A few days passed without a sign of Derek, and Stiles felt a deep, aching sadness twist in her chest. She missed him—not just the way he fucked her senseless, but the way he cared, the tenderness in his touch, the way he made her feel wanted beyond her body. Jackson, surprisingly, had stepped up since that day she’d distracted him; he fucked her really good now, rough and selfish as always but finally making her cum with his fingers or mouth, grunting compliments like “good slut” as he filled her. Stiles was satisfied physically, her pussy throbbing from his daily poundings, but god, it wasn’t the same. Jackson treated her like property; Derek treated her like a princess. She lay in bed at night, fingering herself to memories of Derek’s cock in her ass, whispering his name into the pillow.