The living room swallows whole, its familiar comfort now feeling like a prison cell with premium cable. I stare blankly at the TV, so cooking competition where a chef is having a ltdown over undercooked risotto. His crisis seems laughably trivial compared to mine.
Emily left an hour ago in that tight silver dress that hugs every curve, her white hair cascading down her back, lipstick perfect. She kissed goodbye with a tenderness that nearly broke . "I'll be back around midnight, baby," she whispered, her perfu lingering long after the door clicked shut behind her.
Now it's just and the empty house and the decision I've finally reached after days of ntal torture. Constantly making love with Emily, only to be raped by Holly when Emily leaves the house for even a second.
I'm giving up.
Not on Emily, never on her, but on fighting what's happening with Holly. My life isn't my own anymore. Every mont is colored by the threat hanging over my head, that video she could release at any ti. The constant anxiety is poisoning everything, even my precious ti with Emily.
So I've made a choice. Compartntalization. When I'm with Emily, I'll pretend Holly's continuous assaults aren't happening. I'll lock those mories in a vault and throw away the key, just like growing up with my Mom. And when Holly demands I service her, I'll comply with minimal resistance. No talking, no emotion. Just chanical movent, like a workout routine. Rep after rep until it's over. Then I'll pretend it wasn't real.
It's the only way I can see to preserve my sanity and my relationship with Emily. The alternative is losing everything.
The front door opens with a soft click that sends ice through my veins. I don't need to turn around to know who it is. I sigh heavily, the timing almost comical. Think of the devil, and she appears.
"You're ho early," I say, not bothering to look away from the TV where the risotto crisis has escalated to full-blown kitchen warfare.
Holly drops her backpack by the door with a dull thud. "Professor canceled class," she replies, moving into my peripheral vision. She's wearing jeans and one of those oversized university sweatshirts that sohow still manages to hint at the curves beneath. Her hair is in that perfect ponytail, not a strand out of place, wire-rimd glasses perched precisely on her nose.
"Mom's out?" Holly asks, her eyes scanning the room as if making sure we're truly alone.
"Yeah," I confirm, keeping my voice flat, emotionless. Just like I decided. No resistance, no emotion. Follow current novels on Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
Her lips curl into a wide, predatory smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, co on then," she says, motioning toward her bedroom with a casual flick of her wrist.
I rise from the couch without argunt, switching off the TV mid-risotto crisis. Holly's eyebrows shoot up behind her wire-rimd glasses, genuine surprise flickering across her features.
"You're finally learning your place, huh?" she asks, studying like I'm a lab specin that's just done sothing unexpected.
"Yup," I answer simply, following her down the hallway with chanical steps.
She keeps glancing back at , confusion evident in the furrow of her brow. This passive compliance wasn't what she expected.
Once inside her bedroom, she closes the door with a soft click that sounds impossibly loud in the quiet house. We stand facing each other in awkward silence for a mont before she begins undressing, pulling her university sweatshirt over her head.
I follow her lead, stripping off my clothes with the sa detached efficiency she displays. There's no passion in our movents, just the chanical dance of two people preparing for sothing that shouldn't be happening.
When we're both naked, Holly takes my hand. For the briefest mont, I notice a blush on her cheeks. She guides to her bed, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she lies back against the pillows.
"Co here," she says, her voice softer than usual as she pulls on top of her.
I position myself between her legs, bracing my weight on my forearms. This close, I can see the flecks of darker blue in her irises behind those wire-rimd glasses, so similar to Emily's eyes that it makes my chest ache.
"I want you to do it gently with today," Holly whispers, her usual commanding tone replaced by sothing almost... tender.
I nod wordlessly. She reaches between us, guiding my cock to her entrance. I'm surprised to find her already wet, soaked, actually, and I slide in with unexpected ease. The usual tightness that normally feels like a physical manifestation of my betrayal sohow feels pleasurable today, and I don't fight the sensation.
What's the point? Once I leave this room, this never happened. Just like I decided. So who cares if it feels good?
I begin moving slowly, following her request for gentleness. Each thrust is asured, controlled.
Holly's face flushes deeper as I maintain my steady rhythm, her breath catching with each careful stroke. I hit a spot that makes her gasp, and a groan escapes my lips.
Her eyes widen behind those wire-rimd glasses, pupils dilating with both pleasure and surprise since I didn’t even try to stop myself like I usually do. She stares up at , studying my face with an intensity that's almost scientific.
"Since you're not complaining for once," she whispers, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant, "does that an you finally like this? Like ?"
"No," I say, the word coming out flat and emotionless.
Holly doesn't look hurt like I expect. Instead, her lips curl into a knowing smile as she intentionally tightens around , the sudden pressure making groan involuntarily.
"But you're not holding back anymore, are you?" she whispers, her eyes locked on mine behind those wire-rimd glasses.
"I'm not," I admit, maintaining my steady rhythm. There's no point in denying the obvious.
Her expression shifts, sothing vulnerable flickering across her features before she masks it with that calculating look I've co to know so well.
"I want you to make love to . Like, really make love to ." Holly says suddenly, her voice softer than I've ever heard it.
I stare down at her, montarily thrown by the request. "What?"
She shifts beneath , her hands sliding up my arms to rest on my shoulders. "I want you to treat like I'm special. Like I'm the only girl in the world you're thinking about." Her voice wavers slightly. "Make feel loved."
I sigh, the sound escaping before I can stop it. This is a new level of psychological torture, but what difference does it make? I've already decided to go through the motions.
Without a word, I reach for her hands and interlock our fingers, pinning them gently beside her head the way I sotis do with Emily when we're being intimate. Holly's eyes widen behind her glasses, genuine surprise flickering across her features as I push deeper inside her.
Her lips part slightly, breath catching as I establish a slow, deliberate rhythm. The gentleness seems to unnerve her more than any resistance I've offered before.
"Well?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What?" I respond between thrusts, maintaining the steady pace.
"Shouldn't you kiss the love of your life?"
I lean down and press my lips against hers, keeping the kiss soft and lingering. It's strange how easily the body can perform these motions while the mind remains detached. I'm just going through the motions, treating this like masturbation, a physical release without emotional connection. None of this matters. Not her moans, not the way her body responds to mine, not the strange tenderness creeping into her touch.
As I kiss her, I keep my eyes open, staring at the wall behind her bed. There's a small crack in the paint I've never noticed before. I focus on that imperfection, using it as an anchor while my body continues its chanical performance.
Holly breaks the kiss, her breathing ragged. "Look at ," she demands, but the usual edge is missing from her voice. "I want you to see ."
I shift my gaze to her face, keeping my expression neutral. Behind those wire-rimd glasses, her eyes search mine with an intensity that's almost desperate.
"Tell you love ," she whispers.
"I love you," I recite, the words empty and hollow.
Sothing flickers across her face, disappointnt, maybe even hurt. Her fingers tighten around mine.
"Say it like you an it," she insists, her voice hardening slightly.
I maintain the steady rhythm of my hips, neither speeding up nor slowing down. "I love you, Holly," I repeat, injecting just enough warmth into my tone to be convincing.
Her eyes flutter closed, her breath hitching as her movents beneath grow more erratic. Sothing's changing in her rhythm, in the way she's responding to .
"Daniel," she gasps, her voice cracking with raw emotion I've never heard from her before. "Oh god, Daniel!"
Her inner walls clench around in powerful waves as she arches upward, her entire body shuddering in release. The physical sensation is overwhelming, triggering my own response despite my emotional detachnt. Heat pools at the base of my spine, pleasure building to an inevitable crescendo.
"Holly, I'm…" I start, suddenly aware of how close I am to finishing.
Before I can pull away, her legs wrap around my waist in a vise-like grip, ankles locking behind my back to hold in place. Her eyes open, glazed with pleasure but focused intently on mine.
"Lovers never pull out," she breathes against my lips, her voice trembling with aftershocks.
I nearly laugh at the absurdity of her statent. Since this whole nightmare began, she's never once let withdraw.
The pressure inside reaches its breaking point. I surrender to the physical sensation, emptying myself inside her with a whimper. For a brief mont, my carefully constructed wall of detachnt crumbles, and I'm fully present in this twisted act, connected to her in the most intimate way possible. And it only makes hate myself.
As the pleasure subsides, I rebuild my ntal barriers brick by brick. This never happened. Once I leave this room, I'll lock this mory away with all the others.
Holly's legs remain wrapped around , keeping inside her as her breathing gradually steadies. Her hands move to my face, fingers tracing my features with unexpected gentleness.
"Look at you," Holly whispers, her thumb tracing my lower lip. "Such a good boy. You can pretend you're not falling for all you want, but your body tells a different story."
I stare at her, feeling nothing but a void of emptiness. She has absolutely no idea how wrong she is. This isn't affection. It's surrender. It's giving up the fight to preserve what little sanity I have left.
Her legs finally unlock from around my waist, releasing from her trap. I slide away imdiately, my skin crawling with the need to escape her touch, her presence, her delusion.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," I mutter, grabbing my boxers from the floor.
Holly props herself up on her elbows, watching with that calculating gaze as I pull on my clothes. "You know, most guys would kill to be in your position," she says, adjusting her glasses with that precise gesture I've co to hate. "Getting to fuck two generations of beautiful won under the sa roof."
"Then why not find another guy?" I ask, my voice flat and emotionless. "Soone who actually wants to be with you."
Holly freezes, her smug expression faltering. She sits up slowly, pulling the sheet around her naked body like armor.
"Because I've chosen you, Daniel," she says, her voice unusually soft. "Not soone else. You."
Without another word, I turn and walk out of her room, leaving her sitting there with her sheet clutched to her chest. I don't look back.
The living room welcos like an old friend. I sink back into the couch and reach for the remote, punching the power button with more force than necessary. The screen flickers to life, returning to the cooking show I'd abandoned earlier.
My eyebrows shoot up at the scene unfolding before . The chef who'd been having the risotto ltdown is now sprawled on the kitchen floor, blood trickling from his mouth. Rice is scattered everywhere, on the counters, the floor, even stuck to the walls. The other contestants stand frozen in horror while the host tries desperately to maintain so semblance of control.
"What the fuck happened while I was gone?"
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