Page 79 of Flat Out
Not tonight. Tonight wasn’t about punishment. Tonight was about worship. About salvation. About new beginningstogether.
Still… I bought the crop. For later. For when she wanted it..
On the way back, I ducked into the pharmacy and loaded up a basket with Epsom salts, muscle rub, and packets of electrolyte drink mix. Then I stopped at a corner shop for chocolate and biscuits, because aftercare meant more than cuddles and water.It meant making her feel safe, seen, cherished in every sense of the word.
And I wouldn’t stop until she came to expect this from me. She deserved to be treated like the only religion I’d ever bow to. Her body would be my altar, her skin the scripture I’d memorize with my mouth, her moans my gospel. She deserved to know I’d kneel and confess every filthy thought at the temple between her thighs, that I’d seek salvation in the way she broke for me, again and again.
But worship wasn’t enough. I wanted to be everything for her—the worshipper and the executioner, the sinner and the saint, the prayer on her lips and the punishment in her veins.
My breath hitched just thinking it, panic pressing in at the edges, because who the fuck even thought like that? Who wanted to crawl to their knees and also hold the blade? Who wanted to sanctify and destroy in the same breath?
Me.
Holy and unholy. Sinful and sacred. Romantic and rebellious. Because if the world called us blasphemy, then let them burn. We’d already made each other divine. She was my absolution. Myonlyabsolution. And I would ruin myself a thousand times over just to keep her my seraphic little angel.
Even if every time I touched her, it was with the intent to break her apart and put her back together.
By the time I returned to the hotel, the day had faded to twilight, and the color of the sky looked like the bruises that had covered my chest in the wake of Montreal.
I moved almost robotically as I laid everything out with military precision.
The bathroom was first. Salts by the tub, fresh towels folded, candles and matches placed throughout the space.
The room came next. Lube bottles neatly lined on the nightstand, condoms beside them, vibrator charging on thedesk. Massage oil on the dresser and chocolate within arm’s reach.
I smoothed the sheets, tugged the duvet back, and made a nest for her. Made a shrine, more like, as I spritzed that addictive lavender shit over the linens..
Then I sat on the edge of the bed, cock still aching, and waited.
My leg bounced and my pulse hammered. My mind replayed every second of the cabana. Her soft whimpers, her whispered plea. The way she saidforeverhad me picturing my cum dripping from her pretty pink pussy and imagining us at the end of all of this with a baby girl in tow.
I imagined her walking in, eyes widening when she saw the setup. Imagined her body softening when she realized what I’d done, every detail chosen for her. Imagined her curling into me, trusting me to take her pain, to give her release, to split her open and keep her safe in the same breath.
And underneath all that—dark and raw and mine—I thought about the truth.
No one else would ever get this. Her last first time. Her last untouched place. She was mine in every way that mattered already. But this? This would be the seal. This made me a permanent part of her story, and fuck if that didn’t melt my insides a little.
Her body had been ravaged before, sure. But her ass—her sweet, untouched, perfectly heart-shaped ass—would only ever know me.Myhands.Mytongue.Mycock.
The thought had me groaning into my palms, fighting the urge to stroke myself, to come undone before she even crossed the threshold.
Fuck. Not yet. Not until she was here. Not until she gave herself to me.
Because when she did? I’d fuck her like prayer, ruin her like sacrament, and mark her so deep she’d never doubt it again. Her body–my altar, my sin, my salvation. Forever mine.
And I’d make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.
The keycard light blinked green,and I stepped inside, rolling my shoulders as if that would ease the ache digging into my neck. I’d clipped my hair up during the debrief, and the claw clip tugged uncomfortably against my scalp. I wanted nothing more than a shower and bed.
“Bonsoir, mon amour,” I called softly, kicking my trainers off by the door.
“Debrief run long?” Callum’s voice drifted out from near the bed, sounding casual as ever.
I glanced over, expecting to see him half-asleep. Instead, he sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows resting on his knees, looking like he’d been waiting for me. He looked up at me through his lashes, and despite the shadows, I could see the faint glint in his eyes.
I sighed, unzipping my hoodie. “Of course it ran long. I told them the dampers needed to be adjusted after FP2, and Nicotried to act like it was ‘driver error’.” My voice dropped several octaves, mimicking the exchange. “‘Drive around it,’ he said. Can you believe?—”
“Idiot,” Callum muttered, leaning back slightly. “You’ve been fighting the car all weekend. Allseason, actually. That’s not on you. You’re doing the best you can with that shitbox of a car.”
