My Soulmates are IDOLS Books 2+3 | 18+ [SoulBond Series]

317: Chapter 10

Amber

Perfectionism was her poison; willingly drunk from the chalice of defeat that created her anxiety.

But it was those flaws that led to the connection with her soulmates—their eyes had bled with the warmth and love that she so dearly missed. Her pain was her humanity, it was a door to her inner world and thus it was the union of their broken hearts.

Amber knew exactly how Hikaru's outburst would go. He would rush in through the door with cold stung cheeks, and they would circle him— a confused crowd of panicked, quivering bodies. Then he would talk about what she'd said, possibly more dramatized. Perhaps, a tad different, but good enough to give them the gist of her story; good enough to transfer the broken parts of herself into their hearts. Good enough to act as arrows pierced into their unwilling flesh, blood will spill in the form of tears.

They should be sad.

It felt better knowing that they'd feel like shit; that there would be regret and guilt on their faces. That they would wait at home for her, trembling and worried about what she might think of them. Some couldn't endure the wait, and she could feel it from the way her phone buzzed in her pocket, trembling against her ass with their essays in her messaging apps. Essays that she would read later because she didn't want to read them now.

Let them wait and let them fear.

The taste of vengeance was bittersweet—a concoction that her heart relished with smacked lips and licked fingers. She was disgustingly pleased because in her head they deserved to feel every ounce of pain that she felt; and in her head, she hoped that Rumiko was screaming her little lungs out and wailing like her life depended on it.

Show them no mercy, only pain.

She hoped that they would suffer in her absence, stand in her shoes for just long enough for the ocean of reality caressed their cheeks and threatened to suffocate them. It never would, of course it wouldn't with a team of six able bodied men, but at the very least they would sink in the muddy waters of guilt. At the very least, they would be filled with anxiety and trepidation.

Amber was at fault too for not voicing out what she truly wanted. Her lips curled, teeth biting upon the flesh until pain unfurled upon the surface coaxing her back to reality. The exhale that followed was breathless. All the wrong words and all the wrong tones had been used throughout her postpartum journey, rookie mistakes and bad decisions that could have been avoided.

That and the fucked up need that churned between the apex of her whenever her baby sucked her nipples all wrong. Her soulmates weren't wrong, she too had expected a dry spell after giving birth especially with a child like Rumiko.

Amber should be married to her bed, begging for sleep. She should be wanting nothing else but her monster of a baby on her boobs. Hell, what she should be according to the rest of the goddamn world was a woman obsessed with her daughter.

But instead, her damned thighs had squeezed together for relief, and her clit had thrummed throughout the night despite her sleep addled mind. Her body had shivered and craved for touch; her soul was begging for love that it could not get from her daughter. And she wanted—no—she dreamt about fucking: deep raw sex with a cock that filled and emptied her, and a body that burned and melted against her skin.

She'd once bounced Rumiko on her hips, eyes glazed, lips parted as she stared at the wall thinking about the past, illusions of the filthy things she'd done. She stopped because of her baby, but she continued, zombie-like in the shower with her fingers toying at her clit and her knuckles buried in her pussy. No orgasm was achieved because the baby cried for her. There was no time to take care of herself.