LOGINThe knife makes a clean sound against the cutting board. Carrot. Onion. Celery. I keep my eyes down and my breathing even and I do not think about this morning, about the coffee pot I almost dropped, about the way Michael looked at me over his newspaper when he said it. My brother’s staying with us a bit. Needs a place to crash. How long? That look. The warning folded inside it like a blade inside a hand. However long he needs. He’s family. Of course, I’d said. Carefully. The way I say everything now. I hear the motorcycle before it turns onto our street. That low, rolling growl, unhurried, like it owns the road and knows it. My hands still on the cutting board. I know that sound. I have hated that sound for years, through three Christmases and two funerals and one wedding where he sat in the third row and looked at me the entire ceremony like I was doing something he found privately amusing. The engine cuts in the driveway and my jaw tightens before I can stop it. D
I couldn’t concentrate all day. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw us in that gym. Felt his hands on me, his cock inside me, his voice calling me his dirty girl. By the time midnight came, I was already wet. I put on a bikini under my robe, grabbed a towel, and headed down to the pool. The hallway was empty. The whole building felt asleep. I punched in the code—1843—and the door clicked open. The pool area was dark except for the underwater lights, casting everything in a blue-green glow. Steam rose from the heated water. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city lights beyond. Cameron was already there, leaning against the far wall in just his swim trunks. When he saw me, he straightened. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said. “I told you I would.” “I know. But this is—” “Reckless. Stupid. I know.” I dropped my towel, let the robe fall. “I don’t care.” His eyes traveled over my body, lingering on the bikini that didn’t leave much to the imagination. “Fuck,”
I’d been avoiding him for three days. Well, trying to. Hard to do when we lived across the hall from each other. I’d see him in the morning leaving for work, catch glimpses of him in the hallway. We’d nod, say polite hellos, pretend that almost-kiss hadn’t happened. Pretend I didn’t go to bed every night thinking about his hand on my face, his breath on my mouth. By day four, I was restless and frustrated and needed to burn off energy. The building gym was open twenty-four hours. At midnight, it would be empty. I changed into leggings and a sports bra, grabbed my water bottle, and headed down. The gym was on the second floor. Small but well-equipped. Weights, machines, a treadmill, floor mats. And mirrors. Everywhere. I was alone. Perfect. I started with the treadmill, running hard, trying to exhaust myself. Trying to stop thinking about Cameron. About what might have happened if he hadn’t pulled away. After thirty minutes, I moved to the weights. Lay back on the b
The elevator was broken, of course. I stared at the “Out of Order” sign, then at the three flights of stairs, then at the boxes stacked in the lobby. “Moving day?” I turned. A man stood behind me, maybe late forties, early fifties. Salt and pepper hair, sharp jawline, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and jeans that showed he clearly took care of himself. “Unfortunately. And apparently doing it the hard way.” I gestured at the stairs. He smiled. “Which floor?” “Three.” “Same. I’m in 3B.” He extended his hand. “Cameron.” “Lily.” His hand was warm, calloused. Strong. “Nice to meet you.” “Need help?” He nodded at my boxes. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to—” “You didn’t ask. I’m offering.” He was already picking up one of the heavier boxes. “Come on. It’ll go faster with two.” We made trip after trip up those stairs. I tried not to notice how his arms looked carrying boxes, how his shirt clung to his back when he bent to pick things up. Tried not to notice the way he
I spent the next day in a state of anticipation. Every time I saw Mateo around the resort, my body remembered. The way he’d fucked me on the massage table. Against the rock by the waterfall. How his mouth had felt between my legs. He’d smile at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking. By the time sunset rolled around, I was already wet. I wore a simple black dress, easy to take off. Left my hair down. No underwear this time. The dock was empty when I arrived. A small boat was tied up, gently rocking with the waves. Mateo appeared from below deck, looking unfairly good in board shorts and a tank top. “Right on time,” he said, helping me onto the boat. “Where are we going?” “You’ll see.” He started the engine, guided us away from shore. We skimmed across the water as the sun painted the sky orange and pink. The resort grew smaller behind us until it disappeared completely. After about twenty minutes, a small island came into view. Private, uninhabited, just
I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room, trying to process what had happened. I’d had sex with the massage therapist. On the massage table. In the middle of the afternoon. I should have felt guilty. Should have been embarrassed. Instead I felt alive for the first time in months. I showered, washed the oil and sex off my skin. But I could still feel where his hands had been, where his mouth had kissed, where his cock had stretched me. By the time nine o’clock rolled around, I’d changed my outfit three times. I settled on a white sundress that showed off my tan, left my hair down in loose waves. No bra. If tonight was going where I thought it was, I didn’t need one. The bonfire was already going when I got to the beach. A group of guests and staff gathered around it, drinking and laughing. Music played from someone’s speaker. I scanned the crowd, looking for Mateo. Found him standing near the bar, talking to another staff member. He saw me at the same moment I s
He thrust in, one brutal stroke, bottoming out with a wet slap as his balls smacked against my ass, the stretch burning so good, his thickness splitting me open, filling every inch until I felt impossibly full, his pubic hair grinding against my clit. I screamed again, nails raking his shoulders
December 23rd, 11:49 p.m. Inside the house, the Christmas party is buzzing with fifty people mingling under the twinkling lights, Bing Crosby's smooth voice crooning "White Christmas" in the background, and the air thick with the cozy scents of cinnamon and bourbon. Dad's booming laugh echoes fr
Don’t read if themes of death triggers you. I'm holding Daniel's hand when Marcus walks in. 11:58 p.m. The ward is so quiet I can hear my own breathing, the soft beep of machines, the buzz of that one flickering light above the door that maintenance still hasn't fixed. Daniel's hand is warm i
I didn’t know Marcus was house-sitting when I came home early from college. Backpack slung over one shoulder, keys jingling in the suburban silence, I expected an empty house. Instead, the kitchen light was on, spilling warm yellow glow into the hallway. I paused in the doorway, heart skipping







