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it was supposed to be your night, and for about an hour, it actually was.

you were all done up with your big, dominican blow-out tresses, smoky eye makeup, and your little black dress.

this was it, you thought to yourself as you added your finishing touches to your look. beauty marks and such. it felt good knowing you were finally moving on from michael in some capacity, though in a way, it made you feel juvenile.

the thought of moving on from your ex-husband hung in the air for barely a second before he was at your door with your favorite flowers telling you how he’d “caught wind of your lil’ date from janet.”

naturally, the night didn’t end with you on a sweet candelit dinner with some guy you could hardly recall the name of, but instead with your legs spread and your ex-husband between them as he lapped at your pussy.

“pretty wife tryin’ to get away from me, yeah?” michael asked as you came down from your umpteenth orgasm of the night. you couldn’t reply, obviously. your legs felt like jelly, your entire body was convulsing involuntarily, and your poor pussy was clenching and unclenching over and over again from the absence of his fingers inside it. “can’t be havin’ that,” he said, pressing a kiss onto your inner thigh and grabbing hold of your hand.

he rubbed soothing patterns in it with his thumb as he watched you come down from your high and listened to you babble on about how that didn’t mean you were back together.

he nodded at your ramblings with the occasional, “i know, mama, i know,” while still taking full advantage of the moment, holding you in his arms and lulling you to sleep with apologies and sweet nothings.