“I do not need a vibrator or silk that feels like it costs more than my rent.” I rubbed the nightgown in between my fingers. It was buttery, luxurious, womanly. I’d always wanted to wear expensive nightwear, to spoil myself that way. But that was an indulgence I could never justify.
“You don’t pay rent,” Cole countered sassily. “And if you did, it would most definitely be more.”
“It’s too much, then,” I groaned. “And completely inappropriate.”
I’d always been a little prudish about sexuality, embarrassed by my own desires and never validated or given a safe space to explore them.
Cole, on the other hand, had always been the opposite. Despite growing up in a backward small town where his sexuality put a target on his back.
Especially by his own, deeply homophobic and evil father.
Cole never shrank, never cut himself down, didn’t let it tarnish him.
One of the many, many things I admired about him.
“Girlfriend, I’m no longer the trailer park boy without two pennies to rub together,” he scoffed. “I have more than I know what to do with.” He hummed, silent for a moment. “That’s a lie. I know what to do with all of my money and that’s treat myself. Which you never do. So it’s my job to do it for you. Until another man takes up the helm.”
I scowled. “I thought you were more progressive than that,” I snapped. “I don’t need a man to treat me to anything.”
“You do,” he argued. “Since you never treat yourself and trying to convince you to do so would be much harder than finding a worthy man to do it for you. Maybe even the man you’re living with. You fuck him yet?” he asked conversationally.
My eyes bugged out, my eyes rushing to the door again, as if Beau had his ear pressed up against it. He had better things to do.
“No!” I whisper-yelled. “That is absolutely not going to happen.” My body prickled with unease and need just thinking about it.
“Right,” Cole sighed. “The lingerie was a gift for you—because you don’t need to wear it for anyone but yourself. Though the less progressive version of me was hoping you could wear it for a hot single dad, absolutely desperate for you…”
My heart rate doubled at the mere thought of wearing the silk for Beau…
Nope. Never going to happen.
“Cole—"
“But…” he continued. “The vibrator was the main gift since I had an inkling you hadn’t fucked him yet, and you were about to burst from the female equivalent of blue balls. I’m sure you’re making things work the old-fashioned way, but that is the Porsche of vibrators. So I’m told, at least.”
I was about to open my mouth to argue with him further, but he didn’t give me the opportunity.
“Got to go,” he said. “Fuck the hot single dad. If not, use the vibrator.”
Then he hung up, leaving me staring at a vibrator that did indeed look sleek, interesting, and expensive.
I shook my head, shoving it away in a drawer.
Until that night, when I was unable to sleep, frustrated, tense, and … horny.
Then I used the vibrator.
Itwasthe Porsche of vibrators.
I thought of Beau as I used it, which was totally wrong and inappropriate. Using it with him sleeping down the hall made it all the more sordid and exciting.
And afterward, I never slept better.
Despite feeling a wisp of embarrassment while entering the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, the vibrator worked to take the edge off the worst of my sexual frustration.
Not all of it, though.
And the next night was even worse. I couldn’t relax.
