I swallow hard.
“All right.” I can’t look at her, lying there after letting me fuck her raw, hiding all that glorious woman-scented heat under a hotel sheet. “You need anything?”
“I’m good!” The chipper thing is definitely an act. Pisses me off.
“See you at work.” It takes effort not to drag my feet on my way to the door. I want to stay, goddamn it. I want to wrap myself up in that sheet with her, bathing in the scent of us, and play with her beautiful body.
Better get out of here.
“Yep! See you tomorrow. Bye, Jake.” I’m halfway out the door when she adds a low, “Thank you,” like she’s not sure she should say it or not.
And, honestly, I don’t know either. On the one hand, yeah, it’s a favor. On the other, we both know I asked for it.
Iasked for it.
Now, all I can think about is getting more.
Kit
I almost came. Oh my god. I almost came during actual sex, without involving my hands or his or a vibrator or anything.
After the door clicks shut, leaving me in this bed, alone with my knees up and my dress bunched around my waist, that near-orgasm is all I can think about.
I’ve never gotten off from penetrative sex alone. Not once in my life. But today…
Ugh. Why?
Why now? Why this man instead of the man I was married to? Actually, never mind. I’m glad I never came with that asshole.
But…Jake?
I mean, yes. One look at the man and you know there’s not a single unsatisfied woman in his past. He’s probably given more orgasms with that massive thing between his legs than I’ve experienced in my entire lifetime.
I reach down and feel the wetness—his, mine. My fingers slide easily through the sticky mess and glance against my clit, sending pleasure zapping through me.
Without thinking about it, I let myself play, down and up, again, again, then circle my clit with the precision of habit. Oh, wow. Wow. I’m so close.
A few mindless circles and I orgasm, quick and tight. My whole body clenches, my eyes, my toes, my abs. I turn and stuff my face into the pillow, willing the pleasure to last, while already steeling myself against the familiar infusion of guilt.
Tears rush up the back of my throat to crowd my sinuses, burning hot as acid. I manage to hold them back.
Pleasure wasn’t the point of this.
For him it was.
For me, it’s supposed to be… What? Penance? Punishment? A life sentence?
Throwing back the sheet, I roll to standing, walk to the chair where I left my things, and slip on my underwear and leggings. I won’t shower until later. Maybe tomorrow morning.
Already, his come’s sliding out of me and I can’t for the life of me figure out how this makes me feel, aside from blindsided.
Quickly, I finish getting ready—not daring to look in the mirror, given my inner turmoil—and head out. Once on the road, I find myself turning toward the restaurant instead of home.
Avoidance, my therapist would call it. Working my ass off instead of facing the issues at hand. Scrubbing and cleaning until my body’s aching and my brain’s no longer swirling with possibilities I can’t for one second contemplate.
Yeah, well, avoidance it is.
I’ve been there for all of thirty minutes when there’s a knock at the door.
