Falling Into Routine
Copyright© 2025 by ChillWriter338
Chapter 29: The Distance Between
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 29: The Distance Between - Childhood friends looking for true love and ready to start a family deny how perfect a couple they would make together by getting as close as possible. The secret plan to keep from falling into each other's arms - follow the same routine. Re-write so read from the beginning.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction FemaleDom Light Bond Polygamy/Polyamory Black Male Hispanic Female Masturbation Oral Sex Voyeurism Big Breasts Size 2nd POV Slow
Yenni had woken early all week, but not because of anticipation or duty. Her body just ... wouldn’t let her sleep. The moment the sky hinted at light, her eyes opened, her stomach tightened, and the soft ache of regret rolled in again like morning fog. Today was no different.
She moved through her apartment with quiet precision—shower, towel wrap, coffee brewed stronger than usual, hair swept up into a quick, businesslike bun. Her wardrobe, once curated with flair, had grown monochrome. This morning it was a charcoal-gray blouse and slate skirt, both ironed the night before. Clean lines, clean face, no jewelry.
Nothing about me says ‘emotionally unhinged assistant.’ That’s good.
Except she wasn’t just an assistant. And that was the problem.
By the time she pulled into the Caceres driveway, her phone had already pinged with the daily agenda. Carla had sent it the night before, along with a one-line note:
“Let me know if anything’s off. —C.”
Not “Good night.” Not “Thanks.” Just task efficiency.
Yenni stared at the message again before stepping out of the car.
Inside, the home smelled like lemon cleaner and baked plantain—familiar, comforting, and almost cruel in its normalcy. She paused at the entryway to tuck her bag away, smooth her clothes, and force herself into professional posture.
The kitchen was quiet. Carla wasn’t in sight. Mama was at the far counter, already flipping through the paperwork.
“Morning,” Yenni offered.
“Morning,” Mama said without looking up.
No smile. No frown. Just neutral.
She joined her at the counter. Their hands moved in rhythm: one checking client rotation, the other highlighting supply orders. Yenni tried to focus, but her attention snagged on Mama’s every movement. How her fingers curled under the paper edges. How her eyes scanned—no longer warm with approval, no longer laced with subtle playfulness.
I miss it. Even the tension. Even the unspoken electricity. It meant I mattered.
By mid-morning, they’d confirmed schedules, updated payroll, and discussed three new commercial bids. All without ever looking each other in the eye.
Yenni left the kitchen to restock supplies in the mudroom. Alone, she gripped the shelf edge until her knuckles turned pale.
They’re keeping me close, but not in. It’s like ... punishment by politeness.
She should’ve been relieved. There were no harsh words, no accusations. Just cold professionalism. And yet it stung more than yelling ever could.
She bent down to collect the mop heads and cursed under her breath when one knocked over a bucket.
“You okay?” came a voice.
Carla. Standing at the doorway.
“Fine,” Yenni snapped. Then softened. “Just clumsy.”
Carla nodded, then turned back toward the kitchen. No offer to help. No lingering glance.
Yenni stayed crouched, letting the silence settle.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. Again.
Instead, she lay curled on her couch, knees tucked up, watching the faint city glow through her blinds. A documentary droned on her laptop—something about bee migration. She wasn’t listening.
Her mind kept dragging her back. To the hallway outside Eli’s room. To the feel of Carla’s hand on her wrist. To the click of the door locking behind them.
They shut me out. But I was never fully in.
The jealousy—god, it had burned. Not just over Eli. Yes, she wanted him. His quiet strength. His soft eyes when he looked at her like she wasn’t second best. But that wasn’t all.
It was Carla. It was Mama. It was the way they seemed so connected, so in sync. Like they’d built a house out of glances and unspoken truths, and she was the outsider peeking through the window.
And worse—she admired them. She wanted to be part of them.
Not just in bed. Not just with Eli in the middle like a prize.
I wanted that warmth. That bond. The way Mama touches Carla’s face. The way Carla lets herself need her.
The pang was deep.
I wanted that kind of love.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away roughly.
No more crying. Not for them. Not like this.
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