Page 41 of Little Etheldreda Riding Hood

I laugh. “You are an asshole.”

“Sometimes. You ready for my knot?”

“Yes, please.”

He lines himself up and presses into me, much like the first night, all at once. This time, my relaxed body takes him easily. He leans over me, holding himself up with his arms on either side of me and begins to move.

“Wait,” I demand and make him sit back on his knees. I brush the hair off my neck and pull his face down until his nose is touching the artery there. He growls and begins to move again, thrusting harder and faster with each stroke. The bed begins to shake with each movement until the headboard against the wall is a steady cadence matching his thrusts.

His knot begins to swell. And what had always just been a thing that was there when I had sex with Morgan and even Zach the first night, begins to feel completely different. It moves against my inner walls, and suddenly heat is building again, spreading to my legs. I find myself digging my nails into Zach’s back as I move to meet each thrust.

Zach’s movements become frenzied and I find myself clutching onto him, desperately wanting to be as close as possible, trying to meet each thrust. I find myself saying his name like a chant, wanting this to never end.

“I’m so close,” he manages to get out.

“I’m–” I can’t speak. I’m teetering on the edge, and suddenly desperate for release. He thrusts one last time, crying out my name. I’m still there, on the precipice so near the edge, but he won’t be able to move now that he’s cum. I reach between us to finish the job, as I’ve done a million times with Morgan and Zach growls.

“My job,” he says between breaths and puts his thumb on my clit. I’m so primed, so filled by his knot, that it takes seconds to get me there. I feel like a madwoman. I’m sweaty, sticky, and tired, but he doesn’t stop.

“Trust me on this, Red,” he whispers, turning us so he can lay on his side, his nose to my neck. He keeps his thumb on my clit and whispers dirty words in my ear until I’m practically clawing at him again.

“I’m dying,” I tell him when he offers to go for another.

He laughs. “But it would be a good way to go.” I pull him closer and tangle my legs with his.

“Here, with you, it absolutely would,” I tell him before I drift off to sleep.

Chapter Sixteen

In Which Morgan Keeps Plugging Away

There’s nothing like coming home from a crazy long shift at work to a stack of mail from your ex. The envelopes look like Valentine’s Day Cards in various shades of pink and red. There’s no name, but the return address is Morgan’s handwriting. I stare at the stack before picking it up and heading to the trash can. “Goddammit, how did he get this address?” I grumble to myself.

“Wait!” Darla demands. “I’m nosey. Can I look?”

I sigh. “Be my guest.”

She takes the stack, flips through them and chooses a light pink one. It’s too close to the color of Willa and Morgan’s wedding invitations. I fully expect it to be something equally ludicrous–an invitation to yet another engagement party, or hell, even a bridal shower. Maybe Willa will throw in a link to her lingerie registry so I can pick out something for her and Morgan’s wedding night.

Darla tears open the envelope as I dig through the fridge. I’m not really hungry, but I’m not interested in looking at whatever nonsense they’ve sent me.

“Hey, Red,” Darla says, her voice off just slightly.

I turn to look in her direction and she’s holding up a greeting card with a couple walking on the beach. “You’re joking, right?”

She shakes her head, a grimace on her face.

I take the card from her and open it up. There’s some stupid printed bullshit inside about being together through life’s ups and downs…I doubt the card maker meant being there through all the other girls, but hey, I guess that counts as a down, or downs in this case.

In his own chicken scratch is a note, all in caps because that’s how he writes–as if he’s shouting.

YOU’VE BEEN MY NORTH STAR THROUGH ALL MY UPS AND DOWNS, PLEASE ACCEPT MY HUMBLEST APOLOGIES FOR ALL THAT HAS HAPPENED OVER THE LAST SIX MONTHS

I drop the card like it’s crawling with cockroaches on the table and back away. Darla picks it up, reads it, and snorts. “Did AI write this?” she asks.

“Probably,” I reply, pouring myself a cup of coffee, even though I need to go straight to bed if I’m going to let Zach keep me occupied all afternoon.

Darla plucks another card from the stack–this one bright red–and tears it open. On the front in a fancy, swirling font are the words “Please Know I Never Meant To Hurt You.”

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