I wasn’t sure who moved first, but within the next breath, my hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the bathroom door was slamming shut behind us, and my mouth found Will’s. His hands gripped my thighs, boosting me up and pressing my back to the wall.
“You should know I don’t have sex in bathrooms,” I whispered against his lips. “Apparently that’s a thing people do, but I’m not one of those people.”
“I have no intention of fucking you here,” he said. His fingers traced the edge of my panties but never dipped inside. “Just wanted to see if you tasted as good as I remembered.”
“And your game is just as weak as it was in May,” I said.
Will kissed me again, and this time it was slow. Patient.
Then he slapped my ass, set me on the ground, and walked away.
That asshole.
I stared at myself in the mirror, assessing my swollen lips, disheveled hair, askew sheath dress, and ragged, desperate breaths. My entire body was pulsing with need, and I could barely see beyond that wild hunger. If I didn’t get an orgasm right now, I was going to implode.
I got myself back in order, constructed a reasonable excuse for leaving early, and departed without making eye contact with Will. I drove home, frustrated and impatient, thinking up all the things I should have said to him.
What gave him the right to kiss me like that and walk away as if it was nothing?
And if he wasn’t interested enough to finish what he started, he shouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.
My apartment was dark and quiet, the only noise coming from the cyclical hum of the air conditioner, and I didn’t turn on any lights. I stomped toward the master bedroom, heading straight for the attached bath. My clothes fell in scattered heaps, and I stopped only long enough to turn on the shower and drop my bracelets and earrings beside the sink. The water was cool, the perfect balance to my overheated skin. I leaned against the chilly tile until my body was soaked.
Reaching for the detachable showerhead, I clicked over to my favorite setting, perched my foot on the built-in bench, and positioned the spray exactly where I needed it. My eyes closed, I dropped my forehead to the shower wall, and sighed as the first sensations rolled through me.
Shower orgasms weren’t especially powerful but they were quick, and they always took the edge off. I didn’t have time to pick out a vibrator, find the lube, cozy up in bed, and engage in thorough self-love. I’d do that later. Right now, I couldn’t forget the way Will’s hands gripped my ass, the feel of his weight against me, the pressure of his lips. I couldn’t forget the way his body pinned me with such intent, a reminder that he knew how to bring me pleasure I didn’t know was possible.
I slouched against the wall as I came, and the showerhead slipped from my fingers. The sounds of running water and my hammering pulse rang in my ears, blocking out everything else, and I stayed there, lingering in the small relief of an inadequate orgasm. My mind filled with to-do lists and odd thoughts of budgeting issues and reminders I needed to send Tom, and any tension that might have dissolved just now was replaced with even more.
On a defeated groan, I set the showerhead in its cradle and stood under the spray. I needed the water to wash it all away, to offer me a reprieve from the overwhelming ache inside me, to turn off my racing mind. Instead, I was left with shriveled fingers.
When I stepped out of the shower, I slathered on moisturizer, shrugged into a light robe, and twisted my hair into a bun. I required my bed, a glass of wine, another orgasm, and someFriendsreruns, and stepped out of the bathroom with that checklist in mind.
“That was hot as fuck.”
I shrieked and reared back against the bathroom door, one hand pressed against my thudding heart. Will was sprawled on my bed, the remote control in one hand, a half-eaten apple in the other. He continued flipping through muted sports stations while my stomach did terror-convulsions.
“I was tempted to join in but I couldn’t interrupt something that incredible. It was like watching an act of God,” he said around the apple. “Hot. As. Fuck.”
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” I screeched.
He shrugged. “I let myself in.”
“You’re a presumptuous dick.” I couldn’t believe this guy. One minute he was slapping my ass, the next he was breaking and entering. Oh, and watching me give the downtown a thorough rinse. “Is that a commando tactic of yours?”
“Yeah, and you want to know another one?” I rolled my eyes. “You have to sit on my face for me to show you.”
“Choke on my dick,” I said.
“You have that one backward, peanut. You’re supposed to choke onmydick,” he said. He tossed the apple core into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. Of course he made the shot. He was unbearable like that.
“No, I’m pretty sure I had it right the first time,” I said.
“You mean this drawer of dildos?” He pointed to the short chest beside my bed. I couldn’t believe he went through my things. Any second now, I was going to start chucking those dildos at his head. The idea of pummeling him with the long fat one was quite appealing. “Quite the collection, but since the real thing is right here”—he motioned to his crotch—“hop on and give it a ride. Save the rubber for another day.”
“No, not when the real thing”—I frowned at his pants—“only performs for two minutes at a time.”
“That mouth of yours,” he growled, pressing the heel of his palm between his legs. It was probably an indication that we were both a special brand of crazy, but hurling insults was the most effective form of foreplay we knew.
