I stared up at the ceiling—, spinning a little from lack of sleep—whispering to myself like a crazy person.
“Oh my dirty mind… he still isn’t touching me.
Still punishing me.
Still making me wait like I’m some naughty little girl who needs to learn her lesson.”
I rolled over, face buried in the pillow.
No sleep.
Not a wink.
Just replaying the taste of him on my tongue from yesterday—hot, salty, thick—until my thighs were slick again and my fingers were sore from circling my c**t for hours.
He’d come back last night.
He’d driven Mom to the airport, turned around, come home alone… and then what?
Locked himself in his study.
Ignored my locked bedroom door.
Left me aching and untouched while he “handled work.”
Punishment.
That’s what it was.
And f**k, it was
