I squinted against the February sun, already regretting stepping out today. It was a perfect 72 degrees, the kind of weather that made the rest of the country jealous, but because every store window I passed screamed Valentine’s Day like a toddler who’s had too much sugar.
Red hearts. Pink ribbons. Chocolate displays that probably cost more than my textbooks.
“Artisan chocolate truffles,” I muttered, reading the sign outside some bougie chocolate shop.
Because nothing says romance like pretentious candy.
A couple walked past me, fingers intertwined, sharing earbuds and giggling at whatever playlist they’d curated for their perfect love. I rolled my eyes so hard I probably pulled something.
It was mutual; I’d been telling everyone about the breakup. Clean. Mature. We just wanted different things.
Total bullshit, obviously. Cole had wanted different things. Like his ex from junior school who’d suddenly moved back to Phoenix. I’d wanted to keep dating someone who didn’t make me feel like a consolation prize.
My phone buzzed. Dating app notification. I swiped it away without looking. Thirty seconds was usually my limit before the profiles all started blending together. The same gym selfies, the same hiking photos, the same looking for something real lies.
The UPS Store sat wedged between a nail salon advertising Valentine’s specials and a restaurant with a special menu plastered across their window. Two can dine for $89. The kind of dinner I absolutely did not want to attend alone, which meant I’d probably end up there next week just to prove a point to myself.
I pushed through the glass door into a fluorescent lit purgatory. Brown cardboard boxes stacked floor to ceiling. A few sad Valentine’s decorations were taped to the counter like an afterthought. The clerk looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, which, honestly, I felt the same.
The line was full of last-minute romantics clutching packages that screamed I forgot and panic-bought something in the window. A guy in front of me held a box from a jewelry store. A woman behind me juggled parcels with flowers that were already wilting.
“Next.”
I stepped forward, pulling up the tracking number on my phone, praying Past Faye hadn’t bought anything embarrassing.
“Package pickup for Williams.”
She disappeared into the maze of shelves. I couldn’t even remember what I’d ordered. Too many late-night shopping sessions lately, filling my cart with things I didn’t need, just to avoid thinking about things I didn’t want to think about.
“Here we go.”
But what she slid across the counter wasn’t some random Amazon box. It was matte black, heavy enough that my wrist bent slightly when I picked it up. The kind of weight that meant expensive. Dangerous. Curiosity is my worst personality trait.
The label was handwritten in elegant script. F. Williams. Not Faye. Just the initial, like whoever sent it knew me but kept their distance. No return address. No corporate logo. No cheerful shipping tape.
My stomach did something weird. A flutter that wasn’t entirely unpleasant but definitely wasn’t comfortable.
“Sign here.”
I scrawled something that might have been my name, not really paying attention. The box felt warm under my arm, like it had been sitting in sunlight instead of a climate-controlled warehouse.
Outside, the sun hit me like a slap. I fumbled for my sunglasses, the box tucked against my ribs. A group of girls walked past, arms full of pink bags from some boutique. Galentine’s shopping, probably. The kind of friendship ritual I’d been too distracted to organize this year.
I could open it right here in the parking lot. Satisfy the curiosity that was already gnawing at me.
No.
Absolutely not opening this in front of strangers. I have dignity. Sort of.
Instead, I unlocked my car and tossed the box onto the passenger seat. Whatever was inside could wait until I got home, until I could process it without an audience of couples and Valentine’s shoppers.
The drive back home was torture. Five miles of trying not to fling open the box at every stoplight like some desperate raccoon. My eyes kept drifting to the black box. It sat there, filled with possibility.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, my palms were sweating despite the air conditioning.
~oO❤️Oo~
I pushed through the front door into the blessed cool of home. The familiar smells hit me: laundry detergent, something savory simmering on the stove, and coffee that had probably been reheated three times since morning.
Normal. Safe.
Or it should’ve been.
Except the moment I stepped inside, the noise crashed over me. Choas from the kitchen. Cabinet doors slamming, the scrape of a spoon against a pot, my brother’s voice cutting through it all with some story I couldn’t quite catch. The low buzz of conversation meant Mom was probably half-listening while multitasking.
The black box pressed against my ribs, heavy and warm like a secret I wasn’t ready to share. I stood in the entryway for a second, feeling oddly detached from the whole domestic scene. Like I’d stepped out of one world and into another, but couldn’t quite make the transition stick.
“Faye?” Mom’s voice drifted from the kitchen. “That you, honey?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Mom was at the counter, dividing what looked like leftover casserole into containers. Meal prep for the week, probably. She had that focused efficiency thing going. Her hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, moving with the kind of purpose that meant she was already three steps ahead of whatever she was doing.
My brother Tyler leaned against the opposite counter, spooning something directly from an ice cream container. Fifteen and convinced the world revolved around his junk food intake. He barely looked up when I walked in.
“How’d the errands go?” Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Did you find what you needed?”
“Yeah, just picked up a package.”
“Oh, good. So, any plans tonight? I know it’s Valentine’s Day…”
I could hear the careful way she phrased it. Not pushing, just… available if I wanted to talk. Which I absolutely did not.
“Nothing special.”
Tyler snorted. “Because Cole’s probably busy with—”
“Tyler!” Mom’s voice carried a warning.
“What? I’m just saying.”
I was about to tell my brother exactly where he could shove his spoon when Dad walked in, holding a bouquet that made me stop mid-breath. Not the grocery store special, these were real flowers. Elegant white roses mixed with something delicate and pink. The kind of arrangement that required actual thought.
“For you,” he said, presenting them to Mom with zero fanfare. Like this was just Tuesday instead of the most commercially romantic day of the year.
Mom’s entire face lit up. Actually lit up, like she was my age instead of pushing fifty. She took the flowers and leaned into him, and they shared this soft, genuine kiss that made my chest tighten.
“Eww,” Tyler muttered, not even looking up from his ice cream. “Get a room.”
But Mom was already smiling against Dad’s lips. “Did you make dinner reservations?”
“Seven-thirty. And I picked up that wine you like.”
They were doing this sweet, married-couple thing where they finished each other’s thoughts and remembered small details, and I wanted to melt into the floor. Not because it was gross, but because it was exactly what I thought I’d had with Cole. What I’d been pretending we had, anyway.
I wasn’t jealous, exactly. Just… aware of everything I didn’t have anymore.
“What’s that?” Mom finally noticed the box under my arm.
Tyler’s head popped up like a golden retriever spotting a tennis ball. “Ooooh, Valentine’s present? Who’s it from?”
Dad joined the interrogation. “Did you order something? That’s not Amazon packaging.”
Three pairs of eyes fixed on me, curious and expectant. The box suddenly felt like it weighed fifty pounds.
“It’s just… supplies,” I mumbled, backing toward the stairs. “Nothing important.”
Supplies for what, Faye? Shut up!
I bolted before anyone could ask follow-up questions, taking the wooden steps two at a time. The box thumped against my ribs with every step, like it had its own pulse. The murmur of their conversation faded behind me, but I could still feel their curiosity trailing after me like smoke.
My bedroom door had never looked so welcoming. I slipped inside and turned the lock with a quiet click, finally alone with whatever mystery sat waiting in that black box.
Finally alone.
Finally… curious.
~oO❤️Oo~
I sat on the edge of my bed, the box balanced in my lap. My fingers traced the matte-black lid, feeling the smooth, expensive texture. Not cardboard. Not plastic. Something heavier, deliberate.
My heart kicked against my ribs. Not anxiety, exactly. More like… anticipation. The kind that made my skin prickle.
I lifted the lid slowly, dragging out the moment.
Dark rose-pink tissue bloomed upward, lush and soft as velvet. The contrast hit me immediately: sleek black packaging against this deep, luxurious pink. Not the crinkly stuff you grabbed at Dollar Tree. This was deliberate. Elegant. Someone had wrapped this with intention.
Okay… someone spent money. Someone has taste.
My pulse quickened.
On top rested a cream-colored envelope, thick cardstock that probably cost more than my textbooks. My name… well, just the initial F, was written across the front in smooth, looping strokes. Not printed.
Handwritten.
My fingers hovered above it like touching it might make it vanish.
But my eyes drifted downward before I could think too hard about the implications.
A flash of cotton-candy blue lace peeked through the tissue, delicate and intricate. I caught the edge with one finger and pulled gently. The lace spilled free, revealing scalloped detailing, impossibly fine stitching, the kind that screamed boutique brand.
It was laid out deliberately, almost posed. Like whoever packed this wanted me to see it just so.
I brushed a fingertip over the lace, feeling the texture.
Oh. Oh, this is… yeah, definitely not from Target.
Heat crept up my neck. Not embarrassment, exactly. Something closer to awareness. Like, someone had seen me, really seen me, and picked this specifically for me.
I forced my attention back to the envelope.
My nail slipped under the flap, breaking the seal with a soft tear. Inside was a thick white card. Minimalist and expensive. The kind of stationery people bought from places with names like Papier or Crane & Co.
Neat handwriting filled the center.
My darling Faith,
Hope these bring you closer to me.
—A
Short. Personal. Intimate.
I blinked.
Faith?
Who the hell is Faith? Who is A? And why does A know my taste better than my ex ever did?
I read it twice, my brain scrambling through possibilities.
My fingers tightened on the card.
I set it aside and lifted the g-string fully, letting the lace spill over my fingers. It was impossibly soft, that stretchy silk-elastane blend you only got from high-end brands. The kind that moved with your body instead of against it. I held it up, admiring the craftsmanship despite the confusion swirling through my head.
I knew it! La Perla. Something I’d only ever seen in magazine spreads or fancy Instagram Reels.
This is not mine. But I’ve already opened the box… And it’s just my size.
And kind of thrilling.
An unexpected tightness bloomed between my legs.
I dropped the lace onto the bed and peeled back more tissue, expecting maybe a matching bra or…
My breath stopped.
Underneath, nestled in black velvet lining, sat a dildo.
But not just any dildo.
This thing looked like it belonged in a fantasy novel. Black as obsidian with streaks of vivid blue and silver flakes catching the light like stars. It looked nothing like the bland silicone things I’d seen in Zorba’s or giggled over with Mads online.
This looked… mythical.
I lifted it carefully, surprised by the weight. My fingers explored the surface, tracing the intricate, aggressive texturing. The shaft was covered in large, prominent studs and ridges that mimicked rough, scaled skin. Dragon scales, maybe? Or something equally fantastical and impossible.
It had this uniform, tapering shape… no bulge, just a gradual widening from the slightly flared tip down to the base. I estimated maybe eight inches tall, give or take. Substantial. Intimidating, even. Stamped underneath: Flint.
Flint…
I poked it with my fingernail. Firm, with just a little give. Quality silicone.
My mouth went dry.
What the actual…
Heat flooded my face, my chest, pooling low in my belly. A mixture of surprise and shock and… something else. Something that made my thighs press together involuntarily.
This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t random.
Someone had picked this. Meant for someone named Faith.
And yet here it was… unboxed by me.
I set it down on the bed beside the lace, staring at the two items like they might rearrange themselves into something that made sense.
They didn’t.
My heart hammered against my ribs, hot and uneven, filling my ears.
~oO❤️Oo~
The Scottsdale sky shifted outside my bedroom window, bleeding from gold to that soft desert pink that made everything feel like a painting. That slow, gorgeous fade I usually loved watching.
Tonight, it barely registered.
Downstairs, the house hummed with familiar sounds. Heavy footsteps on hardwood floors, cabinet doors opening and closing, Mom’s voice carrying up the stairs in that particular pitch that meant she was second-guessing her outfit choice.
Normal. The kind of evening I’d lived through a thousand times.
Except upstairs, on my bed, sat a box that made my pulse jump every time I glanced at it.
I heard Mom’s heels click toward the base of the staircase.
“Faye? Honey?”
I poked my head out of my room. “Yeah?”
She stood at the bottom in a navy wrap dress, the one she’d probably tried on, rejected, and circled back to at least six times. Her earrings caught the light as she tilted her head, mentally running through her checklist.
“Dinner’s in the fridge. Just heat it up when you’re ready.”
“Got it.”
“And Tyler cannot survive on frozen waffles alone, okay? Make sure he eats actual food.”
Ha! So not anything shaped like a dinosaur.
I bit back a smile. “I’ll supervise his nutritional intake.”
“Don’t answer the door for anyone you don’t know.”
“Mom…”
As if I needed strangers in this house on tonight of all nights.
“Phone on loud, please. Just in case.”
“Okay.”
“Lock the door behind us when we leave.”
“I will.”
She paused, smoothing her dress. I watched her wrestle with herself: that internal tug-of-war between trusting that I was nineteen and capable versus wanting to triple-check everything.
“I know, I know.” She laughed softly. “You’re an adult. I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re being Mom. It’s fine.”
Dad appeared behind her, tugging at his cufflinks like they were some kind of engineering puzzle. His nice shirt. The pale blue one Mom bought him last Father’s Day was buttoned perfectly, but he still looked mildly uncomfortable.
He glanced up, caught my eye, and grinned.
“Take care of your brother, yeah?”
“Always do.”
He squeezed my shoulder as he passed, warm and reassuring. The kind of gesture that said I trust you implicitly.
A tiny pang of guilt flickered through me. Not guilty enough to lock the box away, though.
Because upstairs, wrapped in rose-pink tissue and black velvet, sat something that would’ve made both of them have a very different conversation with me.
“Love you!” Mom called as they headed out.
“Love you too!”
The front door clicked shut. Their car engine turned over, headlights sweeping across the driveway, and then… silence.
The house felt instantly bigger. Quieter.
Charged.
Like the air upstairs knew exactly what was waiting for me.
I exhaled slowly and headed downstairs.
~oO❤️Oo~
Tyler had already claimed his spot at the kitchen table, hunched over a plate of reheated lasagna like he hadn’t eaten in days. He shoveled forkfuls into his mouth with the efficiency of someone competing in a speed-eating contest.
I grabbed my own plate from the microwave and sat across from him, poking at the pasta without much interest.
My brain kept looping back upstairs. The lace. The note. Flint.
Who the hell names a dildo Flint?
“So who was the package from?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
Tyler didn’t look up, still destroying his lasagna. “The box. You were all weird about it earlier.”
“Just… stuff I ordered.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Boring stuff.”
He snorted. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not weird, you are.”
“You totally are.”
I forced a bite of food into my mouth, chewing slowly, buying time. My mind flashed again. Soft blue lace spilling over my fingers, the weight of the silicone in my palm, the aggressive ridges and studs…
“Faye?”
“What?”
“You zoned out.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He gave me a look but didn’t push. Just wiped his hands on his shirt and shoved his chair back.
Tyler, gross…
“I’m gonna game.”
“Cool.”
He grabbed his headset from the counter and disappeared into the living room. Seconds later, the TV flared to life, explosions and gunfire filling the background.
I sat there for another minute, pushing lasagna around my plate, pretending to be calm.
Tyler’s voice drifted over. “Dude, I’m gonna frag this guy so hard—”
I had no idea what that meant. Wasn’t sure I’d even heard it right.
But he was gone. Locked into his own world.
I stood slowly, carrying my plate to the sink, rinsing it off with exaggerated casualness.
“I’m going upstairs to… study,” I called over my shoulder.
No response.
Tyler probably didn’t even hear me.
I dried my hands on a dish towel, glanced back at him… headset on, controller gripped tight, eyes glued to the screen, and slipped toward the stairs.
My heart kicked up a notch with every step.
By the time I reached my bedroom door, I was practically vibrating.
Not with fear. Not exactly.
Something worse… curiosity.
~oO❤️Oo~
I turned the lock with a sharp click.
Took two steps back.
Hesitated.
Returned, jiggled the handle. Still locked.
Walked away again…
Stopped.
Went back. Checked it one more time because my pulse hammered too hard to trust anything right now.
“Okay. Totally locked.”
Downstairs, Tyler screamed something about a sniper and his team being trash. The TV boomed. He wasn’t coming up.
Still.
I turned toward the bed.
The black box sat there like it had been placed by someone who knew exactly where I’d look first.
My breath snagged. Fingers twitched at my sides.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, legs bouncing slightly, restless energy crackling through me.
The cotton-candy blue lace pooled in the tissue like something from a different world.
I lifted it with both hands.
The fabric draped over my fingers like water, so light it barely registered. When I rubbed it between my thumb and knuckle, the material was shockingly soft: buttery, weightless, expensive in a way I’d only felt in stores where even browsing felt like trespassing.
Delicate scallops caught the light. A faint shimmer threaded through the pattern.
I held it up.
Tiny. Petite. Minimal.
Daring.
And undeniably pretty.
My eyes flicked to the mirror. Then back to the lace. Then to the door again.
My jeans suddenly felt suffocating, too heavy, too in the way.
Without letting myself think, I unbuttoned them and shoved them down my hips in one smooth motion. My old panties hit the floor in a sad little crumple. Plain black cotton, washed to death.
Humiliating.
Wow. Could I be more tragic?
The blue lace looked even more decadent by comparison.
Should I?
I stepped in.
One foot. Then the other.
The elastic had that perfect give. It hugged without digging. When I pulled them up, the lace glided over my skin like cool breath, impossibly smooth.
Across my hips, the band settled in a flawless line.
The softness was unreal. It was so thin and so light, it felt like wearing a secret. I inhaled sharply as the fabric sat exactly where it should. No adjusting needed.
I turned to the mirror.
Almost hesitant.
Then looked.
The blue lace was striking against my skin. Playful, delicate, and flattering in ways I didn’t expect. The sweep of my hips, the clean line at my waist, and the accent it gave to the curve of my ass… Chef’s kiss!
This was the kind of lingerie that transformed you just by existing on your body. Something low in my stomach tightened, sharp and warm, and I pretended not to notice.
They fit perfectly.
Too perfect.
I leaned closer. Turned slightly left. Slightly right.
Ran a hand over my hip, feeling the smoothness.
“How…” I whispered. “How do these fit me like this?”
A tiny flutter rose low in my belly… not fear, but recognition.
Like the piece wasn’t borrowed.
But chosen.
For me.
~oO❤️Oo~
I stepped back toward the bed, still catching my breath.
The lace moved with me, so light it felt like air brushing my skin. I couldn’t stop touching my hips. My fingers kept drifting there, tracing the elastic, feeling the soft give.
When I sat down on the mattress, I gasped.
The panties felt like nothing.
Like they weren’t even there.
Just a whisper. A suggestion. A secret only I knew about.
God, no wonder rich girls feel unstoppable.
I swallowed hard and turned my attention back to the box.
To Flint.
My hand reached out, cautious, almost hesitant, and wrapped my fingers around the shaft.
The first thing I noticed was the weight.
Heavy. Solid. Real in a way that made my stomach drop. My brain whispered danger. My body whispered don’t you dare stop.
Heavier than any toy I’d ever held. Heavier than I expected.
My fingers slid up slowly, tentative, feeling the studs press into my palm. The ridges caught under my fingertips. The silicone was cool at first, then warmed under my touch like it was waking up.
I wrapped my hand around the thickest part.
Barely fit.
My thighs pressed together without permission.
I tried to stand it upright on the mattress, just to see, but it sank into the comforter. Wobbled. Then fell dramatically to the side like a toppled statue.
I huffed out a half-laugh, half-exasperation, and picked it up again.
My fingertips traced the base. Smooth. Wide. Purposeful.
I crouched and placed it on the rug.
It stood for a second…
Then slowly tilted like a sad silicone tree.
“Okay. So not the rug.”
I ran my thumb along the underside and found the slight lip.
The suction cup.
My brain fired off the bathroom idea instantly: me in the shower, blue lace and steam, and this thing stuck to the floor.
Immediate problem: Tyler walks in on everything.
I shook my head hard. Nope. Absolutely not. I will actually die.
Wall? Maybe, but the angle seemed weird and too heavy.
Desk?
Flat. Smooth. Close by.
A reckless spark of curiosity pulsed through me.
Without thinking, truly without any break between impulse and action, I plonked the dildo base-down onto my desk.
THUD!
Loud. Solid. Startling.
I jumped. Covered my mouth. Eyes darted to the door.
Downstairs, Tyler’s voice rose in triumph. He hadn’t heard.
I gave the dildo a little push.
It didn’t move.
I pulled it sideways.
Nothing.
Okay, that’s… concerningly strong.
I braced one hand on the desk and tried to wiggle it free.
No luck. At all.
Oh my God, it’s stuck…
What if I can’t get it off—
Is this thing industrial strength?!
Panic spiked hot and fast. I imagined my mom walking in tomorrow, asking why my desk had a dragon dildo permanently attached.
But my hand was still on it.
My palm cupped the base.
My fingers slid up the textured shaft again… on instinct, without thought.
Heat crawled up my throat. Down my belly.
The lace shifted against my thighs as I pressed them together.
I stood there, breath shallow, staring at the stuck dildo like it had gravity.
My cheeks burned.
My heart pounded in my chest.
I should pull away.
I should absolutely pull away.
I didn’t pull away.
I couldn’t tell if I was terrified…
Or incredibly, stupidly turned on.
~oO❤️Oo~
I gave Flint one more determined tug.
Nothing. Not even a budge.
The suction cup had claimed my desk like it owned the place.
“Fine,” I whispered to the empty room. “You win.”
My feet moved without permission toward the nightstand. Bottom drawer. The one I never let Tyler near.
My hand dove straight for the jumbo condom tucked behind old lip glosses and hair ties.
I held it up, squinting at the package, then at Flint’s intimidating girth.
How the hell would I even get this on him?
The latex would probably snap trying to stretch over those ridges.
I tossed it back and grabbed the small bottle of lubricant instead. Clear. Slippery. Reliable.
When I turned around, Flint stood there like a monument.
The Christmas lights I’d never bothered taking down cast soft colors across his textured surface. Blue. Red. Green. The street light filtered through my shutters, painting everything in gentle amber.
He looked almost… majestic.
I walked back to the desk, bottle in hand, and without really thinking about it, I leaned down.
My lips brushed the tip.
Just a quick kiss. Soft. Testing.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, Flint.”
I squeezed a generous amount of lube onto the head, watching it drip down the ridges. My other hand followed, spreading it evenly, coating every bump and scale until he gleamed.
My fingers slipped. The texture caught under my palm.
Heat pooled between my legs.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I climbed onto the desk.
One knee. Then the other.
The wood creaked under my weight as I positioned myself above him, thighs spread wide.
I hooked my finger around the blue lace and pulled it aside.
The head brushed my entrance.
Oh.
Oh, that’s…
The size hit me all at once. Real. Intimidating. Way bigger than anything I’d ever…
But my body was already responding. Already wet. Already wanting.
I closed my eyes and lowered myself.
Just the tip.
Jesus Christ.
Back up. Breathe. Down again, a little further this time.
My thighs trembled. The stretch burned in the best possible way.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
Letting myself adjust. Letting my body learn his shape.
The scales dragged against my walls with every movement, sending electric shocks through my core. Each ridge caught and pulled, creating sensations I’d never felt before.
It took forever.
Or maybe seconds.
Time stopped existing.
Finally, finally, I sank down completely.
He wasn’t as long as I’d expected, but God, the thickness filled me entirely. Completely. Like he was made specifically for me.
I found my rhythm.
Slow at first. Deliberate.
Rising until just the head remained, then sliding back down, feeling every bump and texture drag along my inner walls.
This is insane.
This is perfect.
Heat built under my t-shirt. Sweat gathered at my hairline.
Without thinking, I grabbed the hem and yanked it over my head.
The shirt hit the floor somewhere behind me.
Up. Down. Faster now.
My head fell back, eyes closed, one arm reaching behind me to brace against the desk.
My free hand roamed. Stomach. Ribs. Breast.
I squeezed. Pinched.
The pleasure built like a wave, higher and higher with each movement.
When my fingers found my nipple and pinched hard, the orgasm slammed into me.
White-hot. Devastating.
I didn’t let go of the pressure.
Couldn’t let go.
Wave after wave crashed through me as my body clenched around Flint. My pussy squeezed him tight, holding him deep as the pleasure rolled on and on.
My mouth opened in a silent scream.
My thighs shook.
My vision went white behind my closed lids.
And still I held that pinch, riding the sensation until it faded to tremors.
Until I could breathe again.
Until I remembered where I was.
I collapsed forward, trembling, gasping, still full.
Still so full.
~oO❤️Oo~
Holy shit.
What did I just do?
The thought barely formed before headlights swept across my window, cutting through the amber glow of my Christmas lights. The familiar rumble of Dad’s Mercedes turning into the driveway.
My heart stopped.
Then everything happened at once.
I tumbled backward off the desk, knees buckling, landing in a graceless heap on the carpet. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs.
At least Flint came with me.
No longer a monument stuck to my desk, he lay beside me on the floor, slick and gleaming under the fairy lights.
Downstairs, Tyler’s panic exploded into motion. TV clicked off. PlayStation controllers clattered into drawers. His feet pounded up the stairs two at a time, bedroom door slamming with practiced precision.
That kid had this routine down to a science.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
I scrambled to my knees, grabbing Flint first. Heavy. Slippery. Where the hell was I supposed to hide eight inches of textured silicone?
Under the bed.
No… too obvious.
My hands shook as I wiped him down with my discarded T-shirt, then shoved him into the bottom drawer of my nightstand, buried beneath old journals and tangled phone chargers.
The front door opened.
“Faye. Tyler, we’re home!”
Mom’s voice carried up the stairs, sweet and unsuspecting.
I was still naked. Still wearing nothing but expensive lace and a sheen of sweat. The room reeked of lube and desperation.
My legs trembled as I stood, thighs slick, everything between them throbbing with the memory of what I’d just done.
Who would freak out more… Mom or Dad?
Mom would probably faint. Then lecture me about self-respect and appropriate behavior.
Dad would turn that particular shade of red that meant he was calculating whether grounding me until the end of college was legally feasible.
Neither option appealed.
I grabbed the first clothes I could find: old gym shorts, an oversized ASU sweatshirt, and pulled them on with shaking hands. The lace stayed. No time to change it.
Footsteps on the stairs.
“Faye? You still awake, honey?”
“Just studying!” I called back, diving onto my bed and grabbing the nearest textbook.
Calculus.
Perfect cover for looking completely wrecked.
~oO❤️Oo~
I grabbed my calculus book and let it fall against my thighs, trying to look like someone who had been studying this entire time instead of… whatever the hell that had been. Pages of derivatives and integrals blurred together, meaningless symbols, while my heart hammered against my ribs.
Down the hall, Mom and Dad’s voices drifted through their bedroom door. Soft laughter. The kind that meant their evening had gone well, that they’d found their way back to each other over wine and conversation.
Tyler’s music started up, some bass-heavy hip-hop that thumped through the walls in a steady rhythm.
The house settled into its familiar evening sounds. Normal. Safe.
My pulse finally began to slow.
But the lace clung to me under my shorts, damp and electric against my skin. Every tiny shift made it whisper against me, reminding me exactly what I’d done, exactly what I was still wearing. What I’d done on my desk while my parents were out celebrating Valentine’s Day.
The drawer seemed to pulse beside me. Flint, hidden beneath old diaries and forgotten charging cables, waiting.
My fingers found the cream envelope again, pulling it from where I’d tucked it under my pillow. The cardstock felt thick, expensive. Real.
Faith.
Not Faye. Faith. Close enough to sting, far enough to not be mine.
Someone had written that name in careful script, someone who’d taken time to choose the right pen, the right pressure. Someone who’d wrapped everything in rose-pink tissue and black velvet like it mattered.
Like Faith mattered.
My throat tightened. This wasn’t some random gift. Someone had measured Faith’s body in their mind, had known exactly what size panties would fit perfectly against her skin. Had chosen Flint specifically for her.
For someone who wasn’t me.
The signature stared back at me from the bottom of the card. Just —A.
Who are you?
My phone buzzed against the textbook, making me jump.
Mads: —Faye we need to start planning Miami! Flights are getting expensive
I stared at the text, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Sweet, uncomplicated Madeline. No idea that her best friend was sitting in stolen lingerie, hiding evidence of the most intense solo session of her life.
A smile crept across my face.
Soft… Dangerous.
I should return the package. Be a good person. Find Faith, whoever she was, and give her back what belonged to her.
But I won’t.
Let Faith have her mystery.
This one’s mine now.
