“Summer … fuck, baby …” I groan into the fabric, voice cracking.
I imagine her here, those soft thighs, her wet pussy, the way she clenched around me when she came. The little sounds she made when I denied her orgasms. I come hard, shame burning through me as I spill all over my hand and the closet floor, her name broken on my lips.
When it’s over, I just sit there, cock softening in my hand, her underwear still pressed to my face.
This is what she’s made me become.
Day Four
Everything is a blur.
I wake up on the floor of the bedroom with dried cum on my stomach and an empty bottle in my hand. The security feed is still playing on the cracked monitor, looped footage of her riding me in the library chair, head thrown back, moaning my name. I watch it on repeat, stroking my cock with a shaking hand until I come again, useless and empty.
I clean up and stumble to the kitchen, where I drink straight from the whiskey bottle until the room spins, then I go back to the tapes.
Her laugh, her voice saying my name, the way she looked at me like she was starting to love me. I jerk off three more times before I pass out again.
Day Five
I can’t tellif it’s day or night anymore.
I’m naked, stumbling through the villa like a ghost. I find her hair tie on the bathroom counter and wrap it around my wrist like a fucking bracelet. I sit in the green chair in the library where I fucked her while she read to me and press my face into the seat, inhaling the ghost of her.
Then I pull up the footage from the pool lounger on the day I spent hours inside her. I watch myself buried deep in her, myhand on her stomach, both of us lazy and warm and happy. I stroke my cock to it, rough and angry, coming with her name torn out of my throat like a curse.
I don’t eat or sleep, I just drink and watch her on loop, and hate the man who drove her away.
Day Six
I’m a delirious fucking mess.
I wake up on the closet floor again, surrounded by her clothes. I’ve pulled half of them off the hangers and have been sleeping on top of them. I’ve pulled up every tape I have of us fucking. The dining table, the shower, and the library. I watch them all from morning till dusk, jerking off until my cock is raw, my hand is sticky, and my eyes won’t focus anymore.
I keep whispering to the empty room.
“Come back … please, baby … I’ll be better … I’ll give you anything … just come back to me …”
No one answers.
I’m nothing without her.
Day Seven
Andreas shows up in person.He finds me on the pool deck, shirtless, sunburned, with empty bottles lined up along the edge like soldiers.
“What the fuck?” he curses, stumbling over the bottles.
Another voice in the villa pulls me from my hangover, and I sit up in the lounger.
"You look like shit," he tells me.
"Fuck off," I mumble while flipping him off.
"Kairo, you need to …"
I don’t need his lecture. "I said fuck off, Andreas."
He doesn't fuck off, instead, he sits in the lounger next to mine.
