It was getting late, and I was surprised my mom hadn't called me yet. That silence? It was loud. Heavy. I should probably call her first… because clearly, Denzel wasn't planning on letting me go anytime soon.
We had just finished another round of sex not too long ago. My body was sore, like deeply sore in places I didn't even know could ache. I was exhausted, stretched thin—but in the best kind of way. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror, and I couldn't help but chuckle. My neck, my breasts, even down to my chest—every inch of me was painted in love bites. This man really marked me like I belonged to him.
I was still tracing one of the hickeys on my collarbone when he walked in, dressed in casual clothes that somehow made him look even more irresistible. There was something about the softness of the cotton tee hugging his muscles that made my stomach flutter.
He smirked, catching me staring. "Hey, mummy."
"Hi," I said, returning the smile, still half-dazed from everything.
"We need to see a doctor tomorrow for a check-up," he said casually, as if we were discussing weather or groceries. "I don't know how that skipped my mind, but we need to play safe. I don't want a baby."
I arched a brow. "And I wasn't planning on getting pregnant."
"Good," he said with a satisfied nod. Then, "What do you want to eat?"
I gave him a mock glare. "Who's cooking?"
He laughed. "I thought you knew your way around the kitchen."
"It's probably not me."
That made him laugh harder. In one swift move, he scooped me up into his arms. "I knew it. A whole city girl who can't even boil water."
"Watch it," I warned playfully, clinging to his neck.
He carried me to the living room and gently set me down on the plush couch. "I'll order something. What do you feel like eating?"
I gave him my answer, and he walked off to make the call. When he came back, he slid in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me to his chest. His warmth, his scent—it all made me feel like we were a real couple. Which was dangerous. Because we weren't.
He didn't want feelings. But how could I not feel something when he held me like this?
I sighed, my thoughts drifting to my mom. Maybe if Denzel and I were actually in a relationship—if this thing had a real name—she wouldn't be so mad. Or maybe she would. I didn't know anymore.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, brushing a thumb across my arm.
"My mom. She's… against all of this. The idea of me sleeping with you in exchange for money."
He pulled back a little and looked at me with something between disbelief and annoyance. "I told you to keep this between us. Why would you tell her something like that?"
He didn't get it. No one could.
"You won't understand," I said, pulling my knees to my chest. "My mom's different. She's the most understanding person I know. She's let me grow into myself without judgment."
He ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. "Call her."
"What?"
"Call her. If she matters that much to you, then call her."
I hesitated, staring at my phone like it might bite me. What would I even say?
But I dialed.
She picked up after the second ring. Her voice was calm but clipped.
"Mom."
"Star."
"I'm sorry…" I breathed out.
There was a pause on the line. Then she spoke.
"You're old enough to make your own decisions, Star Lowell Jones. Twenty-six years old is not a child, but what you did was very stupid. Still, maybe you'll learn something from it. I'm not mad, but I'm not going to support this… this thing you're doing either. You'd better come back home soon because you'll always be my little girl, even when you act like a grown woman."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay."
She hung up without saying I love you—which hurt more than I wanted to admit.
I slipped my phone into the pocket of Denzel's white robe and walked outside to the pool, letting the soft breeze kiss my skin. The tension from the call still lingered in my chest. My mom wasn't mad, not entirely. But her words carried weight. I was still her little girl, and this thing with Denzel—whatever it was—was way beyond what she wanted for me.
I sat at the edge of the pool, dipping my feet into the cool, glassy water. It was quiet out here. Peaceful. The sky was painted in soft gold and rose, the sun slowly slipping into the horizon.
A moment later, I felt Denzel behind me, his warm chest pressing against my back, arms sliding gently around my waist.
"She's right," I whispered, not turning to face him. "This whole thing is crazy."
"Maybe," he murmured, resting his chin on my shoulder. "But we're in it now, kitten. So let's just take it one day at a time."
I sighed, leaning into him slightly. "I don't know how to swim."
"Then it's a good thing you're with someone who does," he said with a soft chuckle. "Come on. I'll teach you."
I looked at him, unsure. "Denzel... I'm still sore."
He nodded, brushing a kiss over my temple. "I know. I'm not trying to push you into anything. Let's just swim."
He stepped into the water first, the pool light casting soft glows over his skin. He turned, offering me his hand.
"Just come in. I'll hold you the whole time."
I hesitated for only a second, then let him help me down the steps. The water was cool and soothing against my heated skin. I shivered a little, but Denzel pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist.
"Relax," he whispered. "Just lean back. I've got you."
His hands supported me as I let myself float, my head resting against his shoulder. He moved slowly, guiding me through the water like I was something delicate. His lips brushed my cheek every now and then, murmuring quiet encouragement.
"You're doing good," he said, voice soft. "Keep kicking."
After a few minutes, I was laughing—really laughing. I wasn't graceful, but I didn't care. For the first time today, I felt light.
Eventually, we drifted to the shallow end. He wrapped his arms around me again, pulling me close so that our foreheads touched.
"You're beautiful like this," he said. "Happy."
"You sound surprised."
"I'm used to being the reason people cry," he muttered. "Not smile."
I blinked, touched by the vulnerability in his voice. "You make me feel safe."
That made him pause.
"Do I?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Yes. Even when you're rough, I feel... protected. Like nothing else matters when I'm with you."
He brushed his nose against mine. "I want you."
I swallowed hard, my body already remembering the ache from before. "Denzel... I'm still sore. I can't. Not yet."
His eyes darkened, but he didn't get frustrated. He nodded slowly, and I could see the restraint in the way his jaw clenched.
"I'll be gentle," he said. "If you'll let me touch you. Just hold you. I don't need more than that right now. Just... let me have you in my arms."
I hesitated, then nodded.
He lifted me from the water, carrying me effortlessly toward the cushioned poolside lounger. The sun was lower now, casting a golden glow over everything. He laid me down gently, then stretched beside me, draping a towel over both our bodies.
We didn't speak. He just held me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns across my thigh. When he leaned in to kiss me, it wasn't rushed or demanding. It was slow, reverent. Like he was memorizing me all over again.
His hands explored carefully, checking for every flinch, every sign of discomfort. And when I finally whispered, "Okay," he moved with a gentleness that made my heart ache.
There was no urgency. No power games. Just Denzel and I under the fading sun, moving together like we had all the time in the world.
And for a little while—we did.