Mag-log inBethI woke slowly.Not with panic. Not with my heart in my throat. Just… awareness.Warmth at my back. A steady chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. An arm heavy and protective around my waist.And my hand.Still wrapped around him.Stacy’s cock was hard in my palm—thick, hot, undeniably real. It took my foggy brain a second to catch up, but when it did, heat rushed through me so fast it made my toes curl.Oh.I didn’t move right away.Didn’t squeeze. Didn’t pull away.I just stayed there, fingers curled around him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like I’d woken up exactly where I belonged.He shifted behind me, a low breath leaving his chest as his hips moved ever so slightly. The change made me suddenly aware—oh God, he’s awake—and instinct kicked in.I let go.Too fast. Too obvious.“Don’t let go on account of me.”His voice was rough with sleep and something darker beneath it. Something amused.I froze.“What?” I whispered.He chuckled softly against the bac
StacyHer breath slowed against my chest, warm and steady. One arm draped across my stomach, her leg tangled with mine, hair spilled over my shoulder.God, she looked peaceful.I didn’t deserve the way she trusted me.I wrapped my arms tighter around her, one hand gliding up her spine, just to feel her breathe. I’d never held someone like this after—not like she was breakable, but like she was mine. Not even Tommy’s mom and I was with her for seventeen years. But beneath the stillness, my mind wouldn’t shut off.Was I wrong?I’d told myself I wouldn’t cross that line. I’d tried to tell her no—you deserve time, space, healing. But the way she looked at me… the way she asked, let me choose what I feel next—and chose me?How the fuck was I supposed to deny her that?Not when she was shaking in my arms. Not when her voice cracked, asking me to help her rewrite the memory of someone else’s cruelty.Not when I’d imagined it—us—a hundred times. A thousand.And now that I had her?Now I was
BethHe stood slowly, towering over me like temptation incarnate. His lounge pants rode low on his hips, barely hanging on—until he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pushed them down.No boxers.Just him.Thick. Hard. Glorious.My breath caught in my throat, mouth parting slightly before I could stop it. I looked—there was no hiding it—and when I dragged my gaze back up to his, a smirk curled across his mouth.“Looks like you want a taste of your own,” he murmured, voice rich with amusement and heat. “But tonight’s about you.”My thighs instinctively pressed together.“I don’t need you to suck my cock, sweetheart,” he continued, stepping between my legs. “I just need to be inside you.”My lips parted again—but this time for words. “But I—”He cut me off with a single look. Domina
BethHe sat up on his knees, eyes locked on mine as his hands moved to the hem of his shirt. No rush. No hesitation. Just the slow, steady pull of cotton over muscle.The second it cleared his head, I forgot how to breathe.Broad shoulders, toned chest, sculpted abs that looked like they’d been carved by pure restraint. His skin was golden and taut, a light dusting of hair across his pecs, a dark trail that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pajama pants.I’d imagined this body. Wondered how it would feel pressing into mine. But nothing had prepared me for seeing it like this—real and in front of me.I reached out, almost involuntarily, and let my fingertips glide down the center of his chest. He was warm. Solid. A man who had built himself through control, and right now, he was giving it to me piece by piece.His jaw flexed as I touched him. His eyes darkened. But he didn’t move.Didn’t rush.He just watched me. Felt me. Let me look.Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached for t
BethThe guest room looked like something out of a catalog. Neutral walls. Crisp linens. A sense of calm curated on purpose.Too calm. Too quiet.I sat on the edge of the bed while Stacy finished bringing in the last of my bags. He didn’t linger. Just set them down gently and gave me a soft look.“You want tea before bed?”I nodded.A few minutes later, he returned with a white ceramic mug, steam curling over the rim. Chamomile. Honey. Just enough sweetness to soften the edge of exhaustion.I took it from him, hands trembling slightly, and he lingered in the doorway.“I’m in the next room if you need anything,” he said. “I’ll leave the door open.”“Thank you,” I murmured.He hesitated just a moment longer. “Lock this one if you want to.”I didn’t reply.After he left, I tried. I really did.I drank the tea. I got under the covers. I closed my eyes and begged my brain to let me rest.But every time I blinked, I was back there. The couch. The weight. The voice I loved turned ugly and st
BethThe knock came soft.Not loud. Not demanding. Just firm enough to be intentional.My stomach dropped anyway.Every muscle in my body locked, breath stalling halfway in as dread rushed up my spine so fast it made me dizzy. My eyes flicked to the door, my heart already racing like it knew something I hadn’t caught up to yet.No.Not again.My first thought was stupid and immediate—I didn’t hear the lock turn.Tommy didn’t knock.Tommy never knocked.If it were him, the door would already be opening. The sound of keys. The casual invasion. The certainty that he belonged wherever he decided to be.The knock came again.Same rhythm. Controlled. Patient.I swallowed and forced my feet to move, each step toward the door feeling like I was walking into deep water. My hands were shaking when I reached it. I stood on my toes and leaned in, pressing my eye to the peephole.And there he was.Stacy.Standing just outside my door, shoulders squared, jaw tight—not angry, not rushed. Just… there







