It was late—past midnight—when her name lit up my phone.  “I miss what you did to my feet.” That was all she wrote. No hello. No build-up. Just that line—blunt, unfiltered, like a match struck in the dark.  I stared at the screen longer than I should’ve. My thumb hovered, ready to type a dozen […]

The next day, I found myself outside her place again, heart pacing like it was the first time. The air smelled like rain and the distant hum of the city—familiar, like her. When she opened the door, the sight of her hit me like a delayed punch to the gut. She was wearing an oversized

Three years earlier We met the way people do in cities like this—by accident, at a rooftop party neither of us really wanted to be at. She was standing by the edge, hair catching the neon glow, laughing with a group of friends about something I never heard. She looked so at ease, so unbothered

It started subtly.  Little things.  The second time I came over, she didn’t even open the door herself—just buzzed me in, texting “it’s open” from the couch. When I walked in, she was half-watching a show, legs stretched out, foot dangling over the edge of the sofa like bait. She didn’t say hello. Just pointed

She texted me mid-afternoon.  “Come by. Don’t be weird. I have someone over.” That was it. No explanation. No emoji. Just the instruction. The leash tugging.  By the time I got there, I could already hear laughter from the living room. I knocked lightly, hesitating.  “Come in,” she called out. Casual. Unconcerned.  I stepped inside

The lake smelled like sunscreen and seaweed. Kids shrieked as they cannonballed off the dock, their splashes arcing silver in the sunlight. A radio nearby played some tinny pop song, the bass thudding under the sound of waves lapping at the shore. The air was thick with the greasy scent of french fries from the

The text came late.  “Come over.” No emoji. No time suggested. Just a demand.  I got there within twenty minutes.  Her apartment was dark except for the dull blue glow of the TV—muted, forgotten. She was curled on the couch, hoodie over a tank top, hair tied up messily. Her face was pale, blotchy. No

The silence stretched for weeks.  No texts. No answers. Not even a view on the messages I sent. I didn’t know if I was blocked or just beneath her attention now. I replayed everything—every word, every look—over and over until even my own thoughts felt humiliating. But I still wanted her.  God, I needed her.

The party had ended hours ago, but the pulse of it still lingered in her bones.  She sat on her balcony, legs curled under her, a blanket draped loosely around her shoulders. Her phone lay face-down on the table next to an empty wine glass, notifications blinking softly beneath the screen. One of them was

(Your POV) It’s been a few days since the party.  She hadn’t said much after that night — just a short message. A time. A place. Her apartment. No promises. No explanation.  Just: “You can come over. Bring that hand cream I liked.” Now I was back on my knees at the edge of her

(Her POV) The Door Closes She leaned against the inside of the door after shutting it, exhaling slowly, feeling the cool wood press into her back as she let the moment settle. Her hand still tingled from the feel of the handle, from the tension of choosing who would stay and who would go. He

You don’t remember driving home.Your hands still smell like her. You lie on your bed, fully clothed, staring at the crack in the ceiling you’ve memorized by now. The room is too quiet. Too cold. You close your eyes, and there she is—her laugh in the hallway, Leo’s shadow leaning against her doorway, the way she

(Your POV) She hadn’t mentioned that night. Not once. No explanation, no apology, not even a glance that hinted at what had passed behind that closed door. And I hadn’t dared ask.  I was just… there again. Her apartment. Sitting on the floor beside the couch while she and Sophie laughed and chatted, drinks in

The silence thickened. Sophie’s feet shifted nervously against my back, her toes curling inside her plain white sneaker socks like she might pull away. But she didn’t move. Her heel dug into my spine, steady, demanding. “Prove it,” Sophie said finally, voice half-teasing, half-terrified of her own curiosity. Her laugh was a blade. “You heard

(Sophie’s POV) [Text Messages – 10:14 PM]Sophie: girl. i need to tell you something wild.Lauren: ??? did you hook up with someone??Sophie: NO. Well. Kind of? But not like that.Lauren: …explain. Sophie stared at her phone, toes curling under her bedsheets. How to describe the heat of his mouth on her foot? The way her stomach had dropped when

(Your POV) Leo’s apartment was a curious mix of vintage finds and modern touches—walls lined with eclectic art prints, shelves crowded with books and vinyl records, and a well-worn leather armchair that looked like it had seen a hundred conversations. The warm glow of a floor lamp cast soft shadows across the room, making the

Midnight The couch sits untouched, a silent taunt, as you lie on the rug beside their bed. Leo’s already shirtless, flexing as he climbs under the sheets. “Stay down there” he mutters.   She shoves him. “Be nice. He’s delicate.”   They drift off first, her back to Leo’s chest, his arm slung over her

5:30 AM You wake to the sound of breath. Not yours. Not hers. His. The floor is cold beneath your back, the dust gritty against your fingertips. Last night, she let you press your mouth to her soles until she drifted off, her toes brushing your lips as she murmured, “Stay down there. You’re good

(Your POV) You can’t sleep and can’t help but let out the pent-up tension and masturbate in secret sitting next to them on the floor. You risk she might be angry. But they don’t notice. They sleep deeply and soundly, happy and satisfied. Both her feet are hidden under the blanket, so all you can

The Silence Days passed. No texts. No calls. Just the gnawing quiet, heavy with the threat of discovery. And in that silence, you start to question yourself. Was this really what you wanted? The memory of her with him—so close, so untouchable—still burned under your skin, equal parts agony and exhilaration. You replayed every detail:

You stand outside Sophie’s apartment, nerves fluttering low in your stomach. The memory of your last encounter—her laughter, the way her toes curled as you worshipped her feet—lingers, but tonight feels different. There’s no audience, no games, just the two of you and the quiet promise of a new connection. She opens the door with

The café buzzed with midday chatter, the scent of roasted coffee beans thick in the air. You sat rigid in your chair, fingers tapping against your untouched latte, while your ex girlfriend lounged across from you, one foot slipped out of her Birkenstock. Her red-painted toes flexed lazily—close enough to make your throat tighten. For

You tell yourself, over and over, that you’re done. That this is the last time. The shame, the games, the way your ex twists everything into a transaction—it’s not what you want, not anymore. You think about Sophie, about how it felt to be seen and cared for, how easy it was to laugh with

Her foot lifted from your lap, leaving behind a phantom pressure, a silent command still thrumming in your bones. “Up,” she said, voice sharp as a blade.   You obeyed without hesitation, scrambling onto your knees, spine straight, hands braced on your thighs. The hardwood floor dug into your kneecaps, but the discomfort barely registered—not

The afternoon light slants through the half-drawn blinds, painting stripes across the couch where she lounges—head pillowed on Leo’s thigh, fingers idly tracing circles on his knee. The scene is deceptively casual, almost lazy, until Leo shifts, his hand sliding into her hair with a grip that’s more possession than caress. You watch from the

Sophie arrived early, nerves humming beneath her skin. She’d rehearsed what she might say, how she’d act, but now, sitting across from your ex, all of it felt hollow. The woman’s smile was practiced, her eyes cool and unreadable. They exchanged the usual greetings, comments about the weather, a joke about the café’s slow service.

[Your Ex, 11:47 PM]“So. Your birthday’s coming up.” The notification lights up your phone screen in the dark of your bedroom. Your pulse jumps. It’s been days since she’s acknowledged you outside of your “subscription service.” [You, 11:49 PM]“Yeah…?” The typing bubbles appear. Disappear. Reappear. [Your Ex, 11:52 PM]“Leo and I decided to give you

The door clicks shut, and finally, it’s just us. A wave of exhaustion washes over me, a welcome release from the tightrope walk of control and exhibition. My muscles ache, a delicious reminder of the power I wielded, the lines I blurred. I can feel Leo shifting beside me, hear him running the water—not in