

It was nice to put into my savings every month.

Hazel was the most relaxed of the applicants, and she was looking for an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop.

So I introduced her to River, and because she’s talented, River agreed to hire her.

“I think there’s coffee by the mugs.” I am more of an iced coffee drinker, but every so often I enjoy a hot cup on a cold night.

“Yes! Thanks.” She starts fixing it, and I head back to the bathroom.

I’m still feeling a bit on edge since Max left, and the last thing I want to do is go to bed. So I put the shower on as hot as it will go and hope the steam will relax me. I have photos to take this week, and I don’t want to have bags under my eyes for them.