I also feel damn lucky to work with a group of men who all have the same need to clean up our corner. I’d jump in front of a bullet for any of these assholes, and even though nothing can come of my feelings for Rafi, I’m happy to report I still have the ability to love.
I mean, sure, there are times when the heart I try to keep locked in a cage feels like it’s going to break in a million pieces, but at least I have feelings.
As I hose down my little murder corner, careful to avoid splashing anything on the sensitive electronics on the other side of the room, I start thinking about the gal I tattooed this evening. I had Jake do some research and found out why she didn’t want to come alone. Turns out, her sergeant had a reputation for assaulting his cute, young subordinates.
While I’d certainly love to just drive on over to Fort Hood and take care of it myself, rule number two dictates that I’ve got to put it before the group for a vote. To be honest, Anders might want in on this one, and I would totally give it to him.
Besides, tomorrow is Masochistic Monday, and I’ll be needing my sweet hit of Rafi.
6
Rafi
It’s Monday morning, usually my favorite time of the week. I mean, morning is my favorite time of the day anyway and Mondays are just so full of possibilities, that the combination usually has me up early and in a decent mood.
When I was in the middle of the worst of grieving for Asadi, Monday mornings always managed to make me feel hopeful in the quiet knowledge that this week would be an improvement on the last. Even better, once I became friends with Everett, Mondays came to mean TV night. It’s one of the few times I feel fully relaxed, safe, and some version of happy.
But now my horny ass has gone and ruined it.
Today, Monday, my favorite fucking day of the week, I woke up seventeen minutes before my alarm in a pool of sweat and dread. This last week has been a nightmare of masturbation and multiple trips to H-E-B for lube, interspersed with inappropriate dreams about mygood friendEverett. I swear I try to keep my dreams firmly on my late husband. He was so sensual, and his kisses…I could perform a soliloquy on Broadway about Asa’s kisses.
But inevitably, somewhere in the middle of my sexual fantasizing, often when I’m past the point of no return, Everett’s face pops up and I come all over myself. These aren’t sad little husband-in-mourning orgasms, mostly because I seem to have skipped over those entirely; these are rocket-fueled nut-fests, the kind which I have never been able to give myself, ever.
Worse, some of these little fantasy scenariosbeginwith Everett’s blue eyes.
Okay, alotof them do.
How could I have gone six whole months without realizing how fucking hot my best friend is?
I mean, yeah, grief or whatever. But were my eyes not working? He’s, like, six feet tall with a superstrong build, and he’s got that gorgeous black-and-silver hair that he often wears in some kind of loose, slightly messy pompadour. I haven’t even gotten to his crystal-blue eyes or his fucking jawline that is, objectively, perfect.
I’m certainly not going to talk about his tattoos because…fuck, there goes my dick again.
I don’t have any tattoos, and I feel all pristine and perfect and virginal in comparison to his sharp-jawed, dark-edged, tattooed hotness. I feel dirty even admitting it to myself, but fuck if it isn’t the truth. Suffice it to say there’s a neck tattoo I just…gahhh.Want to lickso bad.
I mean, I’ve spent six months snuggling on the couch with this man. How in thehelldid I miss that? How thefuckdid I not notice his fatal hotness?
Ha. I noticed, and I’m dead.
Oh yeah, and the misfiring synaptic ghost of my late husband is now making fun of me.
So, nightmare all around.
I mean, I haven’t explored my own sexuality in over a year, so I’m sure I just need to…I don’t know? Get laid?
Ugh. My stomach clenches when I think about it.
Last Monday?Practically asexual as I sat in his lap, completely unaffected by his hotness.
This Monday?I’m a fun-sized condensation of sexual frustration, moderately irritated dick skin (for fuck’s sake, spend a little extra to get the good lube), and pubescent angst wrapped up in a pretty little package. If I get anywhere near his lap tonight, I’ll probably explode in a fireball of cum and absolute humiliation, then be forced to buy him a new couch.
Oh, stop being so dramatic.
Asadi, as usual, is right. I just need to calm my ass down.
Have you tried a pre-wank? I had to do those before our first dates; otherwise, I’d have been a walking boner.
My delusion has a good point. Except we are not talking about a date, we are talking about my Monday-night cuddle fests.
