I don't send Kam the other photo I take: the one of me in the executive bathroom, hand stuffed down my pants as I hastily finger myself to climax.

I keep that for me.

At first, I use it as a deterrent. To remind myself that I can't let whatever Kam and I are doing distract from my real life.

I almost get caught seven times sneaking glances at it in meetings throughout the rest of the day.

Knowing that her Decay works on me is so wrong. God, I want it, though. Even thinking about it has me dripping again.

I have to be good, though. Rory deserves a good date night.

T: On my date
K: 😈

You swear an oath to become one of us. "I promise to uphold goodness and virtue in the name of the Magisorcerers!"

Somehow knowing that I'm betraying that makes it better. Hotter in a way that I want more of. I'm hungrier than I've ever been as we sit down for dinner.

I order two appetizers — oyster shooters and pan-seared scallops — as I feel Kam's Decay slither through me. She's been doing this all day. Teasing me. Grazing the nerves and letting me know it's there.

Our cute little traitor to everything I was supposed to be. Rory's talking about his day. I nod.

"The guys at the shop say 'hi', by the way," Rory says, and it reminds me why I like him: wherever he goes, he makes friends. He has such a quiet kindness to him.

"Aw, tell them I say hi back! How've they been?" It's been a while since I've gotten an update about the boys.

My clit throbs.

"Jack's back from sabbatical, which is great because we've missed him," Rory says.

I nod, and make to interject — to be present — when I feel Kam slither up my sternum. "Mhm!" is all I manage. Where is she...?

A shock of pain courses through my nipples, and I fake a cough to cover the groan.

I've never been into pain. Ever. You fight enough and your body just regards it as stimuli, but then I've never been as turned on as I am now.

I've never wanted to feel like my nipples are being pinched and pulled with just the right pressure to hurt in ways that make me press my thighs together.

Somehow, though, Kam knows I want that. We've never spoken about it, never even needed to talk about it and yet she knows my body.

By the time the appetizers arrive, I'm close to salivating. Close to coming. Close to swearing off everything but anything Kam tells me I need.

I'm desperate.

So she stops. Of course she stops. She holds me on a knife's edge as Rory and I have polite conversation. The shooters are fine, the scallops are a bit overcooked.

I don't care. I need it. They're more stimuli and my body wants all it can get. It's everything I have to not take Rory home right now.

He's not her, but he'll work.

I resist the urge. Kam wouldn't want that. I may not know much, but I know that she wouldn't want me to get out of this so quickly.

She wants me to squirm, and feel slick, and fantasize about all the devious things she's going to do to me.

She's a predator. I'm prey.

"You always have salad," Rory says, not judgmental just intrigued when I order a porterhouse.

"I um... I had a stressful day at work. Need the calories."

He reaches his hand for mine, and I realize he'll feel how warm I am — how slick my palm is from sweat. He'll know, but it's too late to move.

Instead, he just rests his hand on top of mine. The touch is delicate, so feather light that I barely register it amongst the storm of violative sensations I've been subjected to.

Kam slithers along my ribs. She doesn't mean it to compete, but the contrast is made in my mind.

And my heart races.

"I'm worried," Rory says. "You get like this before..." he trails off, not saying what we both remember: how hard I pushed myself. How I'd end up feeling broken and useless and lying in bed afterward.

How I could never be enough.

I wish I could tell him how good it feels to give up.

To give in.

I can't. He won't understand me. He couldn't possibly understand this.

It's not that he'd get angry if he knew. That's not Rory's way. He'd just look down, and nod, and take the burden on himself.

He's a hero, you see, and heroes sacrifice.

Heroes lose.

They always lose.

I remember learning that the word comes from a Greek myth. Hero was just a girl. She wasn't anyone other than a person who killed herself after her love drowned.

Heroes are meant to be used.

We're meant to take on pain.

I'll spare him it, if I can.

"I promise you: I'm okay," I say. And I mean it.

He must believe me, because I see him give me a genuine smile. And then he blows out a deep breath, sighing.

"Oh, that's a load off," he laughs. "When that monster came over, I was worried things were looking pretty bleak."

"Oh! Yeah, she's... helping me work through some stuff," I say, smiling.

I feel the nerves in my hand crackle to life. It's faint at first before resolving into something my body recognizes as pressure. She's holding my hand.

Kam is holding my hand.

And I feel a wave of calm flood through me. It doesn't douse the desire burning in my core, but my anxiety wanes.

I don't split dessert — another deviation, but then I'm feeling plenty deviant.

All day. All day I've been wanting sex. I need to get fucked.

The moment we're through the door and back home, I'm pulling off Rory's clothes and we're on our way to the bedroom.

And I feel Kam perk up, too.

This time, I'm sure it's a competition. Each thrust she matches with pleasure that feels so much better.

Her Decay breaks apart and for a moment I fear I've lost the connection until sparks of blinding, erogenous feeling rip through my whole body. It has the effect of making me hypersensitive.

"Use me," I groan. I mean it for Kam, but Rory's here with me. "Turn me into a slutty plaything and take me. Hurt me. God, I just need everything you have to give me! Please! Fuck me!"

Rory withdraws, shocked. It's too late, though, as Kam pushes me over the edge. She makes me come and I see white.

She caresses me tenderly, working me through it until I eventually have nothing more to give. I sigh and lay back, thoroughly sedated.

Rory lies down next to me, giving me space... and I can tell that he's mulling something over. He wants to talk about it.

About what I said.

"So... that's new."

"Oh. Um... yeah, I suppose," I fib. I can't tell him it's been on my mind for a decade.

"Is that what's been going on with you?" Rory asks, and I stiffen. Oh god, does he— "You've been discovering that you're into this stuff?"

"Yeah," I sigh out. "God, I'm so into... that."

I almost say 'her'.