He leans down to kiss me on the forehead.
Later, he’s still buzzing. “Margaux, I still can’t believe how fucking insane that sex was. You’re incredible. Your pussy is incredible. It’s definitely the best sex I’ve ever had. And your blowjobs? Oh my god, also definitely the best.”
I beam with pride and agreement, my pussy still tingling from earlier. “Yeah. Your cock is the best, too. That was some amazing sex.”
Despite the praise, the knot in my stomach lingers. I try to ignore it, to focus on the pleasure humming through my body. But something about the way he pushed past my boundary gnaws at me, an uncomfortable truth I don’t want to face.
“We’d better be careful, though,” he says earnestly. “At this rate, I’m worried my dick’s going to fall off from how much we’re fucking.”
“Well, neither of us wants that to happen.” I laugh, but it feels hollow.
I want to believe what just happened is okay because we’re in love, and he would never hurt me. But part of me knows something isn’t right. I told him no, and he didn’t listen.
I wish he would have been a bit more respectful and taken no for an answer. And it’s not like I was denying him completely, even though that would have been my prerogative to do so. I was just asking him to wear a condom. It feels like he’s putting his own pleasure or enjoyment over what I’ve expressed is important to me.
“See, didn’t that feel way better? Your pussy was great before, but it’s so much better this way.”
I give a quick smile. “Yeah, it did feel really good.”
He’s not wrong. I push the thought away.It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
The sex was incredible. I just would have preferred he respected my boundaries a little more, that’s all.
But even as I tell myself this, the uneasy knot refuses to untangle, sitting heavy in my chest like a truth I’m not ready to confront.
28
TALOFA
Later that evening
We get ready and head to Timmy’s friend’s club. It’s been years since I’ve set foot in a nightclub, let alone an EDM one. Back on the East Coast, I’d only gone to a couple, and even then, the relentless bass, the swirling lights, and the pulsating crowd felt overwhelming. But I’m in Timmy’s world now, and I’m willing to give it a go.
On the way over, Timmy brags about the club owner, Romeo—a supposed childhood friend turned prominent drug dealer and nightlife kingpin of Sunset Cay. The whole story feels off. From what I’ve gathered, Romeo is at least ten or fifteen years older than Timmy, making it hard to imagine them as schoolmates. I brush it off for now, though—the way Timmy talks, half of what he says sounds like it’s been exaggerated or warped into legend.
He tells me, with unsettling pride, how he has access to an endless supply of drugs through Romeo. “Everyone in the club knows me,” he says, puffing his chest out. “I’ve even danced so long that once I dragged a couch onto the dancefloor and slept right there. People just danced around me—and when I woke up, a bunch of people were stroking my body.”
I laugh awkwardly, not knowing whether to be amused or disturbed. He takes it further, though.
“And I’ve always got to jerk off, like, three times before I go to the club. Otherwise, I’ll, like, come in my pants on the dance floor. It’s so stimulating. All the girls in their rave outfits.”
That part makes me squirm, and I can’t even hide it. “That’s… a lot, Timmy. Why would you say that to me?”
He just shrugs, like over-sharing is second nature to him. “Girls there all want me, but I’ve never taken any of them home. It’s just dancing. It’s a vibe. They’re all going to be so jealous of you.” I guess I feel relieved that he’s not known for taking all the girls home.
By the time we pull up to the club—an unmarked building hidden down a nondescript side street—I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into. The place looks nothing like a nightclub from the outside, designed to look more like a storage facility or some kind of office. A group of bouncers loiter near the entrance, adjusting their earpieces and sharing low conversations as they prepare for the night.
Without missing a beat, Timmy marches straight toward them, radiating the confidence of someone who thinks he’s royalty. “Let’s go,” he says, tugging my hand.
The lead bouncer, a broad guy with tattooed arms, steps in front of him. “Whoa, slow down. We’re not open yet, man. You can’t come in.”
Timmy puffs up, his posture almost comically self-important. “I know Romeo. I’m good.”
The bouncers exchange glances, one of them visibly rolling his eyes. “Okay, buddy. Still not open.”
Timmy scowls and pulls out his phone, shooting me an annoyed look, as if this minor inconvenience is a personal attack. “I’ll call Romeo.”
I stand there awkwardly while Timmy dials, feeling the heavy weight of the bouncers’ judgment. I’m starting to wonder if Timmy even knows Romeo that well—or if this whole thing is just anotherone of his exaggerated tales. But to my surprise, after a brief phone exchange, Timmy hands the phone over to one of the security guys.