instantly as he looks down at our daughter and runs the tip of his nose over her forehead, and when he looks at me, his eyes are rimmed in teary joy.
He joins me on the bed and settles baby Jill into my arms. “I can’t stop looking at her.”
“It seems like a dream,” I tell him. “How is it possible that we were able to make something so perfect?”
“Because,” he says as he lifts my chin, “she’s a part of you.”
“And you.”
His lips drop onto mine, and we kiss slowly in this quiet moment above the new love of our lives. My chest aches in a pleasurable pain as my heart grows. Tears dampen my cheeks, and when Jill coos in my arms, our kiss is fractured by my breathy giggle.
“I swear to both of you girls, no man will ever love you like I do,” he vows. “I never knew life could be so good to me, and it’s all because of you, Tori.”
Landon bands his arms around me and Jill as I continue to weep. I rest my head against him as he comforts me like no other man has ever done before. An overwhelming sense of peace consumes me, and I bask in the euphoric bliss I didn’t know existed until this very moment.
I can’t even remember our life before our girls. I’m sure it was less stressful and more spontaneous, but I wouldn’t want to go back. Sure, the daily cycle can become monotonous, but I guess that’s what being a grown-up is. Brooke’s life with her husband and son is the same, but we love that our families have adapted to the uneventful routine of life.
Another reason why I love my job is it provides me an escape. And after the spat Landon and I just had, I need an escape.
I lean down and give my Jilly-bug a kiss, tucking the blanket in around her before shutting the door behind me. Making my way downstairs, I get my laptop and settle myself on the couch. I kill time by scrolling through my social media pages, replying to posts fans have tagged me in and a few of the endless private messages. I do my best to keep up so readers don’t think I’m being rude and ignoring them, but there’s just no way I can get to every single message without it taking over every minute of my day.
While I’m scrolling through my newsfeed, I come across a status update from Kristen. Our conversation at dinner last night plays back in my head, and I try to remember that website she told me about. It takes me a minute to remember and I type “FetLife” into the search engine. I click on the first link that pops up, which takes me straight to the site, but I’m blocked from exploring unless I create an account.
Not sure about what I’m going to come across, I decide to make a vague account, filling out only the required info. I leave no description of who I am, but I’m forced to list at least one fetish. Scrolling through the selections they offer, I’m shocked by how many there are and how many I’ve never heard of in my life. I may write sexually charged books, but apparently I’m not as educated as I thought.
Needing access to this site, I decide to select the one that’s most familiar to me, but also the one that is far from my personality. What do I care? I mark my fetish as “submissive.” There’s no requirement to upload a profile pic, so I don’t. Clicking “submit,” I create the account and now have access.
The site is a tad confusing as I fumble around. With a click here and a click there, I find myself on random forum threads. There are lots of explicit photos as I scroll through the feeds. When I pass one that shows a man’s fist being crammed into a woman’s vagina, I look in horrid disbelief.
Fucking gross!
Who the hell would be into that? And why? I swear I feel phantom pains in my own vagina just by looking at the picture. I wonder what kind of messed up childhood these people had to wind up having such questionable sexual desires. It’s so weird.
I exit the page and shut down the Internet. I’m much too tired to be seeing shit like this. Knowing I have to be up early to drop the girls off at school, I close my