Two Hours
I slot the key in and step inside. The minute I close the door, so does my subconscious.
The memories of where I was or where I was going are gone.
Like they were never even mine to remember.
That seemed to happen a lot lately.
I take off my coat, a tired sigh slipping off with it. Throwing it on the couch, I turn to head into the kitchen.
But I freeze.
He’s here.
Again.
He seems to appear whenever I don’t know who I am, or where I’ve been.
His presence is neither menacing nor comforting.
He’s just here.
I walk past him and grab a glass of water.
“So how was today?”
I scoff. “You ask as if you don’t know. You come when my mind is vacant.”
He nods slowly, but there’s no sense of understanding on his features.
In fact, there’s nothing on his features.
He’s been visiting me for the past few years. One night he just arrived and never said anything.
He was neither a guardian angel nor the angel of death.
I thought that was it.
The end of me.
But somehow I managed to breathe again.
He brought me back to life—in exchange for all that I knew.
He puts a file on the kitchen counter. I stare at the papers sticking out and eye him suspiciously.
“A single father wants you to tutor his daughter.”
My brows knit together in confusion.
“I haven’t been tutoring in years. Why would you accept it?”
He ignores me and flips the file open.
He pushes it to me and my eyes follow.
The first thing I see is the money.
R500 paid up front into my bank account and a promissory note for the rest. R600 and a signature stare back at me.
My eyes bug out at the amount.
Someone wants me to tutor their kid for a grand?
“Why this much money?” I ask, lifting the file.
Back when I was a tutor, I used to charge R100 an hour. For the amount this man paid, I’d have to sleep over.
“Are you going to take it?” he asks, voice uninterested.
I nod vigorously. “But it kind of depends on how old the kid is.”
He places a new stack of paper on top of the file and says nothing. I take it and flip through.
The man is in his late 30s, close to 40. I scan his profile and see he’s a lawyer.
Explains the large amount.
I flip to the next page.
The page makes me stop thinking. I read the words at least three times before I can understand them.
Today I spent my baby girl’s birthday without her. I’m so lonely. I miss her terribly.
Underneath it is a pink sticky note written in blue crayon. The handwriting looks like a child’s.
I love you, Daddy!
I look up and stare at him.
“What the hell is this?”
He beckons me to continue reading.
I flip to the next page and scan the child’s student record. My eyes immediately look for her age.
10 years old.
Not the usual group I tutor.
My eyes then scan the whole page, taking in every word like they held the answer to my existence.
Natasha S was a ten-year-old girl who passed away two years ago from leukaemia. Her father was a single dad; the mother was never in the picture.
As I look at the picture of Natasha in the hospital, smiling brightly at her father, my heart breaks.
Here was someone who wanted to live longer, and yet I’ve been kept alive all this time.
“Are you going to take it?”
His voice breaks the heartbreak spell Natasha put me in.
I nod. “Maybe he meant to say niece.”
The excuse sounds bitter on my tongue.
I haven’t bothered to take anyone’s side in years and intended to never do it again. I knew what it meant to trust others, and I vowed to never do that again.
Maybe that’s how I summoned him.
I walk over to the bedroom to get my laptop and tote bag. I pack everything I think I might need. And when I step out of the room, he’s gone.
Nothing left behind—like the memories he claimed as his.
I grab my keys and look at the address again.
A five-minute walk from where I stayed. He lived in the same estate as me, and that made me sigh in relief a bit.
The walk to the father’s house is a quiet one. The air is green, and the more I inhale, the more it turns me purple. The house comes into view and I have to crane my neck to take it all in.
I stand in front of the door, my finger above the doorbell.
I know what will happen when I step inside this house.
And I’m willing to let it happen.
I press the doorbell once and it slides open.
I step in cautiously and close it behind me.
The minute the lock clicks, something deep inside me shifts. The air becomes heavy, a pressure weighing on my shoulders.
But I don’t cave.
I let it leave imprints, relishing the power the pain is bringing forth.
Something moves from the kitchen, and I move toward it.
My eyes land on the father.
Hair seasoned with salt and pepper, dark circles under his eyes, and a stubble that begs to be shaved.
But despite his dishevelled look, there’s an aura about him.
Something about him screams sex.
“I’m Lilith,” I introduce myself.
He nods, not questioning how I entered the house or why I’m even here.
“Adam.”
“So, Adam, who do you want me to tutor?”
I ask as I turn to look at the state of the house. Boxes piled up against the walls and a single table in the middle of the room.
My eyes fall on a half-open box. A Barbie doll sticks out of it.
When Adam doesn’t reply, I turn to look at him.
The space between us is smaller now, and the energy radiating off him is somewhat predatory.
But I don’t flinch.
I stand tall and hold my ground.
Something in his sad eyes flickers and he steps back a bit.
“No one. There’s no kid.”
His voice breaks on the last word. He heads over to the kitchen counter and downs a glass of brown liquor. He turns to me and looks at me with a hunger so broken, I swallow hard.
“So why did you pay for my services?”
“Truth is, I’m lonely. I just need some company. I apologize if it sent the wrong message.”
“No shit.”
He chuckles a bit and moves slowly toward me.
“Well, since I’m here, I might as well get my money’s worth.”
“Shouldn’t that be my line?” A sly smirk plays on his lips.
I chuckle dryly. “You’re the one in need of me. Trust me, the money better be worth it.”
He nods slowly, the gap between us closing.
I raise my hand and stop him in his tracks. I fish for my phone in my bag and pull it out. I open the recorder app and hold the phone between us.
“Do you consent to this recording?”
He nods.
“Use your words,” I order, stern.
“Yes.”
I nod and continue, “I’m expecting my money in cash the minute we are done. Plus a tip, of course. Do you agree?”
“Yes.”
“Bring me a box of condoms so I can inspect that there aren’t any holes in them. I’m not in the mood to get trapped.”
He chuckles and heads upstairs. A few minutes later, he returns, handing me an unopened box of Pasante Sensitive Feel condoms.
I open the box and check every single one of them. When I’m satisfied, I put the box down and turn my attention back to him.
“This is my body. What I say goes. No means no. Yes means yes. Are we clear?”
He eyes me, searching.
“What if I have ulterior motives and you’re not safe?”
“Safety is a fantasy. And I don’t care if you’re a lawyer—I will not hesitate to paint my name on your walls with your blood.”
He drops his head, laughing softly. When he raises it again, he nods in amusement.
“We’re clear.”
I nod. “And most importantly, what happens in these walls for the next two hours stays here. Not even a whisper of today leaves this place.”
“I swear—after two hours, what happens today never happened.”
“Good.” I send the recording to two of my friends for safekeeping and turn my phone off.
I walk to the table in the middle of the living room and lift myself onto it. Adam stays rooted in place, and I smile.
Devilishly.
“Kneel.”
He holds my gaze, defiance battling with submission. But the power I possess in this moment is far too much.
He obeys and drops to his knees.
“Come to me.”
He gets on all fours and crawls to me. When he’s under me, I don’t speak.
He reads the command in my eyes. His fingers reach for the laces of my shoes, undoing them slowly like a ritual. When the shoes are forgotten, his hands travel up my legs at an agonizing pace—fingertips memorizing the softness of skin dark enough to swallow secrets, smooth enough to tempt truth.
As his hands move upward in reverence, I throw my head back.
He slides his hands beneath my skirt and grips my thighs so hard a moan slips out. He raises the skirt, bunching it at my waist, and growls softly.
I meet his smirk with a sharper one. “Call it intuition, but I knew exactly what you needed.”
He exhales a breath he seems to have been holding for a lifetime.
He spreads my knees wide, exposing me bare.
I swallow hard as the feral hunger in his eyes pulls a gasp from my chest. I’m soaking. My clit throbs, aching for touch.
His hands grip my hips, anchoring me to the table.
His mouth finds my inner thigh, kissing with reverence, with heat. My back arches as goosebumps scatter across my skin.
He trails closer.
Closer to where I burn.
I bite my lip, refusing to beg.
He senses it—my restraint—and looks up at me.
“Tell me what you want. Tell me how to serve you.”
I fist his hair and gently pull him closer. His stubble bites deliciously into my skin.
My voice is low, unrushed—lethal.
“Prove that you deserve to serve me. Starting with your tongue.”
Like a man starved, he obeys.
His mouth claims me with desperate worship. My breath stutters as his tongue writes an entire gospel into my flesh. My hands tighten in his hair. My feet lock onto his shoulders. My hips grind against his mouth.
He pulls me closer, like he could crawl inside me and live there.
I glance down, and the sight of him between my thighs awakens something wicked in me.
Before I can savour it, he slides a finger into me, his tongue never leaving my clit. I cry out as my body jerks forward.
He adds a second finger, curling up just right.
My hips rock, wild and reckless, chasing that edge.
I ride his face like I own the world.
When it hits—when I break—it’s silent.
No breath, no name.
Just stars behind my eyes.
I come so hard, my soul leaves me.
He helps me ride it out, steady hands holding me together. When I’m nothing but a trembling mess, he pulls away.
Then he stands—and kisses me.
It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.
It’s resurrection.
My body moulds against his as his arms wrap around my waist.
I don’t even notice when he lifts me until I feel the shift in air. He carries me up the stairs, like I weigh nothing, like I’m everything.
The world comes back to me only when he sets me down on the edge of a king-sized bed.
“How much more time do we have left?” I ask, breathless.
Adam glances at the clock.
“An hour and forty minutes.”
“Then you better move fast.”
He chuckles and unbuttons his shirt.
It slips to the floor. For someone who looks like hell, he’s carved like a promise.
I go to remove my top and he stops me. His hands take over, slow and deliberate, treating me like I’m made of glass and rage.
When I’m completely bare beneath him, he doesn’t rush. He stares.
His eyes drink me in like I’m a last sip of something rare and forbidden.
He moves between my thighs.
I wrap my legs around him.
“You are a vision,” he rasps, like the words surprise even him.
He rolls on a condom and teases my entrance.
My body arches, begging.
I grind against him, teasing back, dragging the moment out.
“Please,” he breathes.
I grip his jaw and lock eyes with him.
“God, say it again.”
“Please,” he begs.
It’s broken.
It’s reverent.
I kiss him, and in that seal, I grant permission.
He slides in—slow, deep, deliberate.
When he’s fully inside, he stops. His heart pounds against mine. We breathe in sync.
Then he starts to move.
Each thrust slow and molten, pain curving into pleasure. I match him, hips rising to meet each stroke.
His rhythm grows wilder, deeper.
My fingers claw at his back, my moans swallowed by his mouth.
I come hard, and he doesn’t stop.
He flips me onto my stomach, lifts my hips, and fills me again.
There’s no mercy in his rhythm. Just desperate need.
Skin slaps skin.
Moans echo.
Lust fogs the room.
He pulls my arms back and holds them tight—makes them handles.
I cry out, not in pain but in surrender.
“Oh God, yes—just like that.”
He slams into me.
My body shudders.
I’m close again.
“So close,” I pant.
“Me too,” he says, his thrusts frenzied.
“I swear, don’t you dare come.”
He freezes, trembling.
I pull away, crawl over him, and push him onto his back.
He’s panting, flushed, undone.
I straddle him and sink down on his cock—inch by glorious inch.
His hands grab my hips like he’s drowning.
I ride him slow, then fast, chasing the peak.
“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he lets out eyes closing as his head falls back.
My pace quickens as I greedily chase my high.
When his fingers find my clit, I nearly scream.
We spiral.
“Please,” he begs again. “Let me come.”
I grin.
I slide off him, kneel between his legs, and pull off the condom.
His cock glistens.
I take it in my hand and stroke it, slow and sure.
I lick him—tip to base, savouring his shudders.
He sits up, his hands threading into my hair.
I lower my mouth onto him slowly, working my tongue along every inch. My head moves in rhythm—steady, commanding—while my hand strokes what my lips can’t reach.
I take him deeper, feeling him hit the back of my throat.
I pull back.
Catch my breath, and take him in again.
Just as deep.
“Fuck,” he growls.
The word is all the encouragement I need.
Every part of my mind that’s on a power trip yells not to, but every fibre in my body knows this is the right thing to do.
I look up at him once more.
The sight of him undone reassures me.
I slide him out, wet and heavy, throat aching.
“Get up,” I say.
He squints at me, confused.
I tilt my head toward the floor.
After a moment, he obeys.
I lie on my back, head hanging off the edge of the bed.
“Since God took your daughter from you, I’ll let you be my God. Take anything you want from me.”
I open my mouth and wait.
I don’t wait long—his hips snap forward, and he thrusts at an unforgiving pace.
Every movement slams into the back of my throat.
I don’t flinch.
I don’t resist.
I let him take.
His hand finds my clit, circling with wild precision.
“Oh fuck, I’m close.”
I relax into it, letting go.
Even if only for a moment, I give him the power.
With a few final thrusts, I feel him release—warmth flooding down my throat.
I swallow every drop.
He pulls out and collapses beside me, chest rising and falling in gasps.
He turns his head, meets my eyes.
“And that makes it two hours.”
I chuckle, throat raw.
After a few minutes, I hear water running in the bathroom.
I open my eyes and see Adam walking toward me—water trickling down his chest, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.
He gently scoops me up, and my eyes flutter closed again.
When I wake, I’m alone.
Adam’s side of the bed is cold—like he never existed.
I find my clothes neatly folded on a nearby chair and head downstairs.
The place is empty. Not a single box in sight.
I turn into the kitchen and see a white envelope on the counter.
I walk over and find my name written in messy handwriting.
I open it—money inside, thick and silent—but it’s the pink sticky note that grabs me.
I unfold it.
The handwriting in blue crayon is unmistakable.
My stomach drops.
A cold chill snakes down my spine.
My Daddy says thank you for the kind words. He says he’s sorry to leave without saying bye-bye, but he had to come be with me.
Thank you so much, Lilith, for making my Daddy smile again.
As I read the note again, a sudden warmth wraps itself around me.
I look up—and see his reflection in the glass door of the fridge.
“What the hell is this?” I whisper, frozen to the spot.
He nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck and speaks softly.
“I asked if you wanted to take it,” he pauses.
“You did an amazing job with this one, my dear Angel of Death.”
He presses a kiss to my neck—
—and before I can say a word, everything goes black.
I slot the key in and step inside.
The minute I close the door, so does my subconscious.
The memories of where I was or where I was going are gone.
Like they were never even mine to remember.
That seems to happen a lot lately.
I take off my coat, a tired sigh slipping off with it.
Throwing it on the couch, I turn to head into the kitchen.
But I freeze.
He’s here.
Again.
Author’s Note:
You’ve reached the end.
There’s nothing after this. No part two. No redemption arc. No soft landing.
This was a one-shot.
Just one chapter. Just one night. Just enough to leave a mark.
If you’re aching, good.
If you’re confused, even better.
Let it haunt you.
And if you were bold enough to read this all the way through—
then maybe you deserved it, too.
— V 🖤
