Page 45 of Beautiful Disaster

Me: I did, very much. Thank you, my pet.

Pet: They’re hot, right?

I chuckle as I respond to him.

Me: Very hot.

The dots on the screen keep moving, but then they stop, and no message goes through. Assuming he’s done, I set my phone down and head to my bathroom.

Those pictures were indeed hot, so much so that I need to relieve myself. I pull down my sweats and underwear, lift the lid to the toilet seat, and start stroking myself. The more I touch myself, the more desperate I am for release. I close my eyes and focus on the image of Jinx’s ass with the gleaming plug. My strokes are rushed and a little frantic. It only takes a minute before I’m coming.

After I pull up my pants and wash my hands, I find another text from Jinx.

Pet: I miss you.

How can three simple words fill me with such joy and fear at once? My gut clenches, and my racing heart makes it hard to breathe. He misses me? That right there shows what’s at stake.

Soon, I’m flooded with rapid texts, the dinging noise filling the bedroom.

Pet: I mean just that

Pet: I like sleeping next to someone

Pet: My head was clear, and now it’s cluttered

Pet: Sorry

Pet: Never mind

Instead of texting him back, I fall into my bed and call him.

“Hey,” he says tentatively when he answers. “I’m so embarrassed. Sorry.”

I love his honesty. It’s a trust I really don’t think I’ve earned yet.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Precious. Never shy away from honesty.”

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“Then I’ll let you go.”

“No! Don’t… I mean…” He sighs heavily. “Will you talk to me until I do?”

God, I’m not sure why that makes my eyes water. My heart aches for him. It has for days now. I’ve never experienced anyone as torn apart as Jinx. He’s reclaiming his life, but that pain and suffering will be with him forever.

I clear my throat to push away the emotions. “I can do that.”

“Will you tell me a story?”

I owe him that much. I’ve barely told him a thing about myself, and he’s been so good. “Sure.” I sit up in bed and run a hand through my hair. I don’t want to talk about Jude, but I will. “His name was Jude. I was thirty-one when he died. We met two years prior.” God, it sounds so clinical.

“Did you love him?”

“So much. So very much.” Not enough to keep him, but I don’t say that. I’m not ready to go into the trauma of my guilt.

“You did with him what you and I do?”

“Yes. We started as Dom/sub, but eventually we became more than that, and our dynamic never deviated. He needed it as much as I did, perhaps more so. We were on 24/7.”