He dips his erection into me, deliberately slow but forceful.
I bite my lower lip, struggling to contain a moan.
"Nnnn... What... ah... what is all this... uhhh... What does it all mean... my love?" I implore against his lips, drawing my arms around him feeling just as intoxicated by his words as I am overwhelmed by him.
His eyes darken with a ferocity I have never witnessed. He's pulsating inside as my insides throb in response.
"The beginning of something dangerous," he proclaims, capturing my lips with the same intensity as he drives into me.
My mind clings to a realization—an acceptance—that I'm happiest when I let him take charge of my body, my emotions, and my very soul. This is our natural state. I relinquish control trusting him completely and plunge into a whirlwind of ecstasy once more. My cry is unrestrained as I feel my soul being pulled from my body.
###
Mohamad jolts awake. His chest heaves. Sweat clings to his skin. His hand trembles as he inhales sharply, the cold night air slipping in through the open window. Moonlight spills across the room, pale and quiet. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is. Then he turns.
Ace sleeps beside him, breathing softly, undisturbed. He stares. Safe. No blood. No danger.
His gaze lingers, searching for something that isn't there. His heartbeat slows only slightly. Beyond the glass, the city lights flicker far below. Somewhere in that darkness, the threat still exists.
His father is alive. If he ever discovers who she is to Mohamad— No. That cannot happen.
His jaw tightens. His eyes return to her face, softened in sleep, defenseless in a way she never allows when she's awake. Never. She needs to remain hidden. Protected. Close. Carefully, he slides an arm beneath her and draws her toward him. Her body is warm, light, fragile. She shifts in her sleep, instinctively turning into his chest.
His eyes drop to her abdomen. Even in the dim light, he can still see them — the faint scars. The reminder. His mistake. His hold tightens. She's his now. His. No one else's. He'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Whatever it costs. Whoever he has to eliminate.
He exhales slowly, steadying himself. This isn't about emotion. It's responsibility. Control. Precaution.
He pulls her closer anyway.
###
Polyamory Day 2.418K
I like shopping for hangers. I didn't know I'd like shopping for hangers, but I do. I wonder if it's the hangers themselves or the fact that they're meant to hang up his clothes.
I love shopping for furniture too, a task I once deemed boring. But that's because I now have a different idea about the new furniture.
I live in a bulletproof, two-story glass house with marble floors and abstract black streaks that look like smoke streams breaking through the ivory. The walls are the same matching ivory. The stairs, too, are marble. There's something... cold, bland, overprotective, and too functional about the place. Maybe it needs some warmth? Personality? Something to soften the edges? There are too many corners and edges.
I hope he'll like the ivory sofa I bought. It has soft curves with gold accents on its wooden legs and outline. I also hope he likes the ivory blackout shades, which have gold waves running diagonally down their length.
His entire closet consists of nine custom suits in shades of blue, gray, black, brown, and dark green. His shirts are matching shades of these colors and some off-white. Not a single pattern or print on any of them. Even his silk ties are without patterns or prints. This is a problem. My closet is extremely colorful, filled with playful prints, bold patterns, and different shades of every color. I don't have anything to match his clothing taste.
Interesting, the small briefcase containing his watches and jewelry is worth several million, but I didn't bother to estimate.
The Patek Philippe he often wears is worth around four million. Unfortunately, I easily hacked into the home security system Jason sent. I'm torn between creating our own security system or using one that isn't as easily hackable and then upgrading it to a new level. I also changed the door locks to biometrics instead of physical ones. I suppose we could also have biometric jewelry cases.
Since his preference for my nail color is gold, I'll have to go with a gold tone for the metallic minimalist furniture. When I asked Jason to ask him, Jason replied that he said he doesn't care. But I'm creating a home after all—it needs to feel like a home for him. I guess I'll buy all returnable items just in case.
How do I create a home for him? What does he need? What does he want? This is exciting because I've never created a home before. Let the challenge begin!
I have to go shopping now. There's a long, long list.
—Ace
###
Mannequins dressed in vibrant summer outfits line the walls of Beth's studio office. Bright oranges, yellows, and pastels pop from her summer collection this year. My muscles tense as I catch the reflection of Karla, Anat, and James approaching in my champagne glass, their disapproval practically radiating toward me.
Karla crosses his arms. "You moved in with a man, and you don't even know his name?"
Does it matter what his name is? A combination of letters. Their significance has never made sense to me.
"And he still doesn't know you're poly?" Anat probes, her tone cutting.
We're not that serious and he's not in love with me.
"We haven't seen you in a few weeks, and all this has happened?" Valentina says, disbelief thick in her voice as she steps in from my left. Somehow, these attacks feel coordinated.
"She told her parents she moved closer to school," James adds, directing the group's attention back to me.
It is closer to CalTech.
"Moving in with someone is the biggest sign of commitment apart from marriage, Ace," Beth chimes in, her voice softer but no less critical.
This was supposed to be a friendly showcase of her summer collection, but now all their attention is pinned on me. I half-expected these reactions, but I'd half-hoped for something different. Is 'I'm living in the moment' an acceptable answer? I sip the champagne, letting the cool bubbles slide down my throat as I stall for time, staring into the depths of my glass.
"She's practically married to him at this point," Valerie declares. "He gave her a white card, found a house for them, and spends all his available time with her. He's treating her like his wife, and she's doing the same—just without the technicalities of marriage."
Crap. How about 'we're fine because I love him, knowing he doesn't love me'?
I open my mouth to speak, but Beth beats me to it. "What if he's married? What if he's keeping you as his secret affair from his wife?"
The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but Mr. Silence doesn't seem like the type to—
Anat takes both my hands, her eyes locking onto mine with a stern intensity. "We sacrifice a lot in relationships—time, resources, even parts of ourselves. To love unconditionally, we have to love selflessly. But you need a self to love selflessly. You can sacrifice many things, but you can't compromise who you are."