"You need an orgasm. It’s been a tough couple of weeks. You’re stressed about classes with Cy and everything that’s going on with Dr. Janowicz." ‘Everything’ being yesterday’s recommendation that we start couple’s therapy. "Then there’s the diner and the club—"
She nodded. "Maybe I wasn’t born to be First Lady."
I grinned. "You were born to be mine. That means you were born to be First Lady."
"I love it when you say things like that." She shivered. "But that was never the problem between us, was it? I was always yours, you were never mine."
The words stung because they weren’t true. I licked my lips, needing to share something with her. "This isn’t going to make it any better, Keira. But every time I cheated, I thought they were you. I thought I was reaching for you, I thought we were together…" My mouth twisted. "I’ve only ever seen you. That’s what makes it so fucking laughable.
"I should never, ever have cheated, but I did because I’m a fucking idiot. Because you’re perfection, and I’ve knocked your self-confidence and your self-esteem, and all because I got high, some clubwhores took their chances and—"
"Their chances?"
I arched a brow at her, surprised that was the one thing she picked up on. "You know what they’re like. They were hoping I’d brand ‘em."
Her mouth tightened. "And you wonder why I hate the club lifestyle."
"It’s better here," I appeased. "I think you’d like it. There are more Old Ladies than clubwhores, and I think Cyan needs to have more of a social life outside of gymnastics and Krav. Maybe she could make more friends there.
"We can’t cut her away from kids entirely, and it’s not like they’re gonna bully her for being a Sinners’ kid when they’re Sinners themselves."
"True. We can try." Her lips parted. "I think we need to promise not to keep secrets from each other anymore.
"The reason you were at the clubhouse was to get high. If I’d known you needed to get high, I could have—" She swallowed thickly. "I’d have been there. I’d have been what you needed, Storm."
"I didn’t want to taint you with that."
"You tainted me anyway." Her eyes were big in her suddenly pale face. "You’ve always wanted me to stay pure, but I think we both know I don’t want that anymore.
"You said something back at Rachel’s house. It made me think you held back on me—"
"I did," I admitted. "I never wanted to scare you."
"Then I don’t want you to do that. I want the real Storm."
My jaw tensed. "I can’t give you that. Not until August. But I can give you as much of me as I’m able.
"My promise to you supersedes my pleasure, but it doesn’t supersede yours. Whatever you need from me, you can have—"
"Just not penetration."
"Yes. No penetration."
"Funny how this promise is for my sake, and I’m the one suffering."
"Trust me, babe, you’re not the one suffering."
Her nostrils flared at that. "Show me your dick," she demanded.
I narrowed my eyes at that bossy tone, surprised and kinda turned on. Enough that I backed off and said, "Let me wash my hands."
She nodded. "Be quick about it."
Chuckling at her sass, I retreated, soaping them up before I twisted around, returned to her side, and unfastened my pants, freeing my cock.
I’d never worn boxer briefs until recently, so I saw her surprise when I reached into my Calvins, pulling out my shaft, revealing a cock that looked fucking outraged at being caged.
Bright red, silky white precum slathered around the tip, making the padlock gleam in the light. It was a fucker to keep clean, but I considered that another punishment.
Handling the bastard was hell on earth.
"Oh, God, Storm," she said thickly, wobbling back against the counter as she stared at it. "August?" she rasped.
"August." I allowed myself the only touch I permitted—I reached down, grabbed my balls, and yanked on them hard. Hard enough to clench my ass, hard enough to hiss and rock onto my toes with the pain.
"Why do you have to hurt yourself?" she moaned. "I hate that you’re doing this to yourself."
"Because I need to break the habit. I need to be grounded, and this works." I swallowed. "I will probably always wear this, K—"
Her eyes rounded. "You can’t be serious. Forever?"
"I’ll chop the fucker off before I cheat on you, and this way, you’ll always know I stay true to you because you’ll have the key."
Something flickered in her gaze, something hot and needy, something that looked very much like want. She liked the idea of that, so I ramped it up.
"This dick is yours, K. Every fucking inch of it. Your goddamn toy, no one else’s—"
She released the softest of moans, and precum dripped from the tip onto the kitchen floor. When she licked her lips, I yanked on my balls again, before I manned up and stepped toward her.
Gravity made my cock bob with the weight, which was an extra kind of pain, and each time it did, she tracked it with her eyes.
I felt her gaze like a lick to the tip so knowing that I needed to change the narrative before I fucked up my promise to her, I rumbled, "Is that pussy wet, baby girl?"
"It’s always goddamn wet around you."
Music to my fucking ears. "You gonna let me christen this kitchen by eating you out on the counter?"
Her mouth pursed, but she surprised me by hauling her ass onto it, plunking herself down and narrowing her eyes at me. "Well?"
I grinned at her, then reached for the waistband of her yoga pants. "Want me to cut these off you?"
Her eyes flared wide in surprise. "No! I like these pants."
"I do too. Your ass looks fine in them. Would still cut them off just so—"
"No. No cutting," she hissed, her hand splatting against my chest. "I’ll get some shorts you can wreck next time."
Next time.
Confident I could give her what she needed, I let the elastic pop against her stomach, then rolled it down. She put one foot on a stool, then the right one on the other, and made a bridge so that I could drag them over her ass.
When her pussy was bare to me, my nostrils flared at the juicy cunt that should never have known another’s touch but, thanks to my own idiocy, had.
Well, I’d fucked up. I begged for second chances. But Storm 2.0 would never make the same mistake twice.
As I dragged them clean off, I demanded, "How many do you want?"
A whimper escaped her. "Do we have to do this?"
I caught her eye. "How. Many?"
She gulped. "Three."
I nodded. "Three orgasms it is."
A shaky moan escaped her as I loomed over her, and when my finger traced over her folds, she released a high-pitched sob that had her planting back onto the counter, her fist to her mouth.
I reached up, grabbed that fist and said, "Cyan ain’t here, baby girl. You can scream as loud as you want."