9

FREYA POV

I kept driving, but my mind stayed back at the gym, and I still kept feeling as if his hand was still on my throat. I know it is not there, but I felt the pressure. How his thumb is pressing right on my pulse. My skin remembered it exactly.

The ache between my legs got worse. My panties were soaked. The black dress stuck to my thighs. I pressed my legs together, but that only made it throb more.

I suddenly slammed the brakes. The car jerked. My body pushed forward then back against the seat. My breath came out hard. I looked around. The street was empty. I pulled over, put the car in park, and left the engine running.

I sat there breathing fast with my eyes closed. His fingers wrapped around my throat again in my head. Thumb on my pulse. Counting every beat. My heart raced under that spot.

It made me crazy. Wet. My nipples were still hard against the dress. I opened my eyes once to check the road. Still quiet. I closed them again.

My right hand left the wheel. I cupped my left breast through the dress. The fabric was thin. My breast filled my hand. Soft. Heavy. I squeezed it slowly. My nipple pressed against my palm. I rolled it between my fingers. It felt good. My breath got louder.

I kept squeezing my breast while my left hand moved down. I pulled the dress up higher on my thighs. The air hit my skin. I spread my legs wider in the seat. My fingers hooked the edge of my panties and pulled them to the side. The lace scraped my thigh.

My middle finger touched my clit. It was swollen and slick. I rubbed slow circles at first. Light pressure. Then a little harder. My hips lifted off the seat a tiny bit each time I circled.

Two fingers slid down. I pushed them inside my pussy. They went in easily. I was so wet. I pushed them deep. Curled them forward. Hit that spot inside. I started pumping slowly. In and out.

My right hand stayed on my breast. Squeezing. Pulling at the nipple. My left hand kept working. Fingers thrusting deeper. Thumb on my clit now. Rubbing tight circles. Wet sounds filled the car.

I thought about his hand on my throat again. Thumb pressing my pulse. That made my pussy clench around my fingers.

“Steve,” I whispered.

I added a third finger. The stretch burned in a good way. I pushed them all the way in. Thrust faster. Thumb rubbing my clit harder. My thighs started shaking.

“Steve… fuck… Steve.”

My back arched against the seat. My pussy gripped my fingers tight. The orgasm hit. Hard. My walls pulsed around my fingers. Wetness coated my hand. I kept thrusting through it. Slow. Until the last spasm stopped.

I slumped back. Breathing heavily. Fingers still inside me. My panties were twisted and wet. The car smelled like sex. My hand was sticky.

I pulled my fingers out slowly. Wiped them on my thigh. Fixed my panties. Pulled the dress back down. My legs felt weak.

And used tissue to clean up.

I started the car again. Drove home slower this time.

But I still felt his hand around my throat. And my pussy still ached for him.

****

I’m now right at the doorstep of what I should call my home.

I pulled into the driveway slowly, the house lights still on downstairs.

I know I looked a mess, but I didn’t check the mirror to see; my pussy still felt swollen.

After killing the car engine, I sat there for a while and let out a breath before I finally stepped out. My heel was loud on the concrete, but I managed to walk slowly. The moment I reached the door, I put the key in the lock, turned it slowly, and pushed it open quietly, and the dim living room lamp spilled yellow light.

But I noticed a figure, and that was Mark. He sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head down; he looked like he’d been stuck in that position for a while, and the moment he heard the door click, he stood up so fast and turned right in my direction, and then he froze.

His eyes started at my face and dropped slowly, taking in the tight black dress hugging my hips and cleavage, the high hem, the short red heels, the messy hair, and the swollen lips. I don’t know if he saw the mark on my neck as well.

“Freya”

His voice sounds low and rough, like it hurts to say my name.

He didn’t step closer but just stood staring, jaw locked, eyes narrow, questions burning behind them.

I shut the door and locked it; it clicked loud in the silence.

He took half a step, stopped, and scanned me again, slower, from heels to legs to dress to face, brows tight.

“You’re dressed like that,” he said, confused and angry. “Where the hell did you go?”

I stepped further into the living room fully, but my first instinct wasn’t to look at him but to look straight at my daughter's room. I focused on the sliver of darkness under her bedroom door. The nightlight was on—her sleeping light.

I’m sure she's fine.

Only then did I turn back to Mark.

“Hi,” I said. I didn’t even know why I said it.

“Hi??” He threw the word back at me, his face twisting, more like he wasn’t expecting that.

He still looked at me for a while, then let out a breath more like he put himself in control.

“Did you even check the time?” He said,

“Time,” I repeated flatly. Then my eyes drift to the wall clock. 11:20 PM. I didn’t respond. I just stood there.

Mark took another step, his eyes fixated on me.

“You look like you’ve been rolled in a gutter, Freya,” he spat, the anger finally overtaking the confusion. He crossed his arms, trying to reclaim the authority he thought he still had. “Where were you? Who were you with? I called you twenty times. You don't just walk out of this house dressed like a whore and come back near midnight acting like nothing happened.”

I felt a cold, sharp laugh bubble up in my chest, but I kept my face a mask of indifference. I reached up, slowly tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“I was out, Mark,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “Is that a problem? I thought we were a family that didn’t ask too many questions about where people go at night.”

His jaw worked, a vein pulsing in his temple. “Don’t play games with me. Look at you. You’re… you’re a mess.”

“Well… maybe,” I said. “What about we say goodnight now?” I added, turning to walk away.

I’d only taken one step when his voice cut in again, sharp and low.

“I asked you a question,” he hissed. “Where the hell did you go?”

I didn’t turn back, just kept moving, but his hand caught my arm and yanked me around hard. He looked furious—eyes wild, jaw clenched tight—and that pissed me off deep. What the hell was this? A man who fucked his college friend and kept the videos on record like trophies and now stood here acting like he had any right to be possessive?

I forced myself to stay calm, looking straight into his eyes.

Then I let the words slip out slowly, the same way he’d let his slip out the morning he broke me.

“You know what, Mark…” I said, voice quiet and steady. “Instead of giving yourself a hard time…”

“…why don’t you just start thinking about divorce?”

He froze for half a second, eyes wide, then I snatched his hand away from my wrist like it burned.

“Good night.”