His words, for all their flaws, carry the weight of sincerity. His eyes are still locked on mine, desperate and full of emotion. Iwantto believe him.
“You really mean that?” I ask, still cautious, but with a flicker of hope in my voice. “Because it’s going to take work on both of our parts. It’s not just about words—we need to be consistent with our actions.”
He nods, his gaze unwavering. “I’m ready, Margaux. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And if that means working harder to make things right, I’ll do it.”
A relief so deep I can feel it in my bones washes over me. He pulls me into his arms, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself sink into his embrace. It’s as if he’s had some kind of revelation—a lightbulb moment where he realizes how much I’ve been carrying. To his credit, he has been keeping up with his therapy appointments, and he’s shared they’ve been discussing our issues. Maybe the therapy is starting to work.
He strokes my hair and presses a kiss to my temple. “I know I’ve been an idiot,” he murmurs. “And I know I’ve come so close to losing you. More than once. I get it now—if I screw this up, I’m going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I can’t let that happen.”
His words are everything I’ve been waiting to hear.
But still, a tiny part of me hesitates. “What makes it different from the other times?” I want to believe him, but he’s promised me real change before, and he’s backslid every time.
“I’m willing to change… for you.”
“Timmy,” I whisper. “You need to change for yourself. Not because of me. You need to want to change for yourself in order for it to be sustainable—otherwise it won’t last. And I’m here to support you. But it has to be for you.”
He grins, a spark of the playful Timmy I fell for glimmering in his expression. “See? That’s why I appreciate you. Holding me accountable already.” He tousles my hair, and for the first time in a long time I feel us slipping back into something familiar, something good.
He gently cups my jaw, tilting my chin up in a kiss that feels deliberate and deep. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” he growls softly, his voice dropping an octave.
I feel a surge of warmth spread through me, my pussy clenching in anticipation as he yanks off his board shorts, revealing his massive cock.
And for the rest of the day, I let all my troubles melt away, letting myself float in this new bubble of him—of us.
Timmy rubs my back, his hands slow and steady, working out the tension that’s been building for weeks. He kneels to soak and rub my feet, giving me a pedicure, laughing softly as he tries his hand at applying nail polish. “I love being able to do this for you,” he smiles, his voice kind, his eyes gazing at me with a tender adoration that reminds me of how he looked at me when we first met.
“Me too,” I smile back at him, the knot in my chest loosening. “Thank you so much, baby.”
It’s a small thing, but it feels monumental. Symbolic. And like maybe I’ve just never dated a guy whose love language was physical touch. I think the longest massage I’d received from a partner before Timmy was about thirty seconds.
“I’m going to rub your feet all the time, because you deserve it, my love,” he promises, his voice low and sweet. “And your back, and yourshoulders. And give you scratches and tickles. And I’m going to eat your pussy every day like I promised when I proposed.” He gives me a wicked grin. “I should have been doing it all along, because I gave you my word. And because you deserve it, too.”
And for the first time in what feels like forever, his words are soothing, his touch grounding me.
And we fuck, and he’s gentle—so tender it almost makes me cry. He goes down on me twice, his hands steady on my thighs, and uses my vibrator to bring me to a shuddering, toe-curling climax for a third time. When I squirt, he grins and groans with pleasure, kissing my inner thighs as my body pulses with an insane release.
In the shower, he soaps me up slowly, massaging my skin as the hot water cascades around us. His hands move with care, and every kiss he presses to my forehead feels like a promise—a silent vow that this time will really be different. When we’re done, he wraps me in a fluffy towel, his eyes shining brightly with something that looks a lot like love.
I sink into the warmth of it, allowing myself—for at least a little while—to believe that things can be good again. That this Timmy, the one standing before me now, is the real Timmy. The one I fell in love with. I feel adored, cherished, just like I did in the first few weeks of our relationship.
And for once, my mind is calm.
I don’t know if this change will last, but right now, I want to believe that it will.
And for tonight, I let myself believe.
112
HIERARCHY OF WEIRD SHIT
Ibegin to see a pattern that I can’t believe I haven’t noticed before—a direct and unmistakable correlation between what Timmy chooses to wear on any given day, and how he’s likely to behave.
I begin to dread all of it, like an internal weather system predicting the storm before it begins.
At the lowest level of this strange hierarchy is the claw necklace. When he wears it, he wants to stand out, but not too much—just a bit of flair to fish for compliments. The claw necklace means he’s feeling a little restless, maybe seeking validation, but still manageable. I can handle him on claw necklace days.
I’m glad he doesn’t have that hideous fucking bone necklace anymore, or I’m sure it would be next.