Shameful | Congressman!Kylo x Reader

Chapter 12: Box With a Clear Lid

howdy :) I'm fixated on motifs rn but if you want me to stop and it's confusing i'll totally stop. trust me, you'll see lmao

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Kylo's POV

Tonight, she's a kaleidoscope of tiny gasps and purrs. Pliant and easy and semiliquid, sighing and sliding around in my hands like a fucking rag doll. Her lips ooze honey; I want to drink from them. I want her completely filled with me, only me. I want her brimming and bursting and I want to taste her tears. I could break her so easily. I want to break her. I want to split her in half and keep her. She has me. She fully has me, and I'm hers, so I leave.

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My POV

Obviously, I didn't sleep last night. I sat on the couch, completely still, for over two hours— obsessively, wantonly replaying what happened over and over and over and over again until I could get it completely sealed in my memory to save for later. I placed that moment gently in a box with a clear lid so I could peer into it whenever I wanted, marveling from above at what I'd just experienced. I took a joyless bath, the tub threatening to overflow before I remembered to shut off the faucet. I wish that had never happened, just so it can happen all over again for the first time. I dried off and picked up my dress off the floor, sniffing all over it like a stray dog for any hint of his leftover scent.

I went to bed—rather, laid in it restlessly—and reopened the box of our almost-kiss once every two minutes to savor it. I drifted off, dreaming of his nose...

...and before I know it, it's morning.

I'm not hungry, but I order nearly the entire menu of room service on his tab. His money is the only thing that's connecting us at this moment. I sit still in my robe until it arrives. Like Marie Antoinette, I take a delicate bite off each plate, staring blankly out the window. I don't dare sit on the couch ever again — the couch that holds the moment that I keep in my box with a clear lid. Anything else would ruin it. I merely sit there, totally deprived and giddy and restless, all the way until the early afternoon. It's the same feeling that I get at 4am during a sleepover where we read that one part of Catcher in the Rye that makes us all giggle. I feel like I've just discovered sex for the first time, and we hadn't even kissed. I can't even muster his name; it overwhelms me too much as I shut the box with a clear lid in my mind for the 15th time that hour.

No word from him at all. After leaving me high and dry, he just disappears with the halfhearted promise of a spa day. But I can't blame him— he's what I always knew he was— an impulsive, self-important man who doesn't follow through.

My ears perk at every sound that I hear outside my door, hoping against hope that it's him, back to finish the job. But dinnertime rolls by, and I do everything that I can to distract myself. I press all my weight onto that box with a clear lid to keep it shut. I call my mom, I call Ray, I even send Vicrul YouTube videos that I know will make him laugh. I even try thinking about him while I touch myself while sat in my third bubble bath of the evening. Somehow, it does the job just fine.

I slip into one of my cashmere lounge sets and just wait. Wait for a knock at the door.

It never comes. It's 11pm. My eyelids are swollen, my vision blurry from staring at my phone. My fingers are so pruned it hurts. I swallow four pastilles of melatonin and drift off to sleep, frustrated beyond belief.

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The next morning rolls around, and I immediately reach for my phone to check for missed calls, any sign that suggests that he's also carrying around a box with a clear lid in his head.