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My North Star Pt. 09-10 - Spicy

Feedback encouraged in the comments.

Please be ruthless if you notice a fucked up comma, or italics. : D

This part is a double like 7/8 because I feel too lazy to upload separate pieces.

I re-edited Ch. 10 a couple times and like the way it turned out. Hopefully you do as well.

Lots of spicy.

Trigger/Content Warning:

This story contains themes of religious guilt, emotional repression, family trauma, and queer yearning. It's a slow-burn gay romance with a dumbass himbo and a beautiful femboy. It also explores the internal struggle of growing desire, shame, and forbidden closeness between two best friends.

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Chapter 9: By His Stripes

Somewhere West of Atlanta, Georgia, Spring, 2023.

Saturday morning, February 18th

Michael

Beep

...

Beep

...

Beep

...

I wake to the sterile, alien scent of a hospital room. My eyes blink open, blurry and slow. The heart monitor pulses steadily beside me. Law & Order plays quietly on a wall-mounted TV. The lights are low.

And my mother is sitting in the corner, head bowed in prayer.My North Star Pt. 09-10 - Spicy фото

My mother... is here?

I try to sit up, but a sharp ache pulls at my ribs. My body feels heavy--medicated, bandaged, bruised. A monitor clips my finger, and a stiff hospital gown clings to my skin.

"Michael! Praise the Lord, my baby's okay--"

She's on her feet before I can speak, rushing to my side, tears in her eyes.

She grabs my hand, clutches it tight like I might disappear.

"Oh Mikey... You get hit by a truck and walk away with just bruises. God is so good."

Her voice breaks as she bows her head, still holding my hand.

Her eyes looked terrified to meet mine. She looked ashamed of herself.

"I never stopped praying over you. Even when you left. I never stopped. You will always be my sweet baby boy."

I want to scream at her. Ask where she wasbefore. Unleash the storm I've carried in my chest foryears.

But nothing comes out.

Just tears.

I lean my head toward hers. And we cry together.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and goosebumps break across my arms.

This is real.

This is home. Or something close to it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The nurse eventually came in to check on my vitals and got me a sandwich. The doctor followed soon after to fill me in on the details of what happened the previous night.

A young couple had hit me while going far too fast in the rain. In some twisted sense of luck or maybe divine intervention, the impact hit me at the perfect angle. Any lower and it would have shattered something, and any higher my organs would have taken a serious hit.

Bruises. Stitches. A concussion.

By all accounts, I should bedead.

They reached out to my parents, and Mom answered--already planning to leave after my broken call ended mid-sentence. My phone had been crushed in the accident.

There was a flurry of other visitors in the early morning hours.

A sheriff came to get my statement. I insisted it was my fault.

The couple who hit me came with flowers and tearful apologies. I had no room to blame them. If I'd died, they would've lived with it. I can't blame people for my own self-destructive choices.

The early morning hours flew by as the hospital did redundancy checks on my health. Staff members came by to check in on "The Miracle Kid".

A couple hours more of monitoring and I would be free to leave.

In the quiet that followed, my mother and I shared a kind of peace I hadn't known in years.

"Michael..."

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"You haven't mentioned him, but... are you and Stephen... a couple?"

I nearly choke.

"MOM! We've never-- That would be... wrong!"

"They gave me a bag with all your personal possessions found at the accident. This stood out to me."

She holds up the simple silver necklace that I had bought yesterday afternoon. A singular star charm hanging from the middle. My surprise gift for a discussion we never had.

I stammer.

"Oh, my sweet boy." She smiles, soft and sad. "I guess you get your stupidity in relationships from me."

"What?"

"Honey... God is love. God cherishes love and wants us all to find it. I found a love early on in my life and let it slip away in my own idiocy. The devil got me back with your father."

Her tone hardens as she moves to my bedside.

"God gave you a boy whoadores you. A boy who makes you better. Whoknows you, body and soul. In high school, the way you two cared for each other--it made mejealous, Mikey."

She brushes my hair back with one hand, holds mine with the other.

"You came home with bruises from standing up for him. He brought you food when you worked shifts after school. That wasn't friendship. That was the kind of love I prayed you'd find."

She leaned in close to crush me in her embrace. She was a small woman but life had made her strong. I needed that strength.

A single tear slips down her cheek. She kisses my forehead and stands.

"It's time for me to head back home. Your father is already upset at me."

She smiles that old, familiar smile. The one I missed more than I ever let myself admit.

"I think its time however thatyou go home, baby. I think its time that you follow your North Star."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere West of Atlanta, Georgia, Spring, 2023.

Saturday evening, February 18th

Stephen

I didn't sleep at the lake house. Or at home. Not really.

I laid in bed, staring into nothing, replaying every mistake on a loop.

Cindy and Stephanie stayed with me in the morning, trying to cheer me up with sushi, dumb jokes, and old Disney movies.

It didn't work.

Michael wasn't answering. Not calls. Not texts. Notanything.

I begged for forgiveness. I tried to explain. I even lashed out--angry athim, angry atme, angry at everything.

Nothing.

I just wanted to hear his voice.

I just wanted to know he didn't hate me.

Cindy came by later in the afternoon with food.

She made sure that I showered and took care of myself a little bit.

We watched a movie. Ate sushi. Talked about school.

Cindy eventually left, and I curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets, drowning in old songs and worse thoughts.

CreakStompCreakStomp

Is someone on the fucking balcony?

I freeze.

Click

"DUN DUN... DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN."

Standing in the doorway isMichael--wrapped in a red tablecloth like a cape, a sleep mask with cut-out eye holes, oversized red briefs, and a blue tank top hanging loosely on his frame.

"I heard someone needed a hero! Superman's here to save the day!"

I blink.

Nope. I've actually lost it. I'm hallucinating.

I really fell in love with this idiot?

Michael stands triumphantly as he scans over the nest I've built into the couch. He looks slightly more pale than the previous night, but his smile shines brightly in the room.

A spot darkens on his side as a dribble of red flows from under his shirt onto his briefs.

"Michael! You'rebleeding! You idiot--come here!"

I drag him to the kitchen, still reeling. The first aid kit is still on the table from days ago. I start peeling off his absurd costume.

"It's not a big deal," he shrugs. "I only got hit by a truck."

A TRUCK!

Bruises. Stitches. Fresh blood near his ribs.

"Youwhat?!"

"Well, I sorta ran out the house and ended up in the road. A couple driving a truck didn't see me and got me good. I spent the night in the hospital..."

SLAP

"You absolute dumbass! You could've died, and I wouldn't have known!"

He gingerly rubs his cheek in shock and coughs out an awkward laugh.

"Well its not like you're my wife or anything. They called my parents and my mom came to check on me."

SLAP

"You are covered in injuries Michael! Why didn't you or that bitch of a mother think to keep you in the hospital?!?!"

His eyes harden momentarily at the insult to his mom, but get lost somewhere while looking into mine.

I push him hard in the chest and slap aimlessly into him as he pulls me into a deep hug. I struggle to get out, but find myself wiggling onto his lap.

"I had somewhere more important to be," he whispers. "And my mom knew that too."

His voice is low. Steady.

My head picks up to look into the eyes that haunt my dreams.

"I don't know if you hate me or not, Stephen. But just know this-- I'll dowhatever it takes to earn your forgiveness."

His arms wrap tighter.

"I've made mistakes. As a man, a friend... a partner in multiple failed relationships. But hurting you-- That's not something I can run away from."

I look up into his eyes--those wide, impossibly green fields I could lose myself in. Elysium.

"I don't... understand. I thought you were mad at me?"

"I deserved everything you said about me last night."

"But... I didn't say those things aboutyou, Mikey."

He tilts his head, confused.

"I was talking about yourfather," I whisper. "The one who broke you. Who taught you to hide your heart."

I reach up, brushing a scrape on his cheek.

"I could never hate you, Hero. I don't have the capacity. All I've ever wanted was for you to find that North Star you've been chasing."

That smile of his shines through and I feel his hold weaken on me as he stands up. He sets my feet on the cold wood floor and stands to face me.

"I found it a long time ago," he says quietly. "I was just too foolish to realize."

His hand pulls out a simple silver necklace with a star charm in the center of it.

"Mikey?"

That damned smirk of his flashes at me as he steps forward. His strong arms circle around me as he fastens the necklace around me. His hands caress my neck as he steps back slightly to stand inches away from me.

My Superman.

All for me.

"Stop gaping like a fish before I kiss you," he says, grinning.

"Then kiss me, Hero."

Michael leans in.

No teasing. No hesitation.

He kisses me.

His hands find my neck, then my hair. He pulls me in with a hunger I've waited years to feel.

And just like that--

I know.

He's mine.

Oh, I can work with this.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10: All Consuming Fire.

Somewhere West of Atlanta, Georgia, Spring, 2023.

Two weeks passed as Stephen and Michael slowly explored the fragile new territory of their relationship.

Michael needed time--for his body to heal, and for his mind to process the whirlwind of trauma, confusion, and newfound clarity.

Stephen needed time to convince himself this wasn't a dream. That this version of Michael--the one who kissed him like he meant it, who held his hand without apology--was real.

Their friendship had become something different. Something brighter, messier, and filled with possibility. But like any metamorphosis, it came with growing pains.

Michael was awkward in public, visibly uncomfortable with Stephen's uninhibited affection. Stephen wanted to tease the poor boy mercilessly--but feared that if he pushed too hard, Michael might actually run.

Meanwhile, Nico and Ethan wouldn't let up. "When are you sealing the deal?" they'd prod, earning groans and eye rolls from Michael.

Cindy and Stephanie, ever the chaotic fairy godmothers, began supplying Stephen with every spicy "relationship advice" TikTok and lingerie blog they could find.

So Stephen made a plan: go on the offensive.

He gradually ramped up the teasing game--first with tight outfits, then increasingly suggestive ones. Skirts. Tank tops. Little lacy things he'd wear just for cooking dinner.

He let his hair grow longer. Spritzed on that cinnamon-sweet perfume. Found every excuse to be tangled up with Michael on the couch.

Michael, meanwhile, clung to restraint like it was the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. He doubled down on working out, buried himself in stock trading, and deliberately wore baggy pants to hide any... involuntary reactions.

Movie nights became dangerous territory.

Who would break first?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Night, March 10th

Stephen

Fuck this job. Fuck traffic. Fuck taxes. Fuck everything.

All I want is for Michael to hit it big on some super stock so we can live out our days in a lakeside mansion. Pool. Hot tub. Whiskey neat in hand. Michael shirtless. Me sunbathing in designer thongs and zero responsibilities.

Instead, I'm stuck in this beat-up Sentra, smelling like the McRib, crawling through red lights, and feeling hornier than a gay goat in mating season.

This is cruel and unusual punishment.

Michael's been dodging every one of my thirsty little traps. Cindy swears he'll bite soon, but bitch, I am not made of money. Lingerie is expensive, and I'm running out of slutty variations.

I climb the apartment stairs hoping he's passed out in bed--anything to spare me the indignity of him seeing me in this hideous work uniform. I feel like a microwave burrito.

I push open the front door and freeze.

Candles.

Music.

A tablecloth?

Since when do we even own a tablecloth?

And there he stands: Michael Worthington. My beautiful, broad-shouldered idiot of a man, smirking in the doorway. Loose tank top. Shorts that donothing to hide his physique.

"Mikey..."

"Hush now," he says, his voice like honey over gravel. "The shower's already running. Rinse off. I laid out some clothes for you--change and come back here for dinner. No fancy stuff. Just you."

I try to speak, but he cuts me off with a kiss.

SMACK.

He slaps my ass.

"Be quick."

Yes, Daddy.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't think I've ever moved faster in my life. Shower? Done in five minutes flat. The outfit waiting for me? A high school band tee, soft shorts, and boxers.

Not what I expected.

When I step back out, Michael's behind my chair, watching me like I'm the only thing that matters. His eyes trail over the shirt like I'm wearing couture.

I don't get it. I look like a waterlogged teenager in this thing.

I take the chair offered by Michael and feel him scoot me into place.

He touches me--his hands trailing up my arms, onto my shoulders, into my hair--and my brain liquefies.

"Please just fuck me," I mumble, not meaning to say it out loud.

His smirk widens. "Later, Starboy. First, we eat."

Sorry?

He serves me pizza. Pours me the knockoff Mountain Dew we used to drink during late-night gaming sessions. Nostalgia hits harder than the carbonation.

Dinner passes mostly in silence. He eats slowly; I devour mine like I haven't eaten all day. (I haven't.)

Once we're done, he clears the table and motions me to the living room.

I take my spot on the couch obediently.

"What's the deal, Mikey? Why the outfit?"

He brings in a chair from the kitchen and sits directly across from me. He gives me nowhere to squirm or shuffle as his knees capture mine and his presence looms over me.

"I need you to teach me something, Stephen."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Teach you what--fashion sense?"

"No. I need you to teach me how to love a man."

My mouth opens. Closes. Reboots.

He takes my legs into his lap and starts rubbing them gently, thumbs pressing into my calves.

"I remembered something last night about one of your old boyfriends. You only dated him for like... three weeks, right?"

"Four," I whisper. "Why are you thinking about Charlie?"

"I used to get so pissed at him. He was always scared of being seen with you. Always hiding. Always afraid."

Michael pauses. The strokes of his fingers slow.

"And lately... I realized I've been acting just like him."

I go very still.

"I've never dated a man, Stephen. I don't know the rules. I don't want to mess this up. Not with you."

His hands slide a little higher, resting just beneath my thighs.

"Take off your shorts."

Before I can process the request, my hands are already moving. Shorts off. Heart racing.

He caresses my thighs like I'm precious--delicate.

Oh baby, please touch me anywhere you want.

"I love those ridiculous outfits Cindy picks for you," he murmurs. "But I need you to understand something."

His eyes flick up, serious now.

Michael's voice is low and steady. The kind of tone that makes your bones hum.

"I get hard every day, Stephen. Doesn't matter what you're wearing. It's not about the skirts or makeup or perfume. It's you."

I can't breathe. My heart is galloping in my chest, and his words are making it harder to think straight.

I can see the evidence, even if I scarcely believe it. His shorts aren't doing a whole lot to disguise anything.

That looks like it would hurt... in a very fun way.

"Take your underwear off darling."

Don't need to ask me twice.

This time, I don't hesitate. The fabric slides down my legs and pools at my ankles.

He leans in, his warmth pressing into my space, his palms anchoring on either side of my hips.

"I'm not in love with your stream persona. I'm not in love with the clothes, even if they make me lose my damn mind. I'm in love with all of you."

His lips find the spot on my neck that makes me gasp. He lingers there, claiming it with a slow, wet kiss that burns like a brand.

"I'm going to prove it," he whispers. "Just tell me what you like. What you don't. This student is eager to please."

I can barely form a sentence. My whole body is trembling under his touch. My breath comes in shallow gasps as his hands glide up my sides and settle just beneath my ribs.

"Do whatever you want," I manage to whisper. "I'm yours."

"That's what I was planning on," he growls.

He smirks as he peels the shirt off my body and begins exploring with his hands. His mouth nestles back into the spot by my neck, intent to claim it as his own.

He pulls my shirt up over my head and tosses it aside. His mouth returns to my throat, kissing and nibbling as his hands explore my chest, my hips, the soft skin he's been aching to touch for years.

Then--he's kneeling. Right in front of me. Between my legs. Eyes locked on mine like I'm something holy.

My fingers thread through his hair, and I realize with a jolt what he's about to do.

"Ohhh Mikey, nobody's ever--hnnnng--"

His mouth closes over my cock.

Hot. Wet. Suction. Careful pressure and then deep warmth.

My hips buck instinctively, and he moans softly, sending vibrations straight into my spine.

I lose track of everything.

His tongue flicks the tip. His lips glide down and back up, taking more of me each time. One hand grips my ass, kneading it firmly, while the other snakes up to pinch my nipple.

I whimper. I cry out his name. I'm embarrassingly close, but he doesn't stop. He's learning me like a language. Mapping me out with his mouth.

And then--his finger.

He finds my hole and begins to rub, soft and rhythmic, as his mouth works faster. More tongue. More suction.

The finger pushes in slowly, and I swear I almost black out.

His hand. His mouth. His everything.

I cum with a cry that shatters the quiet of the room.

 

 

My back arches. My fists clench in his hair. I spill into his mouth like a broken dam, moaning his name like a prayer.

"Hmmm Salty." He mumbles after cleaning my dick off with his tongue.

"I didn't expect you to cum so fast Starboy. I was kind of enjoying myself."

He pulls back with a wicked grin, licking his lips.

"Hmmm. Salty," he teases. "Didn't expect you to cum that fast, Starboy. I was kind of enjoying myself."

I'm boneless. Melted into the couch cushions. I don't think I could move if I tried.

He gets up like it's nothing, casually returning to the kitchen to grab a water bottle, then turns on the TV like we didn't just have the hottest moment of my life.

"Mikey..." I croak. "Don't I need to help you out?"

I look at him with confusion as he settles into his recliner. I can clearly see a rather... enraged... piece of him under those shorts.

His eyes catch my look and chuckle.

"For right now I'm going to sit and watch this movie with you. If at any point you want to do something. Do it. Otherwise we can relax and go cuddle later."

-

Michael

It didn't taste bad. Honestly, I kind of liked it.

The way he squirmed, the sounds he made... I could do that again. And again. And again.

Still, I hope I didn't go too far. He's had a couple shitty boyfriends--guys who pressured him, used him, made him feel small.

This wasn't about that. This was about showing him he's not just desirable--he's wanted. Respected.

And yeah, I gave my first blowjob tonight. Check that one off the list.

As the movie starts, I feel his eyes on me.

He's curled up on the couch, chewing on his lip like he's deciding something. I try not to look too eager, but damn if I'm not painfully hard.

He gets up suddenly and mutters, "Bathroom," disappearing into his room.

Ten minutes pass.

I'm starting to worry. Maybe I overdid it. Maybe he's--

Cinnamon

That familiar perfume hits my nose and I glance over.

Stephen walks out in lace. Black lace thigh-highs, garter belt, a tiny pair of panties, and a crop top.

Hair fluffed up. Sinful Red lipstick.

Then, like a final act of blasphemy, he throws my hoodie over it all.

"Oh no," he coos innocently, "Don't be mad. I'll give your hoodie back."

Little demon.

He saunters over and drops into my lap like he owns it. My cock twitches against the lace between his cheeks.

"It's so cold tonight," he purrs, nuzzling into my shoulder. "Hope I'm not distracting you."

I grip the armrests of the chair like they're the last thing tethering me to sanity.

His ass wiggles in my lap, deliberately grinding down against me.

"I'm a little scared of him," he murmurs.

I clench my jaw. "I would never hurt you, Stephen."

He giggles, breath hot in my ear. "What if I want you to?"

My hands are trembling. My cock is throbbing.

His fingers run through my hair, over my arms, across my chest.

"I appreciate what you did earlier," he whispers. "And I think I get what you were trying to say."

His teeth nibble my ear, as he slowly pulls the hoodie off his body.

My eyes drink in his essence and I catch a twinkle in his eyes.

"I like dressing sexy for you. I like seeing you try not to stare. I like watching you shift in your seat when you think I don't notice."

He shifts in my lap, grinding down harder.

"I love driving you crazy. I want to see what happens when you stop trying to act composed."

Then he drops the bomb.

"I've got my biggest butt plug in right now," he whispers, "and I'm terrified it's not big enough."

My hands betray me.

They slide down to Stephen's gyrating hips, gripping tight. My control shatters like glass.

Fuck

"Can you imagine it Hero?" he moans as he licks down my neck.

"Me laid out underneath you as you thrust into my slutty little hole."

"You could keep me on my back until the sun sets, and I'd still beg for more."

He nips at my neck and starts planting little love bits around my collarbone.

"I want you to put me in a wheel chair."

My fingers dig into his ass and my jaw clenches as I try to resist this incubus' temptations.

"Unless you don't find me very enticing... Daddy"

I snap.

I'm not a man anymore. I'm a force of nature.

The recliner slams shut as I rise with him cradled in my arms. He squeals with delight, latching onto me with his thighs.

"You better be careful," he giggles breathlessly. "You break me and I'm suing for damages--after round five."

I half-kick the bedroom door open and set him down like something sacred and profane all at once. For a moment, he hesitates--his blue eyes flicker with a trace of uncertainty.

"Mikey?"

I answer with a kiss that devours. My left hand threads into his hair, tilting his head back. My right grabs a handful of lace-covered ass and squeezes.

He melts into me.

I trail my mouth down his throat, down his collarbone, until I find a pale patch of skin and suck hard, determined to leave a mark he can't hide for days.

We break apart temporarily as he strips the remainders of his clothes off.

I give him no time to breathe and rush in with hands intent on his weak points.

My right hand reaches down strokes him to full hardness again while the left finds the base of the plug. I twist it gently, then begin a slow rhythm--pushing and pulling as he gasps into my shoulder.

He's moaning, rutting against me, whispering filth into my ear.

"Please Daddy... I wanna take care of you too..."

I find a particularly sensitive spot near his jawline as my right hand picks up speed and my left hand fucks him with his buttplug.

He's not even speaking in full sentences anymore. I feel his body seize up--he cums again, splattering against my hand and moaning my name like it's salvation.

He slumps, boneless in my arms.

"Get on your knees."

He drops like a prayer. Still catching his breath, he nuzzles my cock through my shorts, hands anchored to the waistband like it's a lifeline.

"If you want it," I growl, "take it out. I need some spit before I break you. That is what you want, isn't it?"

His eyes glow like a puppy with their favorite toy.

He pulls my shorts and boxers down. My cock springs free, thick and throbbing. His lips part. For a second, he just stares.

Then his mouth envelops me.

-

Stephen

He tastes like salt and skin and the promise of sleepless nights.

I take as much as I can, bobbing in rhythm, stroking what I can't fit with my hand. I swirl my tongue, pull back to flick the tip, suck him back down.

My left hand plays with his balls. My right works the base. I want him to fall apart. I want him to lose that composure he always hides behind.

I want to be the only one who ever sees him like this.

He groans, hips twitching.

I choke slightly and tears prick the corners of my eyes. Lipstick smears on his cock, and I know I look like an absolute mess.

I'm going to need plenty of practice before I deepthroat this monster.

He pulls me off suddenly. I growl in disappointment.

"Calm down," he pants, running a hand through my hair. "I want to have the energy to fuck you."

Shivers. Actual shivers down my back.

I scramble over to my nightstand, knocking half the drawer's contents onto the floor in my hurry.

I grab the bottle of lube, fall onto the bed, and pull out the plug with a soft moan.

I coat it again and slide it back in, prepping myself.

My eyes stay locked on his. There's no shame here. Just desire. Hunger. Love.

I toss the plug aside and stare him down, breathless. "Where do you want me?"

-

Michael

That's my line, Starboy.

I lube myself up quickly, stepping between his legs.

He looks so small like this. Legs spread, lips parted, skin flushed.

I growl low in my throat. "What did you say earlier?"

He moans. "I want you to put me in a wheelchair."

Careful. Measured. I slide in.

The heat. The tightness. He squeezes around me like velvet and fire.

"You're so fucking tight," I whisper.

"That's because you're fucking huge," he gasps, voice ragged.

I take my time. Inch by inch. Letting him adjust.

He wraps his legs around me, pulls me in closer. His eyes flutter, then lock with mine.

I start to move.

Slow at first. Then faster. My hips slap into his ass, skin meeting skin in rhythmic thunder.

Our breath syncs. My hand grips his hip like it's the only thing keeping me grounded.

I hoist his ankles onto my shoulders, fold him in half. He gasps as I bottom out.

"You like this, slut? You like this cock?"

"Fuck yes, Daddy! I've dreamed about it! Keep going, don't stop--"

"Good boy," I growl, kissing him hard.

His hands dig into my arms. His legs start to tremble. I'm close, too close--

"Oh God, Mikey! Yes! Yes! Don't stop, I'm gonna--"

I explode inside him. One, two, three thrusts more. I spill everything I have into him, gasping into his shoulder as my body finally gives in.

We collapse into a tangled heap.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Afternoon, March 11th

Stephen

He might not have broken me last night, but he got damn close.

We passed out sometime after round three--or maybe four? I've never done half the things he did to me.

I woke up alone in bed, sore in places I didn't even know I could be sore in, and so blissfully satisfied.

Mikey left a note:

"Gym run. Hydrate. You'll need it tonight."

Smug bastard.

I took a nice long bath. Door dashed a fruit smoothie and limped over to the fridge for a piece of pizza and a water bottle.

I soooo gotta call Cindy and Stephanie later. Those bitches are gonna be so jealous.

My Man is a ferocious lover.

Love bites bloom all over my chest and neck. I don't even want to hide them.

The soreness between my thighs? Worth. It.

KNOCK KNOCK.

DoorDash must be early.

I open the door and freeze.

There, standing like a ghost from my past, is someone I haven't seen in five years.

"What's up, big brother?"

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Thanks for reading. : D

Hopefully you enjoyed the end to my first story. Let me know any critiques or thoughts.

I halfway want to make a sequel with Michael having to deal with the identical twins.

I wonder if the twin is a she or a he?

Text your best friend tonight.

-YearningStories <3

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