Chapter Thirty-nine
Abigail-Ann
“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”
~ Lao Tzu
T he only thing I hated more than having anxiety was how crippling and debilitating it was.
A tear slipped down my cheek, soaking into the pillow beneath me. I didn’t bother wiping it away.
It was just me and the silence. Me and the thoughts that wouldn’t stop clawing at me.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
The storm in my head was too loud, my chest too tight, and I felt like I was drowning. My pulse hammered in my ears, so fast it felt impossible to catch up.
I turned toward Mikkel, my voice barely a whisper. “Mikkel.”
He didn’t stir. I swallowed hard, my heart racing, and shook his arm lightly. “Mikkel,” I tried again, a little louder this time, my voice breaking.
His brow furrowed as he shifted, still half in a deep sleep.
“I can’t breathe,” I said, my words spilling out. “I can’t—Mikkel, I can’t stop thinking—”
His eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright like I’d pulled him from the depths of a dream. “Red?” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep as he reached for his glasses on the nightstand. He shoved them on quickly, blinking at me in the dim light. “What’s wrong, baby?”
Tears burned my eyes as I struggled to get the words out. “I can’t,” I choked, my voice shaking. “I can’t… I can’t breathe.”
“I’m here with you.” His voice softened into something calm and steady. He moved closer to me, careful but determined. “Let’s do this together, okay? Can you trust me for a minute?”
I nodded weakly, my breath still shallow, my hands gripping the blanket tightly.
“Alright,” he said gently. “We’re going to try something. Follow my lead, mi amor. 102 ”
He rubbed his hands along mine, grounding me for just a second before he spoke again. “Tell me three things you can see.”
I blinked at him, my mind still racing.
“Three things,” he said softly. “Anything. Just look around and tell me.”
My eyes darted across the room. “The… the lamp. Your glasses. The pillows.”
“Good,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “Tell me three things you can hear.”
“Your breathing,” I whispered. “The ceiling fan. And…” I hesitated, closing my eyes. “Your voice.”
Mikkel nodded, brushing a thumb over the back of my hand. “Perfect. Now move three body parts. Can you do that for me?”
I swallowed and nodded, flexing my fingers, rolling my shoulders, and wiggling my toes beneath the blanket.
“You’re doing so well, Red.” Relief softened his face. “Can you breathe with me now? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”
I matched his pace as he counted, his tone calm. My chest was still tight, but breathing came easier. I clung to his hand, grounding myself.
When the worst of the storm passed, my breath steadied, and exhaustion settled in, my shoulders sinking with relief.
“Feeling better?” Mikkel asked softly, brushing the back of his fingers against my cheek.
I nodded, unable to say much more than, “A little.”
“Do you want to go sit by the window?” he offered. “Get some air?”
I shook my head immediately. “I just want to stay here.”
“Okay,” he said quickly. “That’s okay.”
He sat up against the headboard, pulled me close, and pressed a lingering kiss to my head as he spoke. “I’m right here with you, and we’ll do whatever you need.”
I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear, but Mikkel wasn’t done yet. He rubbed circles into my back, whispering soft reassurances: I was safe, it would pass, and he wasn’t going anywhere.
When that didn’t fully calm me, he gently placed my hand on his chest. “Feel that? I’m breathing with you, baby. We’ll take it one breath at a time.”
When my shoulders tensed again, he murmured, “Wanna hear a story? Something to distract you?”
I nodded faintly against him.
He started sharing memories from his childhood in the Dominican Republic—climbing mango trees with Emilia and sneaking bites of habichuelas guisadas or bunuelos when their parents weren’t looking.
“Did you get caught?”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. “Never. We played it cool, but deep down, we thought they knew.”
The storm hadn’t disappeared completely, but Mikkel held me steady as the waves crashed. He didn’t let me drown. He never let me drown.
As I finally started to drift off, Mikkel pressed another kiss to my hair and whispered, “I’m proud of you, baby. So proud. You’re gonna be okay.” We stayed there for a moment longer, just breathing together, until my eyelids grew heavy.
The next morning, I checked the clock and saw it was past twelve. I hadn’t realized I’d slept so late. Panic crept in, but then I remembered it was my day off. I relaxed back into the pillow, letting the tension melt away. That’s when I noticed a note on the nightstand.
I had to leave early for a meeting. Call me when you’re awake.
Love, Mikkel.
I called, but he said he’d call back soon since his meeting wasn’t over yet. After a deep breath, I got up, brushed my teeth, prayed, and threw on one of his shirts before heading to the kitchen for leftovers.
I cleared the counters—tossing the wilted flowers and putting away the dishes. Whenever anxiety crept in, I used the four-four-four breathing method Mikkel showed me, and it worked wonders.
By the time I was done, my head felt clearer, and the knot in my chest had loosened. I called my family to catch up, then spent twenty minutes on Duolingo, though I was pretty sure the bird was judging me.
When the session ended, I checked my phone and saw new messages from Mikkel.
S: Hey baby. The meeting just ended.
S: How are you feeling?
Me: So much better. I can’t thank you enough for all you do.
S: You never have to thank me. I’m always here.
S: I’m picking you up at five.
Me: I know better than to ask where we’re going, so I’ll see you then.
S: Good girl. *yellow heart*
God, what am I gonna do with this man?
Five o’clock came, and I knew it was Mikkel when I heard the knock at the door.
I sauntered over in black boyfriend jeans and a yellow crop top with HOT stitched across the center.
I swung the door open, and there he was. His cologne wrapped around me like a slow embrace. Honey-brown eyes behind black glasses, perfectly straight white teeth, and lips that made my knees weak.
He held a bouquet of the most stunning yellow and white primroses, a thoughtful gesture that never failed to touch my heart.
“Gonna let me in, Red?”
I blinked, realizing I’d been standing there, staring.
I stepped aside quickly. “Sorry… I spaced.”
He handed me the flowers, his fingers brushing mine, and warmth spread through my chest.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “The last set you got me wilted, so I threw them out today.”
“I know,” he said casually.
“How?”
“Every time I buy you flowers, I keep a few at home to know when to replace yours.”
My breath hitched .
He wasn’t just giving me flowers—he was keeping track, making sure I always had fresh ones. The ones in his kitchen weren’t just decoration. They were for me.
I stared at him, my heart pressing against my ribs. “You… do that for me?”
He shrugged, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “Flowers make you happy, and your happiness matters to me.”
I reached up, cupping his face, struggling to find the words. But what could I even say? How could I possibly articulate the way he made me feel?
His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his voice husky. “Todo para ti, nena . 103 ”
Then he kissed me. And God, God , did he kiss me.
It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate—it was slow, deep, devastating. Like he was trying to say everything without words. Like he needed me to feel it, to understand what I meant to him.
My fingers tangled in his curls, knees weak as his lips brushed mine again and again. When he pulled away, breath unsteady, his grip remained firm.
“And your outfit?” he whispered. “ It’s hot. You’re gorgeous.”
A slow smile curled my lips. “Wait till you see what’s under it.”
His jaw tensed. “What’s under it?”
“Nothing,” I whispered, turning away to gather my hair into a bun.
A sharp inhale. A groan. A second of silence.
Then his hand was around my throat, firm but careful, tilting my head back until my lips were inches from his.
I gasped, fingers gripping his wrist. His eyes darkened, molten with heat.
“You say things like that,” he rasped, “and expect me to walk away?”
His thumb brushed over my pulse, feeling how erratic it had become, how much I wanted this.
Then he kissed me again—harder, deeper. Like he needed to. Like he was two seconds from losing control.
I whimpered against his lips, my fingers tightening around his wrist, and his hold flexed, just for a second, before he groaned and let me go, stepping back like it physically pained him.
“Let’s go before I forget where I’m supposed to be taking you.” His voice was rough, strained.
Smirking, I grabbed my bag.
By six, we were out the door, and by seven, we arrived at our date spot. Mikkel stepped away for a moment, stirring my curiosity.
When he returned, he opened my car door, his jaw still tight. “Come on.”
Intrigue buzzed through me as I followed him inside, then stopped short.
A pottery studio.
“I thought we could take a class tonight.”
My jaw dropped.
Romantic. Thoughtful. Perfect.
And this man? He was going to ruin me.
“You are incredible,” I gasped, touched by his thoughtfulness.
He nodded, his smile widening. “Number eight on your bucket list.”
A delighted laugh bubbled out of me as I threw my arms around him, overcome with gratitude and something even deeper—something I wasn’t quite ready to name.
The instructor greeted us with a warm smile, her apron speckled with colorful splotches of clay. “Welcome! I’m Sierra, and I’ll be guiding your lesson tonight.”
Mikkel and I exchanged excited glances as she led us to our designated pottery wheels. The studio was bathed in soft light, the steady hum of spinning wheels and the faint, earthy aroma of clay surrounding us.
“First things first,” Sierra began, her voice animated. “Let’s get our hands dirty! Grab a block of clay and start centering it on the wheel.”
Mikkel flashed me a wicked grin. “You ready to get your hands dirty, Red?”
I chuckled, catching his teasing tone. “In more ways than one. ”
Sierra laughed. “That’s the spirit! Pottery is all about letting go and embracing the imperfections.”
Mikkel’s attempt at shaping a bowl turned into something resembling a lopsided muffin.
“I may have created a new art form,” he mused. “Good thing business is my strong suit.”
Sierra winked at him, which made something tighten in my stomach. I brushed it off, not wanting to ruin the moment over something so insignificant.
“Picasso had his blue period,” she said, “so I wouldn’t worry too much.”
The class wrapped up with Sierra guiding us through the final steps of finishing and glazing our pieces. By the end of the night, we each had something to take home—mine was a bowl, his… a very abstract vase.
“Thank you both for coming,” she said warmly as we gathered our work.
“Thank you for having us!” I exclaimed, my heart still buzzing from the experience.
With our pottery “masterpieces” packed up, we walked to the car, and Mikkel turned to me with a grin.
“Did you have fun?”
A mini squeal slipped out before I could stop it. “I loved it! I can’t wait for our next art class.” I paused, catching my breath. “Thank God it was just us three; I’d have been nervous with others.”
He smirked. “Figured. That’s why I rented the whole studio.”
My steps faltered. “You what ?”
Mikkel chuckled, lacing his fingers through mine. “I wanted tonight to be perfect for you, Red.”
A flurry of nerves swarmed me.
Still riding the high of his thoughtfulness, we stopped at a nearby Shake Shack for burgers and milkshakes, replaying the best parts of the night.
Then, just as I was about to take another sip of my shake, Mikkel spoke .
“Also,” he said, his voice steady, “I’ve never met the instructor before.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Arnoldo recommended the studio,” he explained. “I secured the space, but that’s the first time I’ve ever seen her.”
I frowned slightly, confused. “I’m… not following.”
His honey-brown eyes flicked to mine. “When she winked at me, your grip tightened on the wheel, and you rolled your eyes.”
My breath hitched. “You saw that?”
His lips curled at the corner. “While you were looking at the wheel, I was looking at you .” His voice dropped, deep and deliberate. “ I’m always looking at you. But I wanted to address it because I know you’ll let it eat at you, and I don’t want that to happen.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. “Mikkel…”
He reached across the table, tucking a loc behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my skin.
“You don’t have to say anything, baby.” His voice softened. “I just need you to feel secure.”
The way he knew me, how he anticipated the things I wouldn’t even voice, left me undone.
I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger.
“You’re everything to me, Mikkel.”
His thumb brushed over my cheek, catching a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. His eyes never left mine, his expression raw, unguarded .
“You’re my infinity.”
Mikkel had made himself comfortable on my couch, lounging back in just his boxers like he belonged here, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
Cocky. Relaxed. Looking every bit the man who owned the moment.
But I wasn’t going to let him have the upper hand tonight.
I changed into pajama shorts and a sports bra before coming back, watching his gaze drag down my body, slow and heated .
I settled beside him, fingers dancing over his arm, tracing the ink curling over his muscles. Barely touching. Just enough to tease.
“I’m amazed every time I see them,” I murmured, dragging my nails lightly along his bicep.
Mikkel’s fingers flexed on his thigh, his breathing slowing. “They all mean something. A time, a place…a decision.”
My hand trailed lower, skimming the deep ridges of his stomach, stopping just before his waistband. I glanced up, watching the way his jaw clenched, the muscle there ticking.
“And this one?” I whispered, dragging my fingertips over a design near his ribs.
His abs tensed under my touch, his voice rough. “That’s a story for another time.”
A slow smile curved my lips.
I wasn’t looking for stories tonight.
I let my fingers wander lower, dragging along the deep ridges of his stomach. Barely brushing the band of his boxers.
His breath hitched.
I smirked, then slid off the couch and settled onto my knees between his legs.
Mikkel’s entire body went rigid.
His hands fisted at his sides, his jaw clenching so hard a vein popped in his neck.
“Red,” he rasped, his voice already wrecked.
I ignored him, pressing my lips against the outline of his cock—barely touching, just enough to tease—then pulling back like nothing happened.
A full-body shudder wracked through him. His abs clenched, his thighs tensed so hard they trembled.
“Oh,” I cooed, tilting my head up at him, “you liked that?”
His fingers flexed, fighting the urge to grab me, to force me closer. To make me stop teasing and just fucking touch him.
“Baby,” he groaned, his voice low and strained, like he was physically in pain. “ Please . ”
I pouted. “Please what?”
Mikkel’s thighs twitched, his cock throbbing visibly through his boxers, and I could hear the breath he sucked in through his teeth.
“Take it out,” he groaned out, his hips lifting slightly, chasing the ghost of my touch.
I giggled.
His hands twitched violently, his control hanging by a thread. “Abigail,” he warned, his voice breaking.
I let my fingers dance along the waistband of his boxers, slow , lazy , maddening , watching as his entire body locked up.
“I don’t know,” I teased, my lips ghosting over him again, the heat of my breath making his cock jump. “You’re being very impatient, Mikkel.”
His head dropped back against the couch, muscles pulled so tight he looked like he might snap.
“ Mierda , 104 ” he gritted, his fingers digging into his thighs so hard his knuckles went white.
Then, soft, desperate, ruined. “Baby. Please.”
My stomach fluttered, because fuck, I loved seeing him like this—wrecked, desperate just for me.
I ran my tongue along the thick outline of him again—slow, deliberate, just the barest pressure—and his full-body jolted.
“Ah, fuck,” he whimpered, his breath stuttering out.
His hips lifted, involuntary, desperate, chasing the heat of my mouth.
I pulled back again.
And he groaned, loud, tortured, head falling forward as he throbbed visibly in his boxers, body coiled tight, aching.
I traced him so softly it was barely a touch, just the tips of my nails dragging over the swollen length of him, and his entire body shuddered.
“You’re shaking,” I whispered, my voice sweet, taunting.
Mikkel let out a strangled, wrecked groan, thighs tensing around me, chest rising and falling like he just ran a fucking marathon.
“Red,” he panted, his voice so hoarse it barely made a sound.
Then, half Spanish, half broken breath. “ Por favor, mi amor. No puedo más. 105 ”
My smirk deepened, thrill rushing through me, because finally, finally I had him where I wanted him.
“Yeah?” I mused, trailing my tongue along his waistband, feeling his cock twitch violently beneath me.
His whole body twitched.
“Yeah,” he choked, wrecked beyond recognition, trembling under my hands.
I hooked my fingers under the band of his boxers.
Mikkel held his breath, his entire body going still, bracing for it.
Then, finally, I pulled them down—slow, torturous, letting him feel every single second of relief creeping in.
And when my mouth finally touched him, Mikkel let out a guttural, broken groan. His head snapped forward, fingers tangling in my hair like he never intended to let me go.
“How’d you get it?” My fingers traced over the piercing, feeling his body tense beneath my touch.
Mikkel’s breathing hitched. “I don’t really wanna talk about that when you’re…” He paused. “Fuck, baby.”
“When?” I squeezed harder, my hand moving with deliberate slowness. I wanted to hear him say it.
He exhaled. “Abigail.”
“Use your words, love,” I teased as I stroked from the base of his shaft to the head, letting my thumb tease the piercing again, watching his eyes darken with lust. “When I’m doing what?”
“Baby,” he whispered, his voice breathless. “When you’re about to suck my cock.”
“See? Wasn’t that easy?” My closed lips experienced the heat that was radiating from his cock, the wetness from the tip, and the pulsing from the head. I parted my lips and felt the perfect sensation of his tip slipping between them.
The metal felt so good, so different , on my tongue.
“ Joder , Red, 106 ” he moaned and grabbed a fist full of my hair, “keep sucking my cock like that, mi reina. 107 ”
His praises only pushed me further and I kept gliding my tongue over the head. I traced the ridge with my tongue, sucking easily on the head, while still jerking his dick with my hand.
Continuing for a moment, I let my lips follow my hands until reaching the base, releasing it as I focused on sucking harder before pulling away.
I dragged my tongue along the underside of his cock, and then massaged the head, hard, causing him to let out a groan of pleasure.
“Fuck,” he muttered and tightened his fist. “I love feeling my cock down your throat, baby.”
I pushed my head forward a couple of times and grinded his cock into my throat. As I snuck my tongue out, licking his balls, I heard him scream a trail of curse words and let out a very audible moan.
His sounds of pleasure, combined with the fact that sucking him off turned me on more than almost anything else, made me start to squirm. Unable to resist, I snuck a hand into my shorts, and feeling the immense wetness and heat, I was compelled to give my pussy a long stroke.
I settled into an easy routine, sucking in quickly and deeply, each time deepthroating him, as I stroked my clit and so my orgasm washed me.
He gently pushed me off, firm enough to take control but careful not to hurt me. Taking my hand, he led me to the bedroom, undressing me until only my bra remained. Lying down, he motioned for me to straddle his face, then guided me back down, silently instructing me to continue.
I submitted, happily, and started to ease back into the blowjob, but the second his tongue connected with my pussy, it was over. My thoughts vaporized . I got closer to gagging on each stroke, somehow seeming to take his cock deeper.
“Spin around,” he commanded and I took his cock from my mouth, turning around to straddle him.
Before speaking, his hands explored me, tracing every inch. He kissed, caressed, and marked my skin, his grip firm, his touch possessive. I was lost in him— lost in bliss.
“Ride me, baby,” he rasped, “I wanna feel your tight, wet cunt on my cock.”
His accent was ten times stronger than normal and that alone was bound to make me cum again. With weakened knees, I slowly lifted my body, as he aligned himself with my entrance and I slid down on his cock, feeling fuller than the last time we fucked.
“Oh fuck,” I whispered.
Slowly, I started grinding my pussy down on his dick, getting deeper as he unfastened my bra and tossed it to the side of the room.
“Te gusta cuando mi polla está dentro de ti, ?verdad? 108 ” he groaned.
“Huh?” I asked, breathlessly.
“You like when my cock is deep inside you, don’t you?”
I chuckled, fixing my angle and leaning over his mouth for him to bite my nipples while I rode him. He placed one hand on my other breast, while his other hand squeezed and caressed my ass before spanking me, urging me to ride him faster. I lifted myself until only the pierced head remained inside me, then came down hard, feeling him fill me completely as I moved against him.
“Do that again,” he instructed, pinching my nipple and slapping my ass.
Without wasting any time I continued riding until both of our bodies got tossed up into strong, intense orgasms. My orgasm was so strong, that I plopped right beside him, trying, and failing , to catch my breath.
“It was a dare,” he whispered in between breaths.
“What?”
He brought my hand down to his cock. “The piercing.”
“Who dared you?”
“Arnoldo,” he responded. “Almost six years ago.”
“That’s intense,” I responded, which came out as more of a question.
“I got my payback,” he said and nuzzled into my neck. “Are you okay?”
“Better than ever, baby.”
Pulling me into a hug, he mumbled, “Eres asombrosa, mi dulce mujer. 109 ”
My mind was too scrambled to process his words, but by the time he finished caressing me, planting soft kisses, and whispering sweet nothings, I drifted off to sleep.