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“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest as soon as we have everything on the list, eager to escape the creeping sensation of domesticity that trails us through the store. A part of me is itching to bolt, to run back to the ice where everything makes sense, but another part—the part that remembers Nana’s stern lectures on responsibility—forces my feet forward.
As we stand in line, Gail leans into the shopping cart, her laughter light as she tells me about an art and craft incident from her teaching days. It’s infectious, that laugh, and I find myself grinning along, caught up in the sound more than the story. For a second, I forget why we’re here, who we are to each other—just two people sharing a joke while waiting in line.
“Thanks, Soren,” she says once we’re loaded up and heading back to the car, her words slicing through the post-laughter quiet. “For… this. For trying.”
“Doesn’t mean I trust you,” I reply, the words gruff. And yet, there’s an unspoken ‘yet’ hanging between us, a tiny crack in the ice.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not grateful,” she counters, her gaze meeting mine, a challenge wrapped in gratitude. “So again I say, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Once we’re in the car and I start it up, Gail turns to me. “Just for the record,” she says, clenching her hands. “I don’t trust you either.”
I bark out a laugh. “Hate to burst your self righteous bubble, Gail. But I’m not the one who lied about anything.”
She huffs. “First of all, just because you think I lied about anything doesn’t mean I have. Second, lying isn’t the only way to break trust. What you and Mickey did to me was unforgivable.”
Despite the guilt that stirs inside me, I scoff. “You deserved so much worse. You have no idea what this is doing to Mickey—” I quickly cut myself off from saying something I really fucking shouldn’t.
Gail’s eyes widen. “So tell me. What am I doing to Mickey? I was going about my day, you’re the ones who forced your way into my life.”
“Is that so?” I ask sardonically. “Tell me more about how it’s our fault you were whoring yourself out and lying to us.”
She rolls her eyes before turning back to look out the front window, mumbling under her breath. “You’re such an asshole,” she spits. “I’ve done nothing wrong, and you know it. That’s why you took me out to buy all this shit. But just so you know, I can’t be bought.”
“Hate to break it to you, whore, but the money transfers to Cupid’s Court prove you can.”
“For fuck’s sake, Soren. What are you, twelve?” she shouts. “I don’t care what you think you know. You’re wrong. But fine, whatever. I’m a whore. Do you think I’m ashamed of what I did? Because I’m not. My only regret is that it was you and Mickey who bought me.”
I chuckle darkly, ignoring her barb. “You didn’t hate being called that when I fucked you.” Her breath hitches. “In fact, I’m sure you told me more than once you were my whore while I had my hard cock buried in your pussy or ass.”
“Stop it.”
“Don’t you remember,whore?” I rasp. “Because I remember exactly what your holes feel like. How tight and wet your cunt was. Oh, and your ass… mhmm. The way you squeezed me was pure perfection.”
She lets out a small whimper and fidgets in her seat. “Stop it,” she says weakly. “Just stop.”
“Are you sure you want me to stop?” I taunt. “I bet you’re soaking wet thinking about my hard dick. I know I’m hard just from the memories.”
Gail’s breathing is labored, and I know I’m fucking right; she’s wet. “Y-you’re hard right now?” she asks, lust coating her words.
“I am,” I confirm. I move my free hand to my cock, cupping the length. “Want to feel it?”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No.”
“What a shame,” I rasp, pulling around a corner to a dark alley.
“Where are you going?” she asks, suddenly sounding nervous.
Instead of answering, I move my hand to the nape of her neck and squeeze. “Open your pants for me.”
“What? No. No way. I’m not doing that,” she squeaks.
I add pressure to her neck. “Don’t make me say it again. You know the rules, whore.” I deliberately use the tone I used at Cupid’s Court when giving her orders. “Open your pants. Now!”
She doesn’t immediately move, instead staring defiantly at me. Her nostrils flare, and I can see her considering all the ways she wants to hurt me flash in her eyes. But before I can repeat the demand, she lets out a shuddering breath and quickly pops the button and lowers the zipper on her jeans.
“Such a good whore,” I croon. Then I let go of the steering wheel and angle myself so I can slide my hand inside, cupping her cunt. I can feel her wetness through her damp panties. “So youarewet.”
