Chapter 22 #3
I did though. There was a tiny voice in my head chanting, yes, yes, take his cum, have his kids .
“Here, like this?” He checked.
Knit matching hats for the children and style family photo shoots.
“Inside you?”
Stay here forever.
I trembled in his arms, nodding. Yes .
“Yeah?” His eyes were assessing, hungry. “You want me to stuff you full of cum, Princess?”
It should have been literally impossible for me to orgasm without the careful combination we’d established of clitoral stimulation, penetration, and praise. But at those words— want me to stuff you full of cum, Princess? —I detonated .
My whole body quivered as all the curated tension in me collapsed in one fell swoop.
I would have fallen if it weren’t for Mike’s hands around my waist, holding me to him.
He thrust once, twice more, and then his body lost tension, his jaw going slack with a guttural groan.
He shot inside me, like I’d asked, like I wanted—like we both wanted.
I knew in the abstract that sex involved a lot of fluid, but suddenly, there was a whole gush of it.
His semen filled me, drenched me. Our juices coated his cock, but he still kept thrusting, fucking it back into me, a fixated look in his eyes.
I don’t know how he stayed on his feet because my limbs were buttered noodles, but somehow, he kept both of us up.
We stayed entwined, trying to catch our breath.
Together, we’d lost our minds, and together we had to come back to earth. Slowly. Mike carefully eased my legs back to the ground and helped me find my footing. I wobbled like Bambi, feeling a dribble down the insides of my thighs.
“That was—” He exhaled gustily. “Holy shit, Lyssa.” His eyes were locked on my thighs, watching the mess he’d made run.
“Yeah.”
I wanted to ask if he felt better now. But I caught the words just behind my teeth, because for one thing, I could see that he did. And for another, I didn’t want him to think I’d let him come inside me just because he was having a bad day.
Although I had.
But it was also more than that.
My brain was spinning. I was… I was in way too deep. When did this happen? Slowly, slowly and then all-at-once-with-the-speed-of-a-fucking-bullet-train.
We showered together—and Mike was right; there wasn’t enough space for two and he hit his head.
I got in my softest pajamas, and Mike fixed tacos for dinner.
I guzzled everything in my water bottle and peed three times before dinner was ready.
I didn’t know if you were more at risk of a UTI if you had unprotected sex than protected, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
After dinner, Mike watched something boring about sport on TV, and I picked out an outfit for dinner tomorrow, modeling the options. He was attentive and affectionate and extremely complimentary about all my outfits even though I knew he thought they were all kooky.
We didn’t talk about the potential impacts of what we’d done—what I’d suggested and he’d gladly accomplished—until we were tucked up in bed, the lights off. Even then, it was a few murmured words.
He assured me—repeatedly, which was unnecessary—that he hadn’t been with anyone in months and was healthy. I told him I had an IUD, which briefly confused him because he started talking about a company’s unique value proposition.
He didn’t bring up his meeting.
And I didn’t ask again, even though I was burning with curiosity.
We had time to have that discussion later.
Well. Kind of. I was freshly aware that I was here on a holiday visa, and Root Beer was at home waiting for me.
I needed to do something about that. Root would hate the flight and the quarantine period, which the internet said would be at least two weeks.
But we could do it. We could make this work.
Details were just… details. Everything would work out. It had to.
Mike fell asleep first, and his snores made me briefly reconsider living here. But when he cuddled me close and mumbled my name in his sleep, I flip-flopped.
Staring up at the dark ceiling, I surrendered to the mental montage of babies with brown eyes, mommy content sponsorships, petting zoos, watching Mike box literally every day, and families.
Sure, Mike had originally wanted to keep things between us secret, but what we’d done had changed that.
Obviously. You didn’t bareback with girls you weren’t serious about.
That’s why Paul was always so persnickety about condoms—because he didn’t actually like me.
Mike liked me and wanted to come inside me.
Mike loved coming inside me; right now he was mumbling in his sleep about doing it again.
I was so happy my cheeks ached. The things that had brought me here, the things behind me pushing me forward, driving me, didn’t feel as big anymore.
My mother? A concept, arbitrary. Loneliness?
A phase, insignificant. Ambition? My career was regenerating now, and I was stronger and more resilient than the trolls ever imagined.
Call me a bad person, call me selfish, but I’d mentally put my life in New York behind me now.
Bossi, Paul, the apartment my mom owned, my routine as a third wheel with Chase and Caroline, even Root Beer—I’d mentally wrapped a bow around my old life to focus on portraying an idyllic new one in Aotearoa, and I’d done it so well, it had become real.
Lying in bed, my limbs felt weightless. Experimentally, I flopped my arms to check they still worked. Affirmative.
Root would like it here. Mike had socks he could steal.
It didn’t matter anymore that I hadn’t gotten the family I wanted in life’s genetic lottery. I’d found a better one. Honestly, I wished it had occurred to me sooner to shop around.
Nothing behind me could hurt me anymore.
There were only good things ahead.