Chapter 7
JAMIE
I’m counting down the last twenty minutes of my shift. Wednesdays are usually a bit slower, but it hits differently today. Every phone call I make, every patient I check in is a step closer to me going home. For once, I actually can’t wait to wrap up work and go home.
Last night was the first night I spent in the new apartment, and I still can’t get over how different, how perfect it was.
The quiet struck me first. Not just less noise than my old studio—actual quiet. Like the walls are thicker, or the world is a bit kinder within them. I had no idea a place could feel like that.
I’d also forgotten what a proper, hot shower feels like.
With my old one, I suspected that standing outside in the rain might do a better job of washing the day away.
This new one? Full, hot, pounding pressure that feels like a hug you don’t have to earn.
I took my time in it last night, letting the steam curl around me, letting everything melt off: the stress, the worry, the leftover ache from the move. Heaven.
Putting my toothbrush down next to Tyler’s after cleaning my teeth felt…strangely domestic. As did filling the vanity with my things. Granted, I don’t have many, but my previous bathroom was so tiny, with just a sink and a hanging mirror, I had to keep most things in a small basket on the floor.
And then there’s the mattress. God, the mattress. I can’t believe Blake left such a treasure behind. It was like sleeping on a cloud.
I didn’t even get to, um…do anything fun.
The second my head hit the pillow, I was out.
Only woke up in the middle of the night once, because it seems that rabbits come alive when the lights go out.
Fiona was scampering across my floor like a fluffy lightning bolt on a mission, running back and forth between the rooms. I kept laughing into my pillow every time she thumped past the door, then I fell asleep again.
I woke up refreshed, and without that lowkey anxiety that I will end up running late if I miss one of the connections, because now I live close enough to work that I can just walk.
In short, everything is easier. So much easier.
I’m practically bouncing as I lock up and leave the clinic, though I don’t go straight home. I need to make a detour first. I finally have a nice, big kitchen to cook in, so you can bet I’m gonna go all out and restock the fridge.
Even the walk to the grocery store is short—it’s wild how everything is suddenly convenient—and the whole time I’m thinking of recipes. I should start with something nice and simple, yet yummy.
I wander the aisles with purpose for once, picking out ingredients I haven’t been able to use in months. The bags are heavy by the time I’m done, but it’s a good heavy.
When I unlock the apartment door, warmth spills out—literal warmth from the central heating, and emotional warmth from the sight in the living room.
Tyler’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair wet and loose instead of tied into a bun, and Fiona in his arms, receiving her daily dose of pets.
I can’t even tell if the squirmy feeling in my stomach is from the cuteness overload or from jealousy.
Can I be reborn as a bunny? Please, and thank you.
“Hey,” I say, nudging the door closed behind me.
Tyler looks up, his relaxed expression transforming with a big, toothy smile. “Hey— Wow. You didn’t hold back,” he comments with a glance at the shopping bags.
“Yeah. I took advantage of the fact that I finally have enough space to buy this much stuff.” I make my way to the kitchen.
Tyler gently deposits Fiona on the floor and stands up. My mouth goes a little dry at the sight. I’ve seen him in sweatpants before, but today he looks especially casual. It’s such a good look on him, and combined with that smile, it’s deadly. Deadly to my self-control, to my heart.
I turn towards the counter and start unloading the bags.
I hear the soft thud of Tyler’s bare feet on the hardwood floor coming closer and closer.
My brain unhelpfully supplies me with an image of him coming up behind me, snaking his big, strong arms around my waist and hooking his chin over my shoulder as he whispers: “What are we having for dinner today?”
“What are you making?”
I let out a squeak, looking over my shoulder to find him. Right. There. His arms aren’t circling my waist, he’s not even touching me at all, but he’s so close; his voice, his scent, his body heat are so close my brain can hardly separate reality from my imagination. And neither can my dick.
“G-garlic honey chicken,” I blurt out the first thing I can think of. I’d been trying to decide what to cook the whole way home, so I guess this is it. I really hope I didn’t forget to buy garlic or honey. I know I bought chicken, at least.
One of Tyler’s eyebrows flicks up. “Interesting combination.”
I chuckle at his failed attempt not to sound judgmental. “I promise it’s good.” I turn to face him fully. “Do you…want some?” I try not to let my eagerness show.
“Oh. I was about to order takeout—I’ve been waiting for you to ask what you wanted—but…” He pauses, studying my expression. “You don’t mind me mooching off you?”
“You’re not, and it’s easier to cook for more people. Energy efficient too.”
“If you’re sure… I’d love to try your cooking.”
Ah shit. The pressure is on. I can’t fuck this up.
“Great. Well, this recipe is pretty quick.” I pull a frying pan from the cupboard. “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you have allergies? Dietary preferences? You must be on a special diet if you work out regularly, right?”
Tyler laughs. “Nah. I try to get my protein in around workouts, but that’s it. I eat when I’m hungry, and when I’m not…” He shrugs. “I’m not training for competition or anything.”
“Oh. Cool. Well, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
“Sweet. Thanks, Jamie. Let me know if you need help.” His large, heavy hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing briefly. Then he’s walking back to the living room. While I’m trying to calm down my treacherous, needy body. Fuck.
I fully immerse myself in cooking as a distraction. It works. I find myself smiling and humming different tunes as I cut, chop, and stir, all different delicious scents saturating the air.
At some point, Tyler wanders over again, Fiona tucked into the crook of his arm like a stuffed toy. When he stops next to me, his stomach lets out the world’s biggest growl.
We look at each other, laughing in unison.
“Almost done,” I tell him.
“I didn’t mean to rush you,” Tyler promises. “Don’t mind me. I was just curious to see what you’re doing. Looks like you’re having fun.”
“I am.” It warms me that he noticed, but it also makes me feel a bit shy. I’ve always felt shy doing something I enjoy when someone’s watching me.
Less than ten minutes later, I’m plating up for both of us.
My hand is a little shaky as I offer a plate to Tyler.
“There’s more if you want seconds, but I figured I should go easy in case you don’t like it.
” I’d hate for him to think that I’m skimping on him, or forcing him to eat something he doesn’t like.
Tyler accepts the plate with a huge smile, our fingers brushing in the process. “It smells amazing, I bet it tastes even better.”
We take our plates to the couch, sitting only a short distance apart with Fiona nestled between us.
I hold my breath as I watch Tyler lift the fork to his lips and blow on the first bite before popping it into his mouth. His jaw works for a couple of seconds, his eyes widen and…he freaking moans. It’s not loud, not dramatic. It’s soft, almost involuntary, and that makes it so, so much worse.
“So good,” he says, before shoving another forkful into his mouth.
I duck my head, cheeks burning. It’s ridiculous how warm I feel, and not just between my legs. I start on my own plate, barely tasting anything. Tyler seems oblivious to the internal meltdown he’s caused, already reaching for another bite.
“This is seriously so good, Jamie,” more praise pours out of him.
I currently run a very real risk of spontaneously combusting. I can barely get out, “Thanks,” without my voice cracking.
Then, thank God, Tyler suggests we watch a movie while we eat.
I nod when he brings up a title, not even paying attention.
Instead of the TV, I watch him go to town on his portion.
I don’t know what to look at first. The way his throat bobs when he swallows, the momentary flutter of his eyelids whenever he takes another bite, the way the muscles in his neck work as he chews… Jesus, it’s like watching porn. Live.
I almost die when he looks down at the plate he’s polished off, frowning as though the thing offended him by being empty, before he turns his gaze to me and grins. “You said there are seconds?”
I laugh, the sound a little hysterical. I stretch out a hand so he can give me the plate, but he shakes his head, and gets up. I’m still working on my portion when he comes back with seconds, and finally manage to watch some of the movie. It seems to be a comedy, that much I gather.
After dinner, I offer to clean up, but Tyler won’t have it. “Nah, you cooked. I’ll handle the dishes.”
Another burst of warmth spreads through me as I wander off to shower, using the time to sort through the emotional rollercoaster of tonight.
And the physical one. As soon as I'm alone, I grab my dick, stroking it hard and fast. There’s no point in taking it slow—I’m so fucking sensitive, so close already.
It feels as if everything that’s happened since Friday has been one prolonged foreplay, like I’ve been edged to hell and back.
This isn’t the time to be sensual and enjoy the ride, this is purely for relief.
It takes less than a dozen strokes before I’m coming all over the tiles. It’s barely satisfying.
I make sure to wash the tiles properly, then take my sweet time to clean myself, everywhere. I’m so highly strung that just cleaning my ass has my dick hardening, small sparks of pleasure scattering all over my body.
Once I’m squeaky clean, I make quick work of brushing my teeth, wish Tyler and Fiona goodnight and disappear into my room. This time, I shut the door. Which means no midnight visits from Fiona, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I need this tonight.
I rummage through the bottom drawer of my dresser, settling on a medium sized purple dildo. It should be enough to satisfy me, but not too big that I’d need a ton of prep. I really don’t have the patience for it right now.
I strip completely and settle at the center of the bed, remembering at the last minute to put a towel down—I don’t know how I’d explain the constant laundry to Tyler.
I grab the lube from the nightstand, flicking the bottle open.
Now that I’m in the privacy of my room, nice and relaxed, my skin warm from the shower, I find I can’t wait.
I slick up my fingers, shoving two into my ass right away.
I barely notice the sting, so wound up already.
If anything, the mild pain feels good, highlighting the pleasure that I know awaits.
Perhaps too quickly, I add a third finger, sliding it in alongside the other two.
The sting is more pronounced now, but my cock is leaking onto the towel, a buzzing sensation spreading through my abdomen.
Okay, that’s it. I really can’t wait.
I cover the dildo in lube, but not too much.
I want to feel the stretch, want to feel it drag across my rim as I push it in.
Want to feel every inch filling me up. It’s the best part—the initial slide as the place where I always feel so empty is filled, bit by delicious bit, until I’m nice and full.
This one doesn’t have a suction base—instead it has a sack, which means my arm will be dead by the time I’m done, but who cares?
I bite my lip as I lie on my side and reach behind me.
The head of the dildo, thick and hard, presses against my twitching hole.
I hiss slightly at the cold sensation—that’s the thing that always throws me off when it comes to toys, no matter how many times I do this.
After a few seconds I don’t even notice anymore.
With a deep breath, I push the dildo in.
The head pops past my rim instantly, my eager body pulling it in. A whimper leaves me, and I force it deeper. I try to go slow, I really do, but once another inch is inside me, I snap. I drive my hips back until I feel resistance against my cheeks.
It’s all in. I’m full.
I let out a shuddery breath, taking a few moments to just focus on the sensation. On the feeling of being filled. The length inside me is hard and unyielding. It’s not warm. It won’t move if I don’t move it. It won’t twitch or throb if I squeeze around it. It won’t pump me full of cum.
But…that’s okay. This is enough. It’s always been—had to be enough. Always will.
A stray tear runs down my cheek. I ignore it, pulling the dildo out halfway before pushing it back in.
Then again, and again, until I find a steady rhythm.
I purposefully aim the toy away from my prostate, wanting to draw this out.
To be frank, I could come just from this, just from being stretched, from the friction on my hole, but it would take a little time.
My prostate, on the other hand, is an express button to nirvana, so I stay away.
I don’t know how long I keep at it. At some point, I become impatient.
My wrist is on fire, but I pick up the pace, shoving the dildo in up to the hilt, then pulling it almost completely out.
The long, rough glide feels so fucking good I almost sob.
I bite the pillow to muffle the sounds, just in case.
When I can’t hold out any longer, I aim the dildo downwards and bury it in my ass completely.
It hits my prostate, making me cry out into the pillow.
It doesn’t send me over the edge, though, so I adjust my grip and grind the dildo into the same spot, barely even pulling it out anymore.
Just a subtle flexion of my wrist that has the head of the toy digging into the same spot over and over again.
I come with a muffled cry, my body convulsing as I ride the wave. So. Fucking. Good.
I let go of the dildo and focus on evening out my breaths. I suddenly feel tired. The dildo stays buried inside me, and it feels so nice, so right to be this full.
I drift off like that, spent and relaxed, feeling full and yet…so empty.