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I was spread out on Caleb's bed, limbs loose, spine humming, wearing nothing but a black, short-sleeve shirt that hung off one shoulder and smelled like him. I'd barely moved in the last twenty minutes and didn't plan to. My panties were still somewhere tangled at the foot of the bed. My legs? Useless. They weren't legs anymore—just memories of them. My body had been reduced to a puddle of skin, soreness, and mild regret.
Not the real kind of regret. Just the "okay, maybe I wasn't built for that kind of punishment" kind.
"You good over there?" Caleb called from the other side of the room, where he was currently messing with his fridge like he hadn't just tried to rearrange my spine.
"Define good," I croaked, half-buried in his pillow. "If by good you mean unable to feel my ass or stand upright for the next eight hours, then yeah. Never better."
He laughed low under his breath, twisting the cap off a bottle. "Didn't hear you complaining earlier."
"Because I was busy hanging onto the mattress for dear life," I grumbled.
He strolled back over, shirtless, his hair damp and messy like he'd run a wet hand through it but didn't bother drying it properly. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, and his entire body screamed casual menace—even when he was sipping from a damn protein shake.
"Need me to carry you to the med bay?" he teased, one brow lifted.
I gave him a look and reached for my phone. "No. Just need to doomscroll until the pain stops."
He smirked. "Healthy."
"You're one to talk," I muttered, curling onto my side and flicking open the screen. "Says the man who thinks aftercare is letting me collapse like a ragdoll and then going for a drink like nothing happened."
"Hey," he protested, setting the bottle down and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I cleaned you up. Got you water. You were smiling."
I glanced up from my feed, deadpan. "That was nerve damage. My face couldn't move properly."
Caleb chuckled and leaned over, brushing a strand of hair off my face. "You're full of shit."
"I'm full of something," I muttered. "Definitely not working nerve endings."
His hand drifted to my hip under the hem of the shirt, fingers lazily tracing circles on my skin. The touch was light, almost reverent—such a contrast to how he'd handled me earlier. I sighed into the contact, letting my phone drop to my chest.
"I'm serious, though," I added, glancing down at myself. "Next time, maybe just... ease up a little?"
"I thought you liked it rough."
"I do. But there's rough, and then there's whatever that was. You had me bent in half like I was made of rubber."
"...You asked for it."
"Yeah, well, next time maybe don't listen to me when I beg for your 'hardest.'"
He leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth. "Noted."
I smiled faintly, relaxing again, but the second I shifted my legs—just a little—pain shot through my lower back like a jolt of static. I flinched without meaning to, my breath catching.
Caleb noticed.
Immediately.
He went still, hand pausing against my hip, and pulled back just enough to look at me properly.
"Was that—did I hurt you?" His voice dropped, low and serious.
"It's fine," I said quickly, trying to wave it off. "It's not that bad. Just sore."
"That didn't look like just sore."
"I'm fine, Caleb."
But he was already sitting up straighter, his hand leaving my skin to push up the back of the shirt gently. His other hand steadied my waist.
"I just want to check," he said, quieter now.
The soft light from the room brushed across his face, still flushed from earlier, jaw tight with concern as his eyes skimmed over me. His touch didn't trail like it had before. It wasn't sexual now. It was clinical. Focused. Careful.
"You didn't say the safe word," he murmured, almost to himself. "But I still should've known better."
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said, turning slightly so I could look at him. "I was into it. We both were."
He didn't answer immediately. His thumb moved in slow, cautious strokes over my lower back, where the tension still sat like a knot of fire.
"You winced."
"I always wince post-orgasm. My body's dramatic."
Caleb didn't laugh. He just leaned down and kissed the base of my spine, right over where it hurt. One kiss. Then two more, just slightly above it, like he was apologising with every press of his lips.
"I don't like seeing you hurt because of me," he said softly. "Not like this."
I exhaled, my heart tugging a little at how genuine he sounded.
"You didn't break me," I whispered. "Just... slightly dented me."
He snorted, but it was faint. "That's not funny."
"No, it kind of is."
I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him down until his forehead rested against mine. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest, and for a second, we just stayed there, quiet.
The concern didn't leave his eyes, but he let out a breath like he was slowly letting go of the tension.
"You need anything?" he asked. "Ice? Heat pack?"
"Mmm..."
"What?"
I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "I want food."
He pulled back slightly. "Food?"
"Yeah. Something greasy. Cheesy. Bad for me."
"You want junk food after getting your back blown out?"
"Absolutely," I said. "I earned it."
He laughed then, a real one, deep and warm. "Fine. What are we ordering?"
"You're the one who broke me," I reminded him, settling back down and curling into his side. "You're paying."
"You make it sound like I ran you over."
"You might as well have."
Caleb pulled the covers up over us, wrapping an arm around me as he reached for his comm tablet. "You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
"I do."
He kissed my temple, then pulled me closer against his chest, warm and safe in the centre of it all.
"Alright, sweetheart," he said, scrolling through the options. "You pick. I pay. Then we eat, cuddle, and next time, I go half as hard. Deal?"
I grinned. "Deal. But next time, you're the one who's sore after."
"Looking forward to it."
The room had settled into a hazy quiet, the kind that only came after intensity. Caleb lay behind me, arm draped across my waist, his hand moving in slow, absentminded circles on my stomach like he was trying to soothe guilt with warmth. His breath was steady, brushing the back of my neck when he leaned in to adjust the blanket.
I could feel it in the way he held me—gentle, protective, overly careful. As if I might snap if he moved too quickly. As if I hadn't already clawed up his back and begged him not to stop two hours ago.
He hadn't said he was sorry again. Not out loud. But he didn't need to. The silence was full of it.
Behind me, I heard the subtle taps as he flicked through the tablet menu, scanning options from the local fast food joint. It was a little tradition at this point—wreck each other, emotionally reset over mozzarella sticks.
His thumb paused.
"Chicken sandwich or tenders?" he murmured.
"Sandwich."
"With the spicy sauce?"
"Obviously."
He hummed in agreement. I could tell by the way he exhaled that he was still too in his head. Still treating this like a mess to clean up.
I unlocked my phone and let my thumb drift into the endless scroll of curated chaos. My feed knew me well: unhinged girl humour, meme garbage, and deeply specific niche jokes that made me feel disturbingly seen.
A reel started playing.
A girl stared into the camera, deadpan. "God knew I'd be too powerful if I had a dick."
I snorted, stifling a laugh. The sound made Caleb glance over briefly before turning back to the tablet.
"You good?" he asked, not looking up.
"Fine," I said casually. "Just watching girls lose their minds."
I scrolled down into the comment section, curious. Always a mistake.
One girl wrote: "I'd paint it with eyeshadow and make it shimmer like a disco stick."
Another: "Temporary tattoos every week. I'd celebrate Halloween daily."
"I'd bedazzle it with rhinestones. Like an accessory.'' said another.
"I'd crochet lil clothes for my wiiwii. 🥹''
"I'd make a mold of it and create limited edition novelty soaps."
I bit my lip to hold in a laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. Caleb's hand paused where it rested on my stomach like he could feel the twitch of my amusement through the contact.
Then I saw it:
"I once put whipped cream on my boyfriend's dick. 10/10 experience. Ladies do try :D"
Oh.
Oh no.
I blinked. Smiled. Slowly locked my phone and slid it under the blanket with all the smoothness of a criminal hiding evidence.
Caleb didn't notice.
He was too busy frowning at a side menu.
"We getting the sticks?" he asked.
I rolled to my back, resting my cheek on his bicep. "Do you even need to ask?"
He tapped the screen, confirming the order. But even then, he was quiet. Still not meeting my eye for longer than a second. That brooding tension in his jaw hadn't gone anywhere. The air around him felt... apologetic. But he was trying not to say it again. I knew him. He thought repeating it would annoy me, and it would've—because we were fine.
I reached out and grabbed his jaw, turning his face toward me.
"You've got to stop looking like a sad puppy," I said.
"I'm not—"
"You are. You're giving, like, premium 'I hurt my girlfriend and I'll never forgive myself' energy. It's getting depressing."
He looked at me, eyes searching.
"I didn't mean to push it that far," he said, voice low.
"I know," I said simply.
He didn't say anything.
"You're not in trouble, Caleb," I added. "I'm not some fragile porcelain doll. And you're not a monster. So, unless you want me to start calling you 'Tragic Caleb' like some rejected Victorian ghost—"
He huffed. "God, no."
"Then stop pouting."
His hand slid higher, up to my ribs, thumb brushing softly along the curve of my side. "You're still sore."
"Yes. That's part of the experience. Comes with the territory. You think I'd go to war and not expect a few bruises?"
"I didn't think I'd be in the war."
"You're more like... a natural disaster."
He cracked a tiny smile. "Category five?"
"More like an extinction-level event. But hey, the aftershocks are worth it."
His expression finally softened for real. That heavy fog behind his eyes began to lift as he watched me. "You're sure?"
I leaned in and kissed the edge of his mouth. "You've got a chance to redeem yourself. Don't waste it looking guilty."
He kissed me back, slower, deeper this time. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine.
"Alright," he murmured. "Redemption plan: food, cuddles, and maybe later... whatever's going on in that evil little brain of yours."
I grinned. "You don't even know."
He raised a brow. "Should I be worried?"
"Probably."
His hand slid down again, resting on my hip. His touch was still gentle, but not hesitant anymore. Just... tender.
"Food will be here in fifteen," he said, settling back and pulling the blanket tighter around us. "You're banned from moving until then."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
We lay like that for a while. Caleb's chin resting against the top of my head, his hand warm on my side. I kept quiet, half-focused on the light patterns shifting along the wall, pretending not to think about whipped cream or rhinestones or novelty soaps.
One step at a time.
I had a plan. I had a Caleb. And I had mozzarella sticks on the way.
Redemption never tasted so good.
It had been three days since Caleb rearranged my internal organs like he was trying to solve a puzzle with no instructions.
Not that I was broken or anything—I could walk, sit, and even stretch without swearing now. But the memory lingered. Not just in my body, but in the smug way he kissed my forehead after, like he hadn't just committed a crime against my spine.
And while I'd accepted his apologies—and his post-sex mozzarella bribes—I wasn't about to let it slide completely.
Retribution was due.
And if I was going to get even, it had to be beautiful. Clever. Glittery.
"Okay, but hear me out—this lip tint makes my mouth look like a Hollywood star who cheated on her spouse," Tara said beside me, flicking a glittery wand back into its tube. "Thoughts?"
I turned from the shelf I'd been half-browsing and gave her the once-over. Her lips did look scandalous.
"In a good way," I said. "White collar crime vibes. Very 'guilty but hot.'"
Tara preened. "Sold."
We were deep in the boutique district of Skyhaven—clean glass storefronts, neon signage, the occasional hover-bike streaking by in the reflection. Some cafés served edible flower petals and department stores that could scan your whole body and build a wardrobe based on your vibe. Caleb had once jokingly called it "the only neutral zone in the galaxy," and I kind of believed it.
Today was skincare and makeup day. Self-care. Post-battle rejuvenation. I'd dragged Tara out for the company, but mostly because I wanted to spend a day not thinking about gravity fields, fleet alerts, or the way Caleb had held me like I was going to slip through his fingers the other night.
I loved that man, truly. But he had a way of shaking me loose from sanity, both emotionally and physically.
I was back to normal now. I could breathe without groaning. I could sit without swearing. And I could plot.
The store we were in now was tucked into a corner next to a crystal café. It was floor-to-ceiling mirrors, shelves of pastel jars, all curated lighting and trendy signage. A local spot. Independent. Made for people who took their moisturiser and eyeliner seriously.
I was halfway through sniffing a body mist that claimed to smell like "stardust and stolen kisses" when something caught my eye at the corner display.
Rhinestones.
Not just any rhinestones.
Makeup-grade.
Skin-safe.
Cosplay-quality.
They shimmered in delicate sheets, sticking to the display board like a galaxy waiting to be peeled and applied.
My brain short-circuited.
Because suddenly I was back in bed, Caleb's arm around me, doomscrolling through a comment section that had no business being that cursed. The reel. The comment. "I'd bedazzled my dick with rhinestones."
At the time, it had been a joke. A ridiculous idea. An idle thought.
But now?
Now, it was a challenge.
The gears in my head turned. Slowly. Sinfully.
Purple and orange.
His favourite colours.
My vengeance would be glittery.
"Hey, I'm gonna check out this corner real quick," I said to Tara, already making my way across the aisle.
"Don't get lost in the holo blushes again," she called. "You blacked out last time and spent eighty credits."
I waved her off, eyes locked on the display. The rhinestones were arranged by colour and finish. Classic clears. Holographic pinks. Deep sapphire blues.
And then—there.
A sheet of deep amethyst purple stones, soft and velvety under the light.
And right beside it—burnished orange-gold, like flames captured in acrylic.
I picked them both up. Light as air, each sheet came marked: Safe for sensitive skin. Gentle removal. Latex-free.
I didn't even hesitate.
Into the shopping basket, they went, right between the peptide serum and the lip gloss that smelled like strawberries.
I tried to imagine Caleb's face when he'd see them. Not at first, no. He'd be too focused on me, on the act, on the feel of skin under his hands. But then, when he'd look down...
A fully bedazzled vengeance, in his favourite colours.
I smirked.
Justice.
I wasn't even sure if I'd do it the way the comment described. Maybe I'd do it my way. Maybe I'd make him watch. Maybe I'd pull the sheets out mid-makeout, climb into his lap, and whisper, "Your punishment starts now."
The heat that flickered through my stomach was entirely inappropriate for a public retail space.
I swallowed. Adjusted my posture. And told my horny little demon brain to calm down.
For now.
For tonight... I had a plan.
By the time we left Skyhaven with three bags each and a mutual vow to deep-clean our pores by midnight, my fingers kept drifting back to the sealed rhinestone packets like they were secret scrolls of war.
"You're acting like you bought something illegal," Tara teased as we walked.
I shrugged, smiling to myself. "Depends on your definition of crime."
She raised a brow. "...What did you buy?"
"Skincare."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're lying."
"I never lie."
"You lie constantly."
I pressed the bag protectively to my chest. "Some truths aren't ready to be revealed."
Tara groaned. "You've been spending too much time with your broody man. You're starting to talk like a romance villain."
I didn't deny it.
When I got back to my place—empty, dim, and peaceful—I pulled the bags onto my bed and immediately tore through the skincare, the lipstick, the perfume...
And there they were.
My glittering little weapons.
Orange. Purple. Adhesive. A plan in the making.
I lay back on the sheets, stared at the ceiling, and grinned.
"Oh Caleb," I whispered. "You have no idea what's coming."
A few hours later
The soft clink of ceramic plates being stacked in the kitchen felt like the last page of a chapter we'd both silently agreed to end.
Dinner had been good, simple. Quiet. Caleb had insisted on cooking, and I let him, mostly because he looked hot doing it with his sleeves rolled up and his jaw clenched in focus. He hadn't tried anything. No touches below the waist. No teasing. Just calm, careful domesticity.
It was sweet.
It was normal.
And it was driving me insane.
I'd forgiven him. I'd healed. And most importantly, I'd planned.
Now it was time to put that plan into action.
While Caleb finished cleaning up, I snuck off to the bedroom. My shower was already done. Hair slightly damp, skin warm and dewy, I stood in front of the dresser with my skincare open like a dutiful routine was happening—but really, I was waiting.
And then I heard it: the creak of the bedroom door opening. Footsteps. His sigh.
Caleb.
I glanced at him in the mirror. He was shirtless, as usual for bedtime, with a pair of grey sweatpants hanging off one hand, a towel over his shoulder. His body was loose with post-meal comfort, but his gaze on me sharpened slightly when he saw I was already in nothing but a thin tank and underwear.
"Gonna shower," he murmured, about to head toward the bathroom.
I moved before he could reach the door.
My hand caught his wrist. He barely had time to react before I pulled him toward me and kissed him.
He dropped the sweatpants instantly.
His arms wrapped around my waist, mouth responded eagerly. He kissed back slowly at first, like he thought this was just a passing affection—but then my tongue slid past his, and I pressed closer, biting his lower lip as I broke the kiss.
Caleb blinked down at me, lips shiny. "What's with you tonight?" he asked, voice husky, amused. "Being so bold."
I reached up, dragging my nails down his back gently, pausing right above the waistband of his boxers.
"You remember what you did last time, right?" I asked, low and sultry. "How you almost rearranged my entire insides?"
His expression flickered. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Yeah. I remember." His arms tightened around me. "I told you, I—"
"Mm-mm," I cut in, brushing a finger across his lips. "No apologies."
He went quiet.
"Tonight," I whispered, "you're not in control. I gave you your redemption window... and now, you're going to earn it."
He froze.
I reached for his wrist again and tugged him gently toward the bed.
And like a good boy, he followed.
He didn't resist when I pushed him down. Didn't argue when I climbed on top, straddling his thighs. He just watched me with a kind of wonder and confusion, as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening.
His hands were on my hips, but loose. Tentative. Waiting.
Good.
I leaned forward and kissed him again, slow and deep, letting my nails skim up his torso. He moaned into my mouth—quietly—and when I pulled back, he chased me, but I was already moving.
I slid off the bed and walked to the dresser.
Picked up something small and sparkly.
When I turned back around, Caleb was propped on his elbows, his brow furrowed slightly. "...What's that?"
I smirked.
"Art supplies."
He blinked. "What kind of—"
"You'll see."
I knelt between his legs and set the sheets of rhinestones and skin-safe adhesive beside me. My fingers slid up his thighs as I reached for the waistband of his boxers and tugged.
Caleb lifted his hips wordlessly and let me pull them down.
His cock was already semi-hard, hanging heavy against his thigh. I wrapped a hand around it and watched as it twitched, growing with every stroke.
"God," he muttered, tipping his head back.
"You're gonna stay right there," I said softly, "and take it."
"I'm not gonna survive this, am I?"
I leaned in and licked a slow stripe up the underside of his shaft. "Not a chance."
He groaned.
I peeled the first rhinestone off—purple, deep and gleaming—and pressed it into place. Careful and precise.
Caleb stared down at me, stunned. "You're actually—"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Revenge."
He laughed—only to choke on it when I gave the head of his cock a quick, teasing kitten lick.
I kept going.
One by one, rhinestones were pressed into the skin—not too many, just enough to sparkle. Purple and orange, alternating in scattered constellation patterns across the base and halfway up the shaft. I didn't go near the sensitive spots—yet. I wanted his brain to keep short-circuiting.
Every few rhinestones, I leaned in and licked. Soft flicks. Messy kisses. A swirl of tongue here, a breath of hot air there.
His thighs trembled beneath my hands.
"Fuck," he whispered. "You're gonna kill me."
"I'm being gentle," I teased.
"Yeah, that's the scary part."
When I was satisfied with the decoration, I sat back for a second and admired my work.
"You're beautiful," I said honestly.
"I look like a disco stick."
"You look like a man about to get the best head of his life."
That shut him up.
I leaned in and licked again—this time, slower. My lips wrapped around the head, just enough pressure to make him gasp. My hand stroked him carefully, mindful of the rhinestones, while my mouth focused on the upper half.
Every time he twitched, I pulled back. Every time he moaned, I stilled.
"Tease," he growled, breathless.
"That's Mistress Tease to you."
He let out a strangled laugh that ended in a moan when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked him deeper.
His hand gripped the blanket beside him, white-knuckled.
I didn't stop.
I sucked, licked, kissed, stroked. I worked with him with slow, deliberate overstimulation. Never fast. Never frantic. Just endless, luxurious attention, like he was mine to ruin and I had all the time in the world to do it.
When he started panting, I slowed down even more.
When he whimpered, I hummed around him.
When his hips bucked, I pressed him back down and whispered, "No. Stay."
He obeyed.
I moved lower.
My tongue licked down to his balls, and I took one gently into my mouth, sucking softly as I stroked him in slow, upward pulls. He made a sound I'd never heard from him before—a half-growl, half-moan of desperate surrender.
I smiled.
Then I switched sides, licking and kissing, massaging them carefully while my hand pumped his cock in a lazy rhythm.
That was all it took.
"Fuck—fuck, I'm gonna—"
He came with a broken moan, his hand fisting the blanket, hips trembling as hot pulses of cum streaked across my face and chest. I let it happen. Let him spill everywhere. Let him see me take it all with a soft smile and satisfied hum.
When it was over, I sat back on my knees.
Breathing heavily. Rhinestones shimmering. My mouth glistened.
Caleb looked wrecked. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts. His hair was damp with sweat. His hands were twitching like he didn't know whether to grab me or fall apart.
He tried to speak. Failed.
Then he laughed hoarse, disbelieving. "You are fucking insane."
I crawled back up his body and kissed him, slow and deep.
"I warned you," I whispered against his lips. "You should've been more careful with me."
His hand tangled in my hair. "What the hell do I owe you now?"
I grinned.
"Round two."