Chapter Ten

Vale

One Month Later

Any word on the premiere yet? I send the message to Erin one morning, as soon as Coco disappears behind a door to meet with her first patient of the day, and I know the coast is clear for the next hour or so. I’ve been trying to ask Erin only once every couple of days to not annoy her. But surely, it shouldn’t take her team of lawyers this long to convince the court to let me have one night off? Part of me is starting to wonder if she even asked them.

To my surprise, her reply is quick. I usually hear back from her in one or two business days. Not yet, but they will. Her response doesn’t give me any confidence. As if to get me to stop bothering her, she sends the pictures from the press event a month ago. I quickly click on the attachment, annoyed how well Erin knows me. I’ve been anxious to see the pictures ever since they took them.

I open the first picture of Coco and me, a candid taken while we were setting up for the first interview. I zoom in on my head and frown, reaching up to touch my stubby little horns. The silicone ones they used to hide my monitor look so much better. Mine look like they belong to a demon toddler, barely peeking out from my hair like shy nubs. I almost close out of the pictures to search for ‘horn implants in LA’ until I remember the way Coco smiled at me when she removed my fake horns.

She’s human. Of course she doesn’t understand the importance of horn size. I shake my head, ignoring the warmth surging through my veins at the memory.

I zoom out of the picture, focusing on my fake wife sitting next to me. Coco looks . . . beautiful, albeit a little nervous. Her shoulders are tight; her bottom lip is already sucked in between her teeth, ready to gnaw, but her eyes, they're locked on me. Like I'm the only reason she hasn’t cracked under pressure. A weird feeling buckles in the center of my chest.

I glance up from my desk, down the empty hall where Coco is currently meeting with her patient. I flick out my tongue and grimace. The air is unnaturally sterile, devoid of any telltale scents thanks to those neutralizers. I know it was my suggestion, but now I regret even mentioning them to Coco. It's disorienting, like walking around with a cotton pad for a tongue. Worst of all, I can’t taste how Coco is feeling. Even though we've been sharing the same bed, our legs tangled together in the darkness, and working alongside each other nonstop for the past four weeks, it feels like I haven't seen her in ages. I miss her, as cliche as that sounds.

The realization sends a jolt of panic through me. This isn't part of the plan. I'm not supposed to miss her. I'm not supposed to hate these neutralizers that keep me from sensing her emotions. But here I am, feeling like I've lost one of my senses, all because I can't catch a whiff of her delicious floral scent for the few hours we’re at work.

She took my suggestion to heart and opened the clinic up at night to protect patients who value their privacy beyond a normal demon level, and she's been gone almost every night of the week. My trainer added another early morning workout to my schedule, because he hates me apparently, so by the time Coco is finally in bed and asleep, I'm waking up for my morning torture session. She's been a lot busier in the clinic too, which I'm very pleased about, but the few minutes I get here and there with her before she’s whisked away to see another patient isn’t enough.

It's for the best, I remind myself. I left Winter Bliss for a reason, and no woman, despite how amazing she is—and Coco is amazing—is worth sticking around for. I worked too hard to end up right back where I started. I can see now why one-night stands are so popular in the dating scene; you can't develop feelings if you don't stick around. I need to be careful. I can already feel the pangs of regret when I think about my probation ending.

As if the universe wants to remind me exactly how good my life in LA is, Aria sends me some pictures from a cast dinner PR event last night with the message, "Wish you were here to celebrate with us, Khastor!" I swipe through the pictures, admiring the fancy meals and crystal wine glasses. The women wear short, designer dresses and the men are in fitted tuxes. They’re living the Hollywood movie star dream, and I should be there, right next to them, basking in the attention and fame.

I stare at the group picture, waiting for the jealousy, the FOMO, the longing I'm expecting. All I feel is emptiness.

Mother Below, what the fuck is wrong with me?

I'm happy for my costars. It looked like a really fun night, but I feel . . . nothing. The glamour and glitz that once set my soul ablaze now seem as dull as leftover ashes. I quickly turn off my screen and set my phone down before I analyze the feeling too much. It's just as confusing as last week, when Coco decided to embarrass me by dressing us up as ketchup and mustard for Halloween—it's obvious who was designated the ketchup bottle—and handed out perfectly good candy we should have eaten ourselves to demanding children dressed in even worse handmade costumes. She told me it was one of the community events she signed us up for, but I don’t know, I think she was looking for another way to humiliate me in front of the Winter Bliss townsfolk. And here I thought I had a modicum of dignity left, but I was wrong.

Although I’d die before admitting this to Coco, I had fun, despite the fact that I almost passed away from embarrassment. When she sent me the pictures from the event to use on my social media, I couldn't post them. It's not because I didn't want my fans to see. The opposite, actually. I wanted to keep that memory a secret—safe and protected. Ugh. I've definitely been in Winter Bliss too long. My demon side is showing, all possessive and sentimental. They’re just pictures, but here I am hoarding them like some lovestruck dragon hoarding his gold.

I pretend to act busy as the door down the hall opens, and Coco steps out. I avert my gaze to protect the privacy of her patient as they leave through the secret back door, on the opposite side of the clinic, but I'm surprised to only hear Coco's footsteps as she approaches. The click of her heels on the tile floor sends little sparks of anticipation through me.

I glance up. She gives me a sly smile once she reaches my desk. My pulse quickens underneath my skin, and my palms start to sweat. Maybe it's a good thing we've both been busy and have limited time with each other, because since that night together, I've felt like a bumbling, stumbling idiot whenever she's around. My power to call on Khastor to protect me behind his charm and confidence is harder and harder to muster when Coco is around. It’s the same reason I’m afraid to say any words with strong ‘mm’ sounds around her, because I know I’ll embarrass myself. I don’t like how quickly she sees through my act, straight to the insecure demon underneath. Another reason I’m so anxious to get out of here.

"Hey, come here. I want to show you something," she says, crooking her finger towards me, almost seductively. Her dress shirt button is open lower than usual, and from this angle, I can see the delicate swell of her breasts. I force myself to look up, noticing the protective glasses she wears in the immolation machine are pushed up on her head, making her short hair stand straight up like a cockatoo. A very cute cockatoo.

I lean back in my chair, pretending to act suave, even though I'm a bundle of anxious nerves. My heart pounds harder in my chest now that there’s only a desk between us. "Right now? Can't you see I'm drowning in work?" I hold up a manila folder. "This folder isn't going to file itself. The boss will have my head if she catches me slacking again."

She rolls her eyes. Her supple, pink lips twisting into a rueful smile. I haven't been able to stop thinking of those lips these past four weeks, and the beautiful sounds she made when I was pleasuring her. The memory sends a jolt of heat through my body, straight to my cock.

"I think the boss will make an exception. Just this once. Now come on! ”

Though I put on a show, groaning like a sulky teenager, I'm more than happy to follow her to the immolation room. I have the perfect view of her cute ass swishing back and forth in that sinfully tight pencil skirt as I walk behind her.

We both try squeezing into the immolation control room at the same time, which was obviously designed for one person. By the time Coco manages to shut the door, we’re stacked next to each other like sardines. My hips accidentally brush against the swell of her ass. I watch with delight as Coco's eyes widen when she realizes the hardness there. Struggling to regain her composure, she blinks rapidly as she clears her throat, and hands me a clipboard over her shoulder, looking away. The air between us grows thick and heavy, and though I can’t taste the air, I don’t need to. I know exactly what she’s feeling.

I immediately forget my arousal as soon as I see the paper. It's hard to feel turned on when boring legalese is the foreplay. "Seriously? More paperwork? I thought I signed all the patient protection stuff already." I can't keep the whine out of my voice.

Coco glances over her shoulder and rolls her eyes at me; her cheeks are still flushed pink though. "Relax, drama queen. The patient agreed to let you observe as long as you sign an NDA. It's just saying you won't blab about what you see in here. Now hurry up and sign it."

I lift the clipboard to hide my smile as Coco ever so slightly leans into me, pressing her ass into my groin. As if that'll convince me. Though if I'm honest, it's hard to think with that perfect curve pressed against me. It only serves as a reminder of how perfectly our bodies fit together that night.

"Fine. Fine." I sigh, but I almost cut through the paper with how quickly and aggressively I sign. I know it's a bad idea to sign anything before reading, but Coco is very . . . persuasive. I hate how fast she’s learned to bend me to her will. And right now, trapped in this tiny space with her, I'd probably agree to just about anything she asked.

After I hand Coco the signed paperwork, she hands me a pair of protective eyewear, which I promptly refuse. I’m a demon, asking me to protect my eyes from the glare of fire is like asking me to shave down my horns. She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath about how they invented personal protective equipment for a reason. I resist the urge to correct her and say PPE was invented just for humans. It’s not my fault her species is so delicate.

She clicks a button on the control panel and the glass windows around us make a whirring sound as the blinds slowly lower, revealing a young demoness no older than twenty standing in the center of the white, empty room, behind a second wall of glass.

The patient's hospital gown hangs loosely on her small frame. Her shoulders are slumped forward, hugging the thin shift to her chest. Her yellow eyes are sharp, but the wobble in her chin gives away how nervous she is. I feel a pang of sympathy, remembering how often I tried to act ‘ tough’ when I was a kid. I guess I still do that now, I’ve just gotten better at acting.

"This is the patient I've been seeing at night the past few weeks.” Coco’s shoulders press into my chest as she leans back to whisper to me. I close my eyes, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her shampoo. It may be filled with sulfates, but it makes her hair smell delicious.

She presses another button and leans forward, speaking into the mic. "Alright, Sasha, just like we practiced, okay? I want you to close your eyes and take some deep breaths. Imagine your first fire memory. Take as much time as you need, and signal to me when you're ready."

The demon closes her eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. I mimic her breath, sharing her nerves. But Coco's level, velvety voice is as soft as cashmere on bare skin, and the muscles in my shoulders relax as I take another breath. The air in the control room feels charged with anticipation.

It doesn't take long for the demoness to summon the image. Every demon is born with an ancestral memory of fire, the ancient dancing flame, and it's an image that stays clearly in our minds until the day we die and return to Dark Mother's infernal embrace.

The patient nods once, indicating she’s ready, and holds out her hands towards us, her palms turned upward.

"Remember, you're in control," Coco says, her voice echoing through the intercom. "Anytime you feel overwhelmed or want to stop, press that button on the side there." The patient nods again in understanding. I hold my breath as Coco lifts a secret panel, revealing a keypad. She quickly types in a code and presses the big, red button with a fire icon next to it.

Before Coco can slam the panel shut, the sides of the walls open, and two torrents of flames burst through, engulfing the patient's open palms in flames. I suck in a surprised breath. Even though I knew something like this was going to happen, it still catches me off guard. But I quickly relax, as the sound of crackling fire, the strong scent of smoke, and the mesmerizing dance of flames soothe my nerves.

After a few minutes, Coco's voice on the intercom breaks me from the trance. "Alright Sasha, are you ready?"

The demon keeps her eyes closed and nods. Her face is calm now; there is no wobble in her chin. Now her jaw is set with determination.

"Please work," Coco whispers to herself, but I manage to hear it over the roar of the fire. I send a quick prayer below, hoping the same. Coco presses a button, and the stream of fire cuts out immediately. The cramped control room is so tight, so quiet, I can almost hear Coco's pounding heart. Or maybe it's my own, beating in anticipation.

For a moment, nothing happens. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. Then, I hear the patient's squeal of joy—the sound piercing even through the two layers of fireproof glass—before I see the two identical embers dancing in the center of her hands. "I did it! I did it! I made fire!" she screams, jumping up and down where she stands, but careful to not snuff out her fire. They're tiny, probably no bigger than a lit candle wick, but they're there.

Coco turns away to try to hide herself as she dashes away a few tears with the back of her hand, and quickly straightens, regaining her professional composure. But from my view behind her, I see a droplet still clinging to her long, thick eyelashes like fresh dew on grass. Without thinking, I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into me. I kiss the back of her head, letting her know how proud I am of her. With Coco in my arms, I feel a surge of emotion I can’t quite name. It’s more than pride, more than attraction. I don’t think about it too much, because it feels dangerous. I just bask in the glow of the moment; grateful I could witness the miracle she helped create.

"That was incredible. You're incredible," I say to Coco, leaning against the edge of her desk as she types up her notes. It's closing time, and though it feels like ages since the immolation machine demonstration this morning, I'm still buzzing from the adrenaline.

I toss Nylara's bobblehead between my hands, watching Coco from the corner of my eye. She's trying to play it cool, but I catch her glancing up, clearly worried I' ll drop her prized collector's item. She hasn’t mentioned Quantum Renegade, and I haven’t brought it up. Part of me was hoping she’d figure it out herself, but that’d be nearly impossible considering I used a stage name when I played Thraxxius. I wonder how she'd react if I video-called my co-star who played Nylara right in front of her. Maybe later—I'll let her finish her charting before I give her a heart attack.

"How'd you know she'd spark today?" I ask, setting the figurine back on the desk. I turn to face Coco, her elegant features bathed in the blue light of her screen.

She doesn't look up as she types. "Intuition, I guess." She shrugs, suppressing a shy smile. "The patient and the machine deserve all the credit. Not me. I just pushed some buttons."

"Flames and ashes, woman!" I exclaim, shifting to face her fully. "Take some credit. You're the one who's been working non-stop with the patient every night, talking about 'feelings' and whatever else you do in those appointments. Without you, she wouldn't have created fire today."

She shakes her head, still typing. "I'm just glad I didn't screw it up before she got to the machine—"

I sigh, leaning over her monitor. "Listen, doc, I may be new to this, but if I had to diagnose you, I'd say you're a psychologist with a severe case of imposter syndrome."

She snorts, pausing to give me a serious look. "And if you think I'm actually good at my job, you're a demon with delusions of grandeur. I'm only as effective as the treatments. The research doesn't lie." She returns to the computer. "The immolation machine is amazing. I had to fight tooth and nail to get the funding for it.”

When I first met Coco, I would have probably agreed with her. If I believed in the treatments in the first place, that is. After the press event, I began to have a sneaking suspicion that Coco might be a good psychologist. No one that passionate can be bad at their job, right? In just one morning, Coco has not only turned me into a treatment-believer, but she confirmed what I had reluctantly come to suspect—she’s fucking good at her job. It saddens me that she can’t see that.

I drop the argument, even though I know I'm right. "Well, once I hear from Iggy, I'm telling her all about you and what I saw today." Coco immediately stops typing to raise her finger, ready to interject. I sigh, shaking my head. "While protecting patient information, of course. Come on, Coco. I'm a demon. Who do you think invented HIPAA? We did."

Coco frowns at the mention of Iggy. When I told her about my friend, she offered to drive us around to help look for her, but I wouldn’t even know where to start. "Still no word from her?" she asks, concern evident in her voice.

I exhale heavily. "No. But she's tough. I'm sure she's fine." If I keep telling myself that, I'll eventually believe it, right? The only consolation I have is our first probation meeting in a few days. If Iggy’s not there, I don't know what I'll do . . .

"Hey, let's celebrate tonight. Let me buy you dinner," I say, flashing her my signature smile. Coco may have refused it before, but she’s warmed up to it. She always blushes now when I give her that sultry look. "Where do you want to eat? I think there's a few places around that don't serve alcohol, but let's eat out on the patio just in case—"

I cut myself off as Coco pushes up from her chair and walks to the other side of the room. She closes her office door and flicks off the lights without a word.

"You want me to leave so you can lock up?" I ask, confused by her sudden movement. I still have an hour before my check-in, so why is she locking up early?

"Vale, be quiet," Coco says, her voice soft but determined. She closes the blinds, leaving us in the dim afternoon light filtering through. "I'm trying something here that's very unlike me. Don't throw me off."

My heart races as she approaches, stopping directly in front of me. "Okay,” I say slowly, unsure where this is going but intrigued.

She keeps her eyes on the ground, fidgeting with her fake wedding ring. "I just wanted to show my gratitude for everything you've done to help the clinic. To help me."

My eyes widen, and I instinctively try to taste the air, forgetting about those damn neutralizers. "Does that mean the clinic isn't closing?"

She exhales shakily. " It's too early to tell. But if we keep this up, if patients keep showing up . . . Well, I don't want to jinx it." A small smile plays on her lips as she meets my gaze. "Let's just say things are looking up. I haven’t received any ominous emails from management in a while, so that’s a good sign. But let's forget about that right now."

As she leans forward to grab a remote off her desk, I get a clear view of her cleavage and the black lacy bra she’s wearing. My breath catches in my throat.

"Dr. Chloe Sullivan," I say, arching an eyebrow, "are you trying to seduce me? Isn't there some law about bosses sexually harassing their employees?"

With the remote still in her hand, she starts unbuttoning her blouse, revealing more of her skin with each button. I drink in her delicate curves, admiring her perky breasts and toned stomach. "It's fine. We're married, remember?" She holds up her hand, the diamond ring glinting in the dim light. She reaches for my belt but hesitates. "Unless you don't want to. I completely understand if I misread—”

I pause, torn between desire and the knowledge that our relationship is still, technically, fake. No matter how much I enjoy spending time with Coco, that doesn’t change the fact that our marriage has an expiration date. But as she bites her lower lip nervously, her open vulnerability only adding to her sex appeal, I can't resist.

"How could I possibly say no to you?" I ask, cupping her face gently.

She leans into my touch, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Good." She clicks a small remote, turning off the scent neutralizers.

The sudden rush of her desire nearly knocks me off the desk. My eyes darken, and I feel my control slip away in an instant. "Holy Mother Below," I growl, suddenly feeling more feral than demon. "What have you done to me?" Her scent at home is nothing compared to her scent now.

She laughs softly as she reaches for me, unbuckling my belt with her long, graceful fingers. "It's the neutralizers. I want you to know exactly how I feel." She pauses, meeting my gaze. "We had some leftovers from the clinic installment, so I have been using one at home because I’m always worried my scent is too distracting. Sorry, I should have anticipated how intense this would be."

Though I don't agree with Coco dulling her scent at home, I understand her reasoning. If she smelled like this all the time, I’d tie her to the headboard and never let her leave. How long has she been feeling this way? Guilt tugs at me for not noticing how needy she was sooner.

"Your eyes are leaking smoke," she comments softly, tilting her head.

"Demon thing," I manage to grit out, trying to maintain composure. "A sign of intense emotion."

“Do all demons do that?” Of course she' s curious.

“No.”

As Coco moves closer, she stops between my legs, getting down to her knees. I close my eyes, torn between desire and vulnerability. Here she is, kneeling in front of me, open and honest—I wish I could give her the same. But she deserves so much more than fumbling, insecure Vale.

"Vale," she whispers, her voice full of want and affection.

I open my eyes to meet hers, seeing not just desire, but trust and care. I want to believe she wants the real me and not some character I play. Just how I want to believe she really does like my small horns.

I summon Khastor’s confidence and charm as Coco frees my hard cock.

“Fuck, Coco.” My voice is too husky to pick up the slight twang, but she’s too busy examining my cock to hear me.

“Ridges?” she murmurs, running her finger along the bumps on the top of my shaft. Her eyes widen as a bead of moisture appears at the tip.

Are ridges bad? Do human men not have ridges? Some demons don’t, as Coco is probably well aware of the differing genetics in my species, but no one has mentioned anything until now. I may have small horns, but my cock seems to be decently sized.

When I look down, she is the exact opposite image of disappointment—her lips are parted, and her eyes are hooded as she stares at my cock. She wriggles uncomfortably where she kneels; her pencil skirt riding up her thighs. Don’t worry, little wife. I’ll take care of that soon.

My eyes roll back as I feel the wet heat of her mouth wrap tightly around the tip.

“Coco,” I moan, dragging out her name. My fingers bite deeper into the wood as I hold back my hips from bucking forward. She hums as she drags her pink tongue over my hot skin, inspecting each ridge systematically just like she did with her fingers.

Holy Abyss. I couldn’t keep it together even if I tried.

Coco lifts up on her heels, resting her hands on my thighs, as she takes me fully into her mouth. Her head starts to bob as she sucks greedily, hollowing her cheeks. She’s only able to make it past the fourth ridge until I bump the back of her throat, but she works the amount of length she can manage expertly and without hesitation. A true professional even in the bedroom.

I bite down on a groan as my sac tightens, my pleasure building faster than I’d anticipated. What will she think of me if I come this quickly? I’d never be able to live down the shame.

I catch her shift uncomfortably in front of me, and a new bloom of arousal overwhelms me, making my head feel heavy with lust. I wonder if she tastes as good as she smells.

Before I can acknowledge the thought, I’m already moving. Without warning, I pull her off my cock with a popping sound. Spit dribbles down her chin as she blinks up at me in confusion .

“Vale?” she asks as I pick her up and carry her across the room to sit in the middle of the couch. My cock bobs in front of me as I kneel. “What are you doing? I wasn’t done.”

She pouts at me as I push her skirt up around her waist, but she doesn’t fight. A deep growl rumbles from my chest when I see the lacy thong underneath her tights. I drag a finger along the seam, the fabric soaked all the way through. I shoot her a dark glare. “So you’ve been walking around in these infuriating panties all day? And you weren’t going to tell me?”

She glares back at me, the perfectionist obviously peeved I messed up her plan. When she doesn’t answer, I press my knuckle into her pussy, right where I imagine her clit is.

“Y-yes–n-no. I don’t know!” she exclaims, tipping her head back on the headrest, exposing her neck. I press harder, and her body bows further, her butt rising off the couch. “It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I want to pleasure you. We don’t have time . . . for this . . .” She fails to hide the desperate whine in her voice.

“There’s nothing I want more right now than to taste you, little wife.” I lift her ankles and place her feet on the couch, so she’s spread wide for me; the only thing separating us is a few thin layers of fabric. I run my hand along the inside of her thigh, enjoying the way the synthetic fabric feels under my palm. I’m going to have a tights fetish after this, aren’t I ?

She sucks in a sharp, surprised breath as I rip a hole in the front of her tights, exposing her pussy. My throat rumbles with satisfaction as I slide her panties aside and drag a finger through her wetness, confirming how badly she wants me. As if the sex hormones in the air weren’t enough.

I bend my head down between her legs, and she whimpers in response. But that sound is quickly drowned out by my own groan as soon as I taste her, lapping up her sweetness.

My cock throbs as images of bending Coco over and fucking her through the ripped hole I made in her tights fills my mind. The exquisite sounds and faces she’d make as I fucked her the way she deserved.

Instinctively, my hips buck against the couch, slamming it against the wall and knocking a few diplomas to the ground.

Damnit Vale. Keep it together. I wince, glancing up to check on Coco. She’s too busy grinding against my tongue to notice the broken frames.

“Vale,” she whines, as I find her swollen bud and give it the attention it deserves. Her soft moans are a beautiful song I’ll never get tired of listening to. But when she reaches forward for my horns, my stomach drops.

Without hesitation, I reach out my hands, interlocking my fingers with hers. As hard as it is to stop tasting her, I can’t risk her touching my horns. It’s the one thing that’ll make me drop the dominant character I’m playing. I don’t mind using mine to lock horns and wrestle with friends, but in the bedroom, it feels different. It’s a reminder I’m hiding behind bravado, and immediately takes me out of character.

I push up on my knees, straightening until my eyes are level with her. Thank the goddess, she wraps her arms around my neck, completely unaware of my maneuver.

I have to close my eyes to compose myself as she wraps her legs around my waist, rubbing her wet heat against my cock. How easy it would be to fix myself at her entrance and thrust in—

“I’m scared,” Coco says so quietly, I almost miss the words.

I touch her face, all my attention on her. “I would never hurt you,” I whisper. “We can stop if—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. She gnaws on her lower lip for a moment as she searches for her words. “I want to. I’ve only ever been with humans, and I’m afraid it’ll hurt.”

I nod slowly, holding her gaze. My throat tightens; the sudden surge of emotion catches me off guard. Here she is yet again, opening her heart and sharing her fear, and I can’t even let her touch my horns.

What would Khastor say to put her at ease? I think desperately. The more I scramble for his words, the less I can hear his voice in my mind.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I say, my words coming out rushed and nervous. A typical Vale response. But I couldn’t leave Coco waiting any longer, not when she’s looking so vulnerable in my arms.

“But I want to,” she admits, averting her gaze.

“We can take it slow. We’ve got all the time in the world.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the truth either. Just another reminder that this marriage comes with an expiration date. Will two more months ever be enough?

She nods, exhaling a shaky breath.

I place my hand between her legs, rubbing lazy circles over her hard bud. “Can I still do this?”

A smile stretches across her face. “You always . . . have my permission . . . to do that,” she says, already breathless.

She buries her face in the crook of my neck as my fingers move faster against her slickness. It’s not long before I feel her legs start to tremble around my waist.

“Wait.” She gently rests her hand on mine, stilling my movements. Oh no, did I do something wrong? A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face before it’s replaced by a determined smirk. “I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see you come.”

Why? I have to stop myself before blurting out the question. Unless she's determined to finish the job she started, knowing Coco's perfectionist streak, that's probably the case. I can't think of any other reasons why she would want to see that. She's already seen me lose control, exploding in my sweatpants without even having to touch myself like when I was a preteen and discovered my hard dick for the first time. So embarrassing. And she wants to see that again?

I rock back on my heels, my dick jutting proudly between us, eager to be touched. The cool air of the room tingles against my heated skin. Coco sees my hesitation and her eyes narrow, putting us in a standoff. As much as I love performing, this one simple request is almost panic inducing. My heart races, palms growing slick with sweat. How can I maintain my bravado while putting myself in such a weak position? At least last time, we were in the dark. She may have turned off the lights and shut the blinds, but we can still see each other. Here, there’s no hiding.

I move closer, my cock bobbing between my legs. The musky scent of our arousal hangs heavy in the air. "Coco, come on, darlin'—" Khastor's drawl slips out, betraying my nervousness.

She stops me with her foot, pushing gently against my chest. The soft pressure of her skin against mine sends a shiver through me. "Nothing would make me hotter than seeing you unravel," she rasps; her half-lidded eyes completely focused on me, tracking every micro-expression—observant even when she's full of lust.

"Are you sure?" I whisper, my voice cracking slightly. "It's not . . . it's not very sexy."

“Evidence says otherwise,” she purrs. As if to prove me wrong, she slides her fingers between her legs, dragging them through her flesh with deliberate slowness. She lets out a soft moan that I feel all the way to my groin, then spreads the evidence of her arousal over the front of her tights, making the fabric glisten. The sight makes my mouth water. I lean forward, desperate to clean that fresh dew off her swollen cunt with my tongue, but she stops me again with her foot. I growl at her in frustration, but she arches a brow expectantly.

"Please, Vale," she breathes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "I want to see all of you."

Fine. She wants a show, then I'll give her a show—I let out a resigned sigh and grasp my dick, stroking once. A drop of precum appears at the tip, making the head look shiny. My sac throbs and tightens as pressure builds at the base of my spine. Coco's muffled, breathy sounds fill the tight air between us as she starts rubbing herself again. Even as she chases her orgasm, her narrowed eyes remain on me.

I puff out my chest and flex my biceps as much as I can, but the posture is hard to maintain as my movements become faster, more frantic. Coco inches forward to the edge of her seat, trying to catch a better glimpse of the movement between my legs. Her lips parted on a wide O.

My sac draws up against my body, sweat dripping down my neck. I can't—I can't maintain the facade any longer. My shoulders slump forward as the facade starts to slip. My eyes slowly drift close as I sink into the pleasure, my forearm burning from the exertion .

Someone whimpers. It takes me one horrifying second to realize the pathetic little sound came from me.

My eyes shoot open. My hand freezes on my dick, I glance up at Coco, expecting to see a disgusted, or at least surprised, look on her face.

"You are so beautiful," she murmurs, practically inching herself off the edge of the couch to get closer to me. Her fingers move faster and more erratically over her clit, and the fresh bloom of arousal in the air tells me she's close.

“I want to hear you again. That was such a beautiful sound.” Her fingers pick up speed, frantically playing with her nub, as if that pathetic little sound I made only pushed her closer to the edge. "You are so beautiful, Vale." Her back arches off her seat, displaying her delicate pink flesh.

Her words cut deep. I want to believe her—I know she's telling the truth—but it's hard to imagine such a weak side of myself ever being considered attractive. My cock turns an angry purple in my chokehold. I loosen my grip and start to stroke. Another whimper slips out of my lips, and Coco goes wild for the sound.

"Oh fuck, Vale. Yes. Let me hear how much you love it."

Letting her see behind the scenes to me—the real me—is terrifying and freeing at the same time. I'm sure I'll regret it after, but right now, I've never felt more alive.

"Coco," I gasp, my hips bucking involuntarily. "I've never . . . never let anyone see me like this. "

Her eyes soften, even as her body tenses with approaching release. "I know, love. Thank you for trusting me."

Whatever shred of control I have left slips through my fingers as I erupt, my release spurting a few centimeters in the air, spilling over my fist. Coco's high-pitched scream fills the room as her own orgasm claims her. Watching Ms. Perfect become completely undone in front of me, her entire body spasming from pleasure, is so provocative, I store the image in my mind for future fantasy fodder.

At the end, she crawls off the couch and into my arms with a contented sigh. I hold her close, appreciating how warm her body feels against mine.

“I’m glad we’re still keeping the romance alive, even after marriage,” I say with a smirk, brushing a piece of hair off her forehead.

She starts to laugh so hard; I feel her shoulders shaking. “They say the first month of probation is always the hardest.”

I cup her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her swollen lips. "Don't you ever, ever dull your scent around me," I say, my tone playful but with an unmistakable edge. "Or you'll be in big trouble, little wife." The words leave a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I'm acutely aware of the hypocrisy—demanding her raw, unfiltered self while I hide behind my own walls. But this is different, isn't it? I can't articulate why, but the thought of her dampening any part of herself from me feels like a physical ache.