Page 18 of The Twins

“It’s embarrassing,” I groan, pulling myself together. I storm out of the booth and halt mid-step when I seek out her presence. Her aura isn’t from around here. It’s almost ethereal, and she’s dressed like a commoner, for God’s sake.

“Nothing your body does is embarrassing. Trust me. I’ve given birth to a little giant. My body’s been acting up for months now,” Kamila reveals, and my mouth gapes open. This woman is a mom?

“You have a kid?” She nods joyfully, and I want to take part in her glee.

“Kendrick. He’s with his other daddy now. He’s the biggest little baby I’ve ever encountered. They’re home. I came to surprise my husband,” Kamila explains while helping me into the sink. I grab her shoulders to stabilize myself, but instead, I feel bedazzled. “He just played a record-winning game. Triple double? I don’t understand basketball talk. He did well, so I flew to LA to give him some special treatment.”

“Is that why the staff was flustered?”

“Yes… The team does this whenever I’m around. I’m Katantian, and it’s bad business to mingle with me. And… Well, the other wives never go to team dinners or strip clubs. I get a pass because I’m from Katantia,” she says. I’ve never heard of Katantia… Her fingers grip my dress, and I feel my pulse rise. “Are you okay with this? I can still get your man—”

“No, go ahead,” I encourage her with a faint smile. I hand her the tampon, and she unwraps it carefully, tossing the wrapping at the sink. “It’ll be our secret.”

My phone rings, and Kamila stops. She says, “Better pick up.”

I nod. We lock eyes while I pick up without scanning the display for the caller. “Grey?”

It’s Charles. I sigh in relief, but I also feel caught. If it had been Remo, the guilt would’ve been instant. Strangely, it’s thrilling to have Charles on the line.

“What is it?” I ask, my tone clipped. I can feel my pulse, coupled with my period bubbling up. I need something, but I have no idea how to express what I want without sounding like the slut I was always warned against becoming.

“We failed.” He exhales, and his pain tortures me. Ever since they stripped him of his operation, he’s given his all to his new job, the task force going after pedophiles in the streets and studios of Los Angeles. “And we almost blew our cover, too. It’s a messy night. I needed to hear your voice.”

“I’m here,” I say. Charles isn’t on speaker, but Kamila’s close enough to hear him. “I’m sorry.”

“How’s dinner? Anything exciting to report to Daddy?” he jokes dryly. He’s the guiding figure for all of us at home, and ever since we moved out here, he’s embraced it. We don’t play the Daddy game, but occasionally, it’ll slip out.

“Yes, something fascinating,” I say, lowering my voice. Kamila doesn’t smirk. She’s as concerned as I am, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Charles is mine, and I don’t share him! “Can I tell you? I want to make you feel better.”

“Tell me every detail,” he encourages me, and I hear the crack in his voice.

“I got my period,” I reveal.

He curses, and then he tells me, “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well.”

“I’m a lucky good girl,” I say.

He agrees, “Indeed.”

“But I forgot my tampons and my pads,” I say. “And the new cup you gave me the other day.”

“Bad girl,” he replies. The tease in his voice is mixed with worry.

“I found a friend who’ll help me out, though. Can she help me out, Daddy?” I ask, blushing. Kamila chuckles, and I squirm.

“A friend? Where’s Vegas?” Charles asks, clearly not as amused.

I add, “She’s a woman.”

“Oh.” Then, he clears his throat. “Still. What would you have done if I hadn’t called? Good girls seek permission. Girl, boy, or anything else, your body is ours.”

“Can she insert my tampon? I… I’ve got bad girl nails, and they’ll hurt my….” I’m ravenous for a touch, soaking for some attention.

“They’ll hurt what?” Charles asks like the predator that he is. “They’ll hurt your pretty pussy? I keep telling you, but you don’t listen. Good girls listen, don’t they?”

“I don’t want to hurt my pussy,” I whisper breathlessly, while Kamila’s eager touch overwhelms me. Her fingers are at the hem of my dress. “I’m on a date with Vegas, and I want to feel good for him. My pussy is bleeding. I need her help.”

“You have my permission,” Charles says, and Kamila goes to work. She lifts my dress, encountering my dripping wetness. She doesn’t react to my missing underwear, and it feels strange. Where’s the scrutiny in her gaze?

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