I woke up feeling some type of way. It wasn't just soreness—it was deep in my muscles, a tenderness that made my breath catch when I tried to move. The sheets tangled around my legs felt too heavy, the air too sharp against my skin. My body ached in places I never knew could ache. He'd been gentle, yes. But the night had been long, intense… overwhelming in the best and worst ways.
I reached for the other side of the bed instinctively, only to find it empty and cold. He was gone. Disappointment curled through my chest, even though I told myself not to expect anything else. I tried to sit up. Big mistake. A bolt of pain shot through my thighs and lower back, and I flinched hard, biting my bottom lip to stop from crying out loud.
I tried again, slower this time, but the ache was real—so real that when I finally stood up, I nearly collapsed back into the sheets. My knees buckled slightly. I was sore to the core. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Just then, the bedroom door opened.
Denzel walked in wearing a black gym shirt and joggers, his skin glowing with the sheen of a fresh workout. His brows furrowed instantly when he saw my expression.
"Star?" he said, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"
Tears welled up in my eyes despite myself. "It's painful. I... I need to pee."
He didn't hesitate. He was at my side in a second, lifting me in his arms like I weighed nothing. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"I just woke up."
He carried me to the bathroom in silence, setting me gently down on the toilet seat and then stood in front of me with his arms crossed.
I looked up at him. "Can I get some privacy?"
He smirked. "It's not like I haven't seen you cumming… or should I say squirting?"
"Denzel!" I gasped, my cheeks burning as I looked away.
He chuckled and finally turned his back. "Fine. But I'm not going far."
Peeing was hard, like needles brushing over bruised skin. I winced the whole time. When I was done, I whispered, "Okay."
He turned around and knelt beside me. "Let's get you in a hot bath."
Denzel prepared the water himself, mixing in pink Himalayan salt from a glass jar like he'd done it a hundred times. The scent of eucalyptus filled the room as steam began to rise.
"The salt will ease the pain," he said as he helped me in. "I'll call the doctor. Just in case."
I leaned back into the water, sighing as the warmth spread over my skin. The tension in my muscles started to release. I soaked for nearly an hour, letting it melt away everything.
When I finally emerged, I felt new. Still sore, but better.
Wrapped in a towel, I stepped back into the room to find Denzel fully dressed again, this time in casual slacks and a loose cream shirt. He looked refreshed—hair damp from a shower, eyes alert. He looked up when he saw me.
"You look better," he said.
"I feel better."
A knock at the door interrupted us. Denzel stepped out and returned with a poised woman carrying a black medical bag. She introduced herself as Dr. Lebelo.
She examined me thoroughly, asked questions about the pain, gave me ointments, and a couple of small bottles with pain relief pills and supplements.
"No intercourse for a few days," she instructed sternly. "You need time to heal. Everything else looks normal, though. Rest, hydrate, and call me if anything changes."
After she left, Denzel helped me settle on the couch in the living room with pillows and a blanket. He pulled out a sleek black card and placed it in my hand.
"What's this?"
"A card to one of my accounts. Use it whenever you need something—clothes, food, things for your hair, I don't care. You don't ask, you just take care of yourself."
I stared at it like it might bite me. "This feels... like a lot."
He tilted his head. "It's not a trap. You're not a prisoner. If you need anything, you don't wait for permission."
That same soft intensity flickered behind his eyes. I tucked the card away slowly.
Later that afternoon, he arranged for a private car to take me to my mother's house. I hadn't been home in days, and the idea of walking through that front door stirred nerves I didn't want to name.
The house smelled like vanilla and lavender. Familiar. Safe.
My mom sat at the table with a mug of tea in her hands. She looked up when I walked in. Her eyes scanned me—not with anger, but with concern.
"You're back."
"Just for a little while."
She didn't speak for a moment. Then she pointed to the chair opposite her. "Sit."
I did. We stared at each other across the table, the silence almost too thick to break.
"I'm not mad at you," she said at last. "But I'm not going to pretend I'm okay with what you're doing."
"I know."
"You're a grown woman, Star. You can make your own decisions. But don't come running back if it breaks you."
I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. "I'm not broken."
She exhaled, leaning forward. "Good. Because I raised a fighter. Just… don't let anyone own you, even with kindness."
"I won't."
And then, for the first time since I'd walked in, she smiled. "You look stronger already. But if he hurts you—"
"He won't," I said quickly. "He's… complicated. But he's not cruel."
She stood and pulled me into a long hug. "Come home when you can. This door stays open. Always."
That night, I left feeling both comforted and torn.
Denzel was waiting in my new world—dominant, mysterious, and protective.
But this house… it would always be home.