Page 18 of To Love the Stars too Fondly

But what I sent was: omg sorry. I thought you meant the car

I’m thinking about the car now 😉

The reality of what the text had actually confessed struck me fully—that Alex had…had a nice time?

My cheeks still radiated heat; the rest of me was starting to match. But even beyond my own dumbass self, Alex, purposefully or not, was cornering me into confronting a reality I’d been hiding from.

I steeled my breath, eyes half-shut as I typed up the worst reply of all time. I like you too.

And then I erased it. Much too vulnerable. I tried something else. You can treat me however you’d like 😘

She replied: Let me think on that. We’ll talk tomorrow at the shop.

Anticipation already brewed inside me. Damn, I would not be sleeping. I will be bullying you, as per usual.

Dear god, please do.

Our past interactions suddenly made a helluva lot more sense. Even alone in my room, I bit my lip, smiling unbidden at the thought that she’d maybe been getting off on it this whole time. I texted back. Is this a humiliation kink, or are you into punishing brats?

You’ll have to wait and see 😘

The realization that this was the most fun I’d had flirting in years wasn’t lost on me. Quiet anxiety still pestered me, but it was just that.

Quiet.

Alex sent a second message. I feel bad keeping you up. Talk tomorrow?

Today, technically 😉

Got me there ✨ Goodnight!

I lay there overthinking, mulling over what we’d said, how I’d said it, torn between admitting that maybe I liked her too, versus keeping up the status quo.

The question did remain, though, of whether she was a brat tamer or into degradation. With that in mind, I touched myself where she would not, imagining her hands on my breast, teasing my nipples, playing with my clit, even pushing inside me, fucking me with that smirk on her face.

I heard her voice so clearly: Let me take care of you.

I prayed she would.

The pressure inside me burst, surmounting pleasure forcing me to bite back a moan. I rode out each wave, rubbing furiously until the final jolt of pleasure hit and I was forced back down to earth.

Heart racing, adrenaline falling, the post-nut clarity struck. I stared at the ceiling and the faintly glowing stars, studying the constellations I’d charted out back in high school as I tried to justify the truth—and failed.

I was being romanced.

By Alexandria Winthrop.

That fuckboy.

And I fucking loved it.

Tuesday

At 5:29 AM, a sleek red vehicle pulled into the parking spot nearest to my door. Far too nice to be an Uber and definitely too gaudy to belong to someone in the complex, so I blew a kiss to my sleeping mom and left.

Lingering puddles reflected the car’s headlights, but the dark sky still rumbled in warning. I half-expected Alex—it seemed in character at this point—but instead emerged the broadest woman I’d ever seen. Clearly familiar with the inside of a gym, this woman had biceps larger than my thighs and brunette hair cropped smartly to align with her chin. Though I estimated her to be in her 40s, she was enrapturing, although the dangerous glint in her eyes was clear even before sunrise. “Terra Stern?” she asked.

I couldn’t quite place her accent, though my guess was somewhere in Europe. “Yes, ma’am.”