Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Chesteria
“His Eyes? Locked on Me. His Hands? All Over Me. My Pride? Slipping”
Iwoke up to warmth. Not the kind that came from body heat, but the kind that let me know the generator hadn’t failed, and the wood stacked under the fireplace was still doing its job.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and noticed I had ten unread messages.
I blinked. “Now who the hell died?”
I opened the group thread, and the first thing I saw was:
Bryce (6:12 AM): ??OFFICIAL CABIN RULES THAT WE ARE NOT ABOUT TO DEBATE ??YES, I’M TEXTING Y’ALL… IN CASE ANY OF YOU TRIES TO HAVE AMNESIA LATER! ADRIAN AND ISIS, DON'T ASK ME NOTHING… JUST READ!”
Attached to the message was an even longer list of ridiculous, over-the-top, strict, savage, and, hilarious—clearly Bryce-style survival rules.
I slowly exhaled a laugh.
The day before, Bryce had made sure to get everybody’s number. He said it was “for emergencies only” so folks wouldn’t be banging on doors or yelling names across the halls.
Yeah… that wasn’t the reason. This right here was the real reason.
Of course, Isis was the first to respond… and immediately.
Isis: Bryce, this looks like an HOA contract! My spirit is overwhelmed!
Adrian: Do we have to sign this or what?
Bryce: Scroll back up to the part that says DON'T ASK ME NOTHING! But you sign it by following it.
Isis: I’m with Adrian, because I have more questions! If I poop after midnight, do I need to notify somebody?!
Bryce: Only if it’s loud. Otherwise, flush and face your demons privately.
Adrian: What if it echo and splash? That’s a two-rule violation?
Bryce: That’s a warning and toilet scrub duty. Don’t test me.
Isis: This is harassment! My bowels have rights!
Bryce: Not after midnight. Then… your bowels belong to the cabin.
I shook my head, smiling. I had heard enough.
I simply replied:
Me: Noted.
Bryce: Good.
And even though his “good” was one word, I felt the warmth tucked under it.
I glanced at the time on my phone: 7:15 AM.
Ugh.
The evening before, I’d made a pot of beef stew—something hearty and filling—since they’d demolished the chili I cooked that Saturday like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
So luckily, they were good on lunch and dinner for the day.
But breakfast? Yeah… that was still on me.
Since I was on cooking duty for the rest of the trip and was obligated to cook at least one meal a day, that day, it was breakfast.
I groaned, rolled out of bed, gave a half-stretch like that was going to make me feel better, then slipped on my house shoes to find the nearest bathroom and pee before getting started.
The hallway was a little too quiet for how many adults with different personalities were packed in that cabin.
The door to the bathroom was cracked, so I assumed somebody must’ve left it that way. So, naturally, I walked in with my head down, phone in hand, and mind still foggy from sleep and morning attitude. What I wasn’t focused on… or damn sure wasn’t prepared to see was Bryce.
Dripping… shirtless… fresh out of the shower.
Steam danced off his skin like it was seduced by the heat he carried, and a white towel hung dangerously low on his waist, clinging to his hips like it was afraid to fall.
And right there— arrogant and unforgiving, under the fabric—was the unmistakable outline of him.
His print stretched the towel like it had a mind of its own.
That damn thing wasn’t even trying to hide; it was trying to remind me what it used to do, what he used to do, and what I used to beg for with legs trembling and voice hoarse.
One wrong move, and all our old business was gonna be on display like it never ended.
What the hell is he doing in here anyway, when he’s sleeping upstairs, and there are two bathrooms up there? I wondered.
“Shit! Sorry!” I yelped, then spun around, hand covering my eyes like I hadn’t already memorized the curve, the thickness, and the damn swing.
Somehow—through God or panic—I managed to close the door on my way out. I fumbled for the doorknob, blindly reaching, only for his warm and familiar hand to gently catch my wrist.
“Chess.”
Bryce’s voice was deep, a little raspy, and too dangerous.
“Bryce, I didn’t know—” I blurted out, still facing the door like it could save me from the memory of how that dick used to split me in half and ruin my sense of direction.
He leaned in close enough for his chest heat to cling to my back, for the steam rolling off his body to kiss my shoulders like a warning.
His voice brushed my neck, low and lazy, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “You already seen it, baby. Might as well look me in the face while you act like you ain’t missing it.”
My knees damn near buckled. ,
Bryce pulled himself away.
“Turn around,” he instructed in a calm, commanding, and sinful tone.
Like a horny fool with no sense of self-preservation, I turned around slowly.
And there it was.
Bryce had dropped the towel.
My eyes fluttered open like a damn idiot who should’ve known better.
His dick was thick, dark, hard, and veined like a weapon forged for destruction.
It stood proud and heavy, a slow, dangerous curve at the tip that made my thighs clench on instinct.
That thing wasn’t just big; it was commanding, like it expected my body to remember its job…
and my pussy damn sure did. I could already feel that familiar stretch, that deep, aching burn that used to have me crying his name into the sheets.
My breath got caught somewhere between a prayer and a moan.
“Ain’t nothing new, right?” he teased, voice low and smug, eyes never leaving mine. “Just upgraded… lil’ longer… lil’ thicker.” His hand slid around the base, stroking slow, and deliberate, making it jump. “Still yours if you want it.”
My knees damn near gave out. Heat rushed straight to my core, slick and needy, my body betraying every damn boundary my mind tried to hold.
And the worst part? I knew exactly how good it felt.
“Bryce,” I warned, trying to step back… but he stepped forward.
The scent of cedarwood and steam filled the air. And then… he pressed into me.
Bryce’s dick rested right against the soft ache between my thighs. No barriers were left; just hot skin to skin.
“You feel that?” he asked, voice low and ragged in my ear. “That’s what you do to me… still… after all this time.
Bryce’s chest molded to mine, all heat and hunger, while his hands slid down my waist like they’d never forgotten where to hold me.
The only thing I had on was a robe.
No bra. No panties. No protection. No excuse.
With one strong hand, Bryce slid beneath the hem of my robe, gripping a handful of my ass like it still belonged to him. His palm was rough, claiming, and spreading me just enough to feel how wet I’d already gotten, and how ready I was—even though I hadn't said a damn word.
His breath hitched low, deep, guttural.
“Damn,” he muttered, his fingers curling with purpose. “No panties, huh? You came in here like that, Chess?”
“Bryce,” I whispered again—weaker that time.
Pathetic.
“You walk in, looking like this, and I can’t even think straight. I miss you, C Baby,” he sweetly confessed, lips brushing my cheek. “I miss how you used to look at me like I was the only man on earth. I miss those little gasps you’d make when I kissed your neck, right... here.”
Bryce placed a slow, warm, and unhurried kiss beneath my ear like he was tasting a memory.
His Kiss? Soft. His Intentions? Not. My Heart? On Fire.
“And I miss how you used to grip my back like the world was ending, just from the way I stroked you,” he murmured, voice thick with need.
His confession was soft, raw, and spoken, like he’d been holding it in for too long.
My thighs pressed together on instinct, and my body betrayed me completely. My hips arched just enough to grind against him, slow and shamelessly.
I tried to back up. “Bryce, we—this—this isn’t a good—”
Bryce dipped down, whispering against my lips, “You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve looked at me these last few days? The way your eyes drop to my mouth… or how you bite your lip every time I walk by, like you trying to hold in a memory?”
His fingers slid along my thigh, possessive but gentle.
“Your body still remembers me, even if your pride won’t admit it. Every curve on you used to belong to me… and deep down, you know it still does.”
My fingers curled into the edge of the sink behind me, steadying myself.
He chuckled softly. "Exactly. That part right there… the way you get quiet like you scared of what you’ll do if you let go.”
I hated how right he was… and how wet I was.
Then, just like that, he kissed my cheek again… slower that time, almost reverent.
“I ain’t gonna push… not today. But know this—I want you hot, bothered, and haunted by the feel of this dick that’s been loyal to your memory for two years. I’m waiting impatiently for the moment you stop frontin’ and let me remind you exactly what the fuck you been missing.”
Then he stepped back, hands raised in mock innocence like he hadn’t just verbally bent me over a bathroom countertop and lit my soul on fire.
“You can go now.”
And I did. I stormed out with my head held high, my pride pretending not to limp, heart racing, and my pussy throbbing like it knew the man behind that voice had never missed a beat.
“From Rivals to Real Talk: When Two Women Finally Drop the Shade and Share the Truth”
An hour later, the kitchen smelled like sweet butter, turkey bacon, smoked sausage, maple cinnamon, and flirtation.
I moved like clockwork, slipping biscuits in the oven and drizzling syrup on fresh waffles.
I didn’t just throw breakfast together; I romanced the stove.
I wore the softest, curve-hugging loungewear I owned.
I didn’t do it for Adrian—I didn’t care if he noticed me or not.
The little feelings I might’ve had for him were dead and buried…
right next to the trust he killed. No, that was for me.