come down from her orgasm. The brilliance of her eyes is enthralling. I could look at her all night.
“Jensen,” she murmurs. “Please.”
“Please what?” I skim her cheek with the backs of my fingers.
“I need you.”
I know she’s referring to my cock. She needs my length and my girth, filling her, stretching her, pounding her. But my lungs constrict and my jaw tenses, her breathy words replaying in my head. I need you . And all I can think is… I need you too .
24
Holland
The days have faded into weeks, merging and blurring. Time is distorted when I’m in Jensen’s bed. I don’t know exactly when it happened. I don’t know how. At some point, we reached some unspoken arrangement. Each night, after I finish my shift at The Pub, I go over to his place. We fuck in a frenzy, trying to purge ourselves of the way we both craved one another in our absence. He cooks and we eat, sharing a meal and drinks. We talk, our conversations light and never crossing that invisible boundary we’ve silently created, keeping our personal lives separate. Then Jensen breaks out his camera and array of binding toys and we spend the remainder of the night forgetting whatever drives us both to repeatedly seek comfort in the other’s body. Sometimes I stay the whole night. Most nights I don’t. My days off are my own and we don’t see each other then. I don’t ask him what he does during the periods I’m not with him and he doesn’t offer me that information, nor does he ask what I do. This understanding seems to work well for us.
I’m early tonight. The Pub was slow and not picking up after the dinner shift, so my manager sent me home early. I didn’t even think. I just got in my car and drove straight to Jensen’s on this new instinct I’ve acquired. Which was obviously a bad idea.
Though we have never discussed it and I never assumed we were exclusive, this is the first time I have ever witnessed another woman in his home. Woman is pushing it. This is a girl. No more than eighteen or nineteen years old. Small and perky. It’s so unexpected and unusual, it knocks me off kilter. I step back from the door, checking the number to make sure I rang the right residence.
The girl smiles, her soft round cheeks still full with the waning remnants of baby fat rising and causing her eyes to squint.
God, she’s young .
I’ve gone mute, quietly staring in surprise.
“Hi,” she says in a rich, bubbly voice. It’s unnervingly inviting. “Come on in. Jensen’s still in the shower.” She steps back, holding the door open and I freeze just inside the entryway. Not because I’m concerned about who she is to Jensen—she’s another one of his models, I assume—but because on the middle of the living room floor, amongst a pile of brightly colored fabric blocks, is a baby. She’s lying flat on her tummy, fingers bathed in slobber as she sucks her tiny fist.
There’s a ringing in my ears and a painful flutter in my chest.
A rush of panic and envy and fear and longing and anxiety and aching nostalgia burns through my chest in rapid succession. Runs thickly through my veins. Churns my stomach and fills my throat with bile.
I can’t look away. God, I want to —I want to run —but I can’t make myself stop staring at the perfect, healthy baby in front of me.
“That’s my Nelly-Belly,” the girl says proudly. “I think she’s getting ready to break teeth. She chews on everything .” I almost tell her babies do that. Everything goes in their mouth whether they’re teething or not. The baby makes a sound full of excitement, slapping at the floor, chubby fingers curling in an attempt to grasp one of the blocks and my thoughts fade.
All I see is Caleb.
Tears pool in my eyes and I try to choke them back quickly. It’s hard. It’s so damn hard because I miss him with every single last fiber of my being. I miss him .
“I love your shoes,” the girl continues, shifting topics so swiftly. I
“Jensen,” she murmurs. “Please.”
“Please what?” I skim her cheek with the backs of my fingers.
“I need you.”
I know she’s referring to my cock. She needs my length and my girth, filling her, stretching her, pounding her. But my lungs constrict and my jaw tenses, her breathy words replaying in my head. I need you . And all I can think is… I need you too .
24
Holland
The days have faded into weeks, merging and blurring. Time is distorted when I’m in Jensen’s bed. I don’t know exactly when it happened. I don’t know how. At some point, we reached some unspoken arrangement. Each night, after I finish my shift at The Pub, I go over to his place. We fuck in a frenzy, trying to purge ourselves of the way we both craved one another in our absence. He cooks and we eat, sharing a meal and drinks. We talk, our conversations light and never crossing that invisible boundary we’ve silently created, keeping our personal lives separate. Then Jensen breaks out his camera and array of binding toys and we spend the remainder of the night forgetting whatever drives us both to repeatedly seek comfort in the other’s body. Sometimes I stay the whole night. Most nights I don’t. My days off are my own and we don’t see each other then. I don’t ask him what he does during the periods I’m not with him and he doesn’t offer me that information, nor does he ask what I do. This understanding seems to work well for us.
I’m early tonight. The Pub was slow and not picking up after the dinner shift, so my manager sent me home early. I didn’t even think. I just got in my car and drove straight to Jensen’s on this new instinct I’ve acquired. Which was obviously a bad idea.
Though we have never discussed it and I never assumed we were exclusive, this is the first time I have ever witnessed another woman in his home. Woman is pushing it. This is a girl. No more than eighteen or nineteen years old. Small and perky. It’s so unexpected and unusual, it knocks me off kilter. I step back from the door, checking the number to make sure I rang the right residence.
The girl smiles, her soft round cheeks still full with the waning remnants of baby fat rising and causing her eyes to squint.
God, she’s young .
I’ve gone mute, quietly staring in surprise.
“Hi,” she says in a rich, bubbly voice. It’s unnervingly inviting. “Come on in. Jensen’s still in the shower.” She steps back, holding the door open and I freeze just inside the entryway. Not because I’m concerned about who she is to Jensen—she’s another one of his models, I assume—but because on the middle of the living room floor, amongst a pile of brightly colored fabric blocks, is a baby. She’s lying flat on her tummy, fingers bathed in slobber as she sucks her tiny fist.
There’s a ringing in my ears and a painful flutter in my chest.
A rush of panic and envy and fear and longing and anxiety and aching nostalgia burns through my chest in rapid succession. Runs thickly through my veins. Churns my stomach and fills my throat with bile.
I can’t look away. God, I want to —I want to run —but I can’t make myself stop staring at the perfect, healthy baby in front of me.
“That’s my Nelly-Belly,” the girl says proudly. “I think she’s getting ready to break teeth. She chews on everything .” I almost tell her babies do that. Everything goes in their mouth whether they’re teething or not. The baby makes a sound full of excitement, slapping at the floor, chubby fingers curling in an attempt to grasp one of the blocks and my thoughts fade.
All I see is Caleb.
Tears pool in my eyes and I try to choke them back quickly. It’s hard. It’s so damn hard because I miss him with every single last fiber of my being. I miss him .
“I love your shoes,” the girl continues, shifting topics so swiftly. I
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