Chapter 7

CHLOE

Bailey was gone, but the house still smelled like sex.

Chloe padded into the kitchen in slippers, a tiny crop top tank clinging to her chest and nothing but panties below. Her nipples were visible through the thin fabric—hard, unapologetic. Her hips moved like she was still mid-strut, every step slow and lazy with satisfaction. Her body still faintly hummed from the night before. Hunter was already at the table—coffee in hand, shirtless, expression somewhere between hungover and haunted.

She opened the fridge. “You ate the last slice?”

“You had your chance,” he said.

She smiled, grabbed a yogurt, and leaned against the counter. She peeled the foil lid slowly, deliberately, letting the silence stretch.

He was watching her. She didn’t need to look to know. She could feel it. Like heat off a stove.

“What the fuck was that high five?” he asked.

She glanced up, brows raised like she’d forgotten it even happened. “What?”

“Bailey. Last night. You high-fived her. What the hell was that about?”

She gave a little shrug. “I heard she got laid. I acted supportive. You’re welcome.”

He didn’t laugh. Just stared.

She met his gaze, calm as ever, spoon tapping once against the rim of the cup.

“You set it up,” he said.

“You wanted her,” she said back. “I helped.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Now she did smile—slow, warm, slightly cruel.

“I’m not pushing you away, Hunter. I’m bringing you in.”

“Into what?”

She took another bite of yogurt before answering.

“A cathedral,” she said. “Out of your pleasure. Mine. Theirs.”

He stared at her like she was speaking a different language.

She almost told him more. Almost told him everything. But no. Not yet.

He wasn’t ready.

Instead, she set the spoon down gently, turned her back, and said, “Neither is what’s happening to us.”

She could feel the weight in the room behind her. His confusion. His need. His slow, beautiful unraveling.

And she smiled to herself, unseen.

She waited until she heard the shower.

Then leaned against the counter and let herself exhale.

She didn’t like that—his questions, his quiet staring. The way he was trying to make sense of something she hadn’t shown him yet.

She should’ve kissed him. Distracted him. Pulled him back to bed and let his body remember what his mind wasn’t ready to see.

Not because she was hiding anything. But because the gift she was building for him deserved to arrive whole.

If he started pulling at the edges too soon...

She shook her head. No. He’d love it. She knew he would. He just didn’t understand it yet.

She tapped the spoon once on the counter, then smiled faintly.

“Don’t go asking questions before you’ve seen the surprise,” she whispered to no one.

And then she finished her yogurt.

The shower was still running.

She rinsed her spoon, set it in the sink, and padded down the hallway without a sound. Her hunger hadn’t dulled—it had only deepened, stretched into something quieter and more potent. She pushed the bathroom door open just as the water stopped.

Hunter was stepping out, towel slung low on his hips, hair wet, skin flushed from the heat.

She said nothing.

Just dropped to her knees.

He looked down at her, surprised—but didn’t stop her.

And when her mouth closed around him, warm and slow, Chloe let her eyes drift closed. The taste of him. The weight. The faint scent of soap and skin. Her fingers curled around the back of his thighs as she sucked him gently, worshipfully, feeling his pulse press against her tongue.

She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to tease.

She just wanted him inside her mouth, damp and perfect and still hers.

HUNTER

Work was easy for once. The data migration issue that had haunted me for a week finally cracked open after one strong coffee and Chloe’s mouth around my cock. I floated through the morning like my feet barely touched the floor.

Around 10 a.m., I resolved the final bug in the workflow. The numbers lined up, the queries ran clean. My manager stopped by and gave me a rare pat on the back. Called me the glue holding the department together.

And I smiled like a man who definitely hadn’t been brain-fucked into bliss twelve hours earlier.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I slid it out, already expecting something from Chloe.

Instead: a photo. Blurry. Intimate.

Was that—? I blinked. Was that a pussy?

I stared for a second, then checked the contact.

Heidi. My step-mom.

No. Wait. Different number.

Another buzz. A second photo, this time focused. Nipples. Familiar.

Bailey.

Jesus Christ.

My heart was already climbing when Heidi’s name actually did flash across the screen.

Found a box of your stuff in the garage. You want it?

A minute later:

I could use a hand moving something anyway. If you’re free after work.

I stared at both threads. One hand full of heat. One full of memory.

And somewhere behind both, Chloe’s voice echoed like a bell I hadn’t noticed was still ringing.

I should’ve felt in control.

I didn’t.

I texted Heidi back: Sure. I can swing by after work.

Then opened the photos again, like an idiot.

By lunch, I was hard twice for different reasons. And neither of them had anything to do with Chloe.

And that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

GINA

The hotel room was sterile, the lighting too soft, the minibar overpriced. But the mirror was clean and tall enough to let Gina turn, twist, pose.

She’d found a boutique off a side street that catered to exotic dancers and club girls—lace, latex, glitter, feathers. She hadn’t meant to spend that much. But something in her chest had been building all week, and as soon as she saw the thigh-high fishnets with rhinestone garters, she knew she needed them.

And the micro-dress. And the open-cup bra. And the collar.

She posed in the mirror and thought of Chloe. Of how Chloe watched her that night—directed her with just a glance. Of Hunter, hard and dazed, overwhelmed. And the idea of returning to that house—barely clothed, freshly waxed, dripping with need—was making her thighs clench.

She snapped a few photos. Not dirty ones. Not yet. But provocative. Flashy. Hungry.

Gina: Saturday night?

I want to be told what to do.

She pressed send. Then stripped the outfit off piece by piece, carefully folding each item on the bed like a sacred offering.

BAILEY

Bailey wasn’t supposed to go shopping. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him again. Not in public.