Chapter four

MY SEX TOY AND I

You have GOT to be kidding me.

My body is still warm, throbbing with frustration.

I shift slightly, trying to find relief, but nothing, absolutely nothing, helps.

This can’t be real.

This man looks like walking sin but performs like a weak password.

Snow hops on the bed and curls beside me, giving me a look that screams:

Again? Another disappointment?

“Don’t judge me,” I whisper, covering my face with a pillow.

I scoot away from Sam , because his snoring is aggressive, like he’s trying to shake the entire apartment out of spite.

Ugh.

I stare at him, this giant, muscular, handsome man who couldn’t last long enough for me to feel anything.

I exhale sharply.

“Waste of lingerie,” I mutter.

Snow meows in agreement.

I lie there, unsatisfied, irritated, staring at the shadows on my ceiling.

The night stretches painfully long, and I’m wide awake with nothing but my own disappointment and the echo of Sam’s snores.

His snoring shakes the bed like an engine.

I last five minutes staring at the ceiling before I throw the blanket off and sit up sharply.

Enough.

I jab his shoulder. “Sam. Wake up.”

He jerks, confused, rubbing his eyes. “Huh? What—what’s wrong?”

I paste on a tired smile. “I have an appointment tonight. Early morning thing. You need to get dressed and go.”

His brows pull together. “Now? Can’t I just—sleep here?”

No.

God, no.

“I really can’t,” I lie sweetly. “It’s important.”

He sighs, annoyed but resigned, dragging himself out of bed. He pulls on his shirt, still half-asleep.

“This was… great,” he says, trying to kiss me.

I turn my face slightly so it lands on my cheek.

“Uh-huh. Drive safe.”

He doesn’t miss the shift, but he doesn’t push it. He mutters something under his breath and finally leaves.

The door clicks.

Silence.

I exhale in pure relief.

Snow jumps onto the staircase landing and looks down at me with the judgment of a disappointed grandmother.

I groan, walking past her. “Please. Spare me. I’m already suffering.”

She meows once, sharply — then flicks her tail and struts away like the diva she is.

I head upstairs to my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

The instant it clicks, the mask cracks.

I’m tired.

Frustrated.

Buzzing with unmet need.

My body still feels wound up, restless, unsatisfied.

Sam didn’t take the edge off, he made it worse.

I flop onto my bed, grab my phone, and open a video, something spicy, intense, the kind of thing that always gets me out of my head.

The room fills with low sounds and soft moans.

My cheeks warm instantly.

I reach to my bedside drawer and pull it open.

Inside lies my little collection, my secret pleasuring comforts.

The rose-shaped one.

The slim one for nights when I need something gentle.

The small black one that never fails me.

I line them on the bed beside me like loyal soldiers in a war sam failed to fight.

I lie back against the pillows, breathing slow and deep as I try to calm the restless ache stirring under my skin.

Tonight is going to end the way it always does,

with me taking care of myself, the only person who actually knows how to satisfy me.

And as my eyes half-close and the room hums with heat, a small, chilling thought drifts into my mind…

I'm sprawled out on the bed, my legs spread wide as I tease my dripping pussy with the dildo. It's made of smooth silicone, just the right size to fill me up and stretch me out. I run it along my slit, coating it in my arousal before pressing it against my entrance.

"Oh fuck," I moan, my head falling back against the pillows as I push it inside. It slides in easily, my wetness allowing it to glide deep into my cunt. I let out a shuddering breath, my inner walls fluttering around the intrusion.

I start to pump it in and out, setting a steady rhythm as I fuck myself with the toy.

The dildo hits all the right spots inside me, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through my body. I'm so turned on, my skin flushed and heated, nipples hard little peaks begging to be touched.

I slip my other hand between my legs, circling my clit with my fingers. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, the pressure building low in my belly as I chase my orgasm. I twist the dildo, angling it to hit my G-spot with each thrust, and cry out at the intense sensation.

"That's it, baby," I pant, my hips rocking up to meet each pump of the toy. "Gonna make yourself come so hard."

My fingers move faster over my clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. The coil of tension in my core winds tighter and tighter, my thighs starting to tremble. I can feel myself getting closer, my pussy starting to flutter around the dildo.

"Fuck, I'm gonna... oh god, I'm coming!" I shout, my back arching off the bed as my orgasm crashes over me. My pussy clamps down on the toy, milking it as wave after wave of ecstasy washes through me.

I collapse back onto the bed, the dildo slipping out of my still-spasming cunt. My chest heaves as I catch my breath, a sheen of sweat coating my skin. But even as the aftershocks fade, I can feel the need building again, my pussy already starting to throb with renewed hunger.

****************************************

I wake up early, still dragging the weight of last night, but today is all business.

Steve. A billionaire musician. Handsome, dangerous, and utterly convinced I’m the one for him. We’ve had our… fun on a flight before, and now he wants something serious. I’ve made it clear: relationships aren’t my thing. I don’t do commitment. Never have, never will.

I pull out my phone while sipping coffee, opening my camera to vlog.

“Good morning, followers,” I whisper, leaning the camera toward my face. “Another chaotic day for Amelia Jones.

Let’s see how long I survive today.”

I pause to capture Snow, who’s perched lazily on my windowsill, giving me the classic judgmental stare she reserves for mornings.

After a quick selfie and a few clips of my morning chaos, I order an Uber.

The ride to the airport is short but nerve-wracking.

I check my hair in the mirror constantly. Hostess standards are high: neat hair, perfect makeup, uniform crisp, nails immaculate. No one’s allowed to see me sloppy.

I step out of my Uber at the private terminal, taking a deep breath of cool, crisp morning air. The building gleams, sleek glass and polished steel, a world apart from the chaos of New York streets.

Security officers wave me through almost immediately. “Morning, Amelia,” one of the men says with a grin.

I smile back politely, leaning into the charm that has never failed me.

“You too,” I reply, adjusting my blazer. “Hope everything’s good today.”

They chuckle softly. “Always, thanks to you.”

I walk past the scanners, and a few officers glance at my ID. Their eyes widen slightly, not just because I’m a flight attendant, but because they know me. My social media following has preceded me, even here. Two million followers, and counting.

I give them a small, knowing smile, and they grin back, almost as if proud to see me in person. It’s subtle, but satisfying.

“Wow,” one female officer murmurs to her colleague. “She’s… real life gorgeous.”

I laugh lightly, shrugging. “You think I’m even that cute at 6 a.m.?”

The moment I step toward the jet gate, I spot the other flight attendants—female, mid-20s to early 30s, all perfectly polished in their own uniforms. The second they notice me, their faces light up.

“Amelia!” one calls, practically running toward me. “Can we take a selfie? Or maybe a collaboration for I*******m? We love your content!”

Another holds out her phone. “Please, we’ve been following you forever! Your behind-the-scenes clips are goals.”

I grin, letting my social side shine. “Of course, why not? Quick selfie, don’t get me in trouble with the bosses!”

We gather for a few snaps, laughter spilling into the terminal.

It’s silly. Fun. Light. A perfect contrast to the chaos I know awaits on the flight.

“Tag me!” I call out as they wave goodbye. “Can’t wait to see what you post!”

Even as I walk toward the jet, there’s a little boost in my step. Fame has its perks. Smiles, admiration, a momentary ego lift. It’s nice to be wanted—for once, in a world where most people only want me for one thing.

I wave at the officers on my way past. They wave back, amused. Their smiles linger longer than necessary, and I know it’s not just courtesy—they recognize that, for me, this is routine. But for them? It’s something fun, a glimpse into a life most people only see on screens.

By the time I board the jet, my phone is already out, capturing a few clips for my followers: the polished cabin, the view from the private gate, Snow figurine strategically placed in the corner. The camera loves me, just like everyone else.

I take a deep breath, adjusting my uniform one last time.

Steve’s jet waits ahead. Luxury, silence, and tension.

I’ve got the fame, the audience, the curated life—but the real challenge… that’s about to start.