Chapter Fifteen
Appa
It’s a normal Friday. Errands, stories, product hauls, new launches, and endless coffee. It’s routine at this point. If I don’t post, my engagement decreases. And when my metrics dip, companies don’t feel incentivized to work with me, putting my income on the line.
On today’s to-do list: Test a new, state-of-the-art flat iron with ceramic plates and smart technology.
As in, it’s app-controlled and can be turned off remotely, from my phone.
Which is genius because I can’t count how many times I’ve left the house wondering if I left my straightener on.
Same goes for the curling iron, so if they could put their smart technology in one of those, that’d be fantastic.
The flat iron chimes when it’s ready and sends me a push notification.
Time to film!
In the video, I explain the app, my real-life application for it, and how my hair looks.
I used to blow my hair out and straighten it a lot, but in recent years, I have opted to wear it curly.
For a while, I was in a phase where I went to the beach daily and wanted my hair to look effortlessly wavy, like the tall, toned surfer girls.
When I’m finally done forcing my natural curls into flat submission, I take a selfie with the iron and upload it to my story with a small disclaimer regarding the sponsorship.
I need to tag the brand, but their page isn’t coming up when I try to tag them.
I save the draft and switch to look at my recent searches, but my finger freezes when I see Rook at the top of my search history with an illuminated ring around his profile picture.
He never posts to his story.
I don’t follow him on my verified despite that we’ve messaged several times, and my finger trembles as I hover over his profile picture.
I shouldn’t open it… But maybe he wants me to open it.
He’ll know if I do.
Dammit, what’s a girl to do?
My thumb betrays me, and the image pops up…a simple, close-up picture of his abs in the dark, illuminated by the moonlight just enough to make out the hard ridges. At the bottom lies a simple caption: ‘You asked for it.’
My stomach drops.
Then fills with flutters like carbonation under my ribs.
It’s like a secret message posted publicly for me. The story minimizes back to my searches before I can fully process it. My eyes blur as my brain registers how to decipher the photo. I’ve followed Rook for years to know it’s targeted.
The flat iron chimes again from the table, snapping me back to reality.
“Ah!” I exclaim as my heart nearly pops out of my chest. My phone vibrates in my hand, and my loosened grip nearly lets it somersault out of my hand.
I blink twice to refocus on the screen. A little red chat icon pops up—it had to be from someone I’d messaged before.
@Rook: Tonight.
One word confirms so much. I tap my nails on the screen but can’t bring myself to type anything. I leave him on read because, sarcastically, that obviously went so well the last time. But honestly, how am I supposed to respond to that?
He’s right that I asked for it the last time he was here a week ago, and he warned me not to cry when I got it.
Heat pricks the back of my neck. I’m not sure what to make of that.
I don’t think he’d physically harm me, but I have no idea who he really is.
It could be bad, but there’s no backtracking now.
Why did I have to be such a brat the last time?
I’m not usually that way. But then I remember my period. He showed up. Instead of taking advantage, he held me. Left a wine cork as if it were a piece of his soul. It’s like he’s softening. Like my light is rubbing off on him. I don’t think he could ever hurt me. Not really.
If we’re doing this tonight, I need to get myself ready.
Emotionally, mentally, and physically. As in, eat something for dinner, shower, shave, put some vanilla perfume on that smells like literal heaven.
On the flip side, it would fulfill the fantasy if it didn’t seem like I was waiting, but he told me he was coming here.
I press my fingers into my forehead as I contemplate what to do.
I still think dinner is a good idea; I’ve never been known for eating well.
I order a chicken Caesar salad from a local restaurant and schedule it for delivery.
I also add on a chocolate mousse because I’m an adult with adult money, and I deserve it.
Only Rook knows what’s in store for me, and if it goes too far, at least I’ll have had the chocolate mousse I wanted.
The sun sets too quickly today as the hours since his message slip by. All I can do is turn to my room and shower. I clip my freshly straightened hair up and step into the steamy warmth. As I drag my loofah over my skin, the body wash scents the air, mixing with the steam rising.
This almost feels like the perfect setup for Rook to slip in.
Of course, he’d cut the lights, leaving me in the darkness with only faint moonlight from the small window to give my eyes any sign that it’s him.
The loofah slips from my fingers and bounces onto the tile floor by my feet, and my hand slides down my stomach and lower, finding the slickness accumulating.
I back up against the wall, propping my foot up on the built-in tile seat in the corner.
My middle finger slips inside, but it’s not enough. Nothing could ever amount to him.
I gasp out, slamming my palms against the tile shower.
My heart’s already racing in my chest, and I need to save my energy.
I turn the water off and reach for the fluffy towel waiting for me just outside the shower door.
Stepping onto the microfiber bathmat, I glance down at my toes, still perfectly painted in apple red to match my fingers.
I step up to the vanity and unclip my hair, letting it collect just past my shoulders.
It’s getting wavy again from the humidity of the shower, but I just run my fingers through it to add volume back in.
I brush my teeth and apply my nighttime moisturizer.
An outsider looking in would think this is a normal Friday night for me, and that’s the point.
I apply lotion to my dry arms and legs. Again, something I’d normally do after a shower.
Reaching for the same robe I wore the second time with Rook, I pull it over my shoulders, fix the tie around my waist, and head to the kitchen to get some water.
I’ll probably want to be hydrated.
I’m pulling a water bottle out of the fridge when the lights cut out above my head and inside the refrigerator. I smirk to myself.
Alright, let’s play, Rook.
I take a sip of the water and set it on the counter, trying to let my eyes adjust, but it doesn’t matter. The air shifts heavier, and he’s standing in front of me within seconds.
“Get on your knees,” he orders.
Robby
“Knees. Now,” I repeat.
She dips down like the obedient good girl she is onto the hard tile kitchen flooring, and my fingers are on my belt buckle before her knees touch the floor.
I unclip my belt and unbutton my jeans to pull my ready cock out.
She already knows what’s about to happen, and her tongue licks me before I can stop her.
I lightly tap her cheek with my hand, never hard enough to mark her perfect face.
“I didn’t tell you to do that,” I whisper. “You’re going to want to listen tonight. Open wide.”
I knew she would, and I thrust into her mouth as far as she’ll take me.
I tangle my fingers in her smooth hair, holding her head in place, forcing her to take it all.
I’m sure her eyes are watering as her mouth tries to reject me, but I don’t let it.
Her throat tightens as her gag reflex is probably triggered, but she’s handling it so well.
You wanted more; don’t cry when you get it.
She steadies herself by gripping the edge of the counter as I continue to thrust into her throat. The way she’s rolling her tongue around me is going to undo me if I don’t switch gears, and we’re both going to wait a long, long time until we get to come tonight.
To draw this shit out as long as I can.
“Stand,” I say and withdraw myself from her mouth. She’s too dressed in that damn robe again.
Hmm, that’s an idea.
I reach for the tie, loosen it and rip it from her waist. I tuck it into my back pocket. “You’re not going to need this.” I push the robe from her shoulders, and it glides to the floor, pooling at our feet.
I reach down and pick her up with ease, gripping the bottom of her thighs hard enough that she’ll have fingerprint bruises for days.
She drapes her arms around my shoulders and presses her lips onto mine.
Hard. With meaning. Like she’s trying to tell me it’s deeper between us than whatever this is. But I’m Rook.
Or fucking trying to be. One last time for her.
I back her against a wall across from the kitchen, and a sharp gasp escapes from her lips. I know that was too hard, and I start for the stairs. Her urgent lips return to mine. I know she wants to be punished or, at least, to test me as far as she can.
I don’t have it in me to do anything to my dream girl, but dropping her onto her soft bed is something I can do. The room smells like her, and the air is heavier with more humidity than usual.
She got ready for you.
I reach into my back pocket for the robe tie. “Since you don’t want to behave,” I say. I wanted to do this last time, but it fits better tonight for what I have in store for her. She’s not going to be able to fight back.
You want Rook to pay you back for the sass? He’s going to.
I walk around the bed toward the headboard and tie the silk around the post before securing her wrists above her head, so her arms are tethered.
“Wait, what?” she protests with a cracking voice. She tugs at the tie, testing her arms to see if she can move them.
I’ll rub your shoulders later.
“That’s right, baby girl.”