My eyes shoot open.That voice.Fuck, all these years it’s beenhisvoice. It wasn’t until that nickname that I was able to place it. Realized. He’s not the faceless stranger anymore.
Fuck it. I’m too close. My conscience warns me this is a bad idea, I won’t be able to take it back, but I crash that train of thought before it gets too far down the track. My need to come is stronger, and what’s the harm in indulging in a little fantasy?
As soon as the voice of reason shuts up, my thoughts run wild—shameless and starved. He flips me on my back, teases, taunts, and marks me with handprints before devouring every inch. He’s the cruelest form of bliss.
My abs tighten and my thighs stretch wider as I approach the finish line. Almost there . . .
Figments of him become clearer as I ride my hand; he gives that sinful smirk of his, amused by the power he holds over me. His mouth finds my neck and he licks and sucks while viciously fucking my body.
The pressure builds and builds, with the thrill slowly overtaking me. My back arches into the pillows cradling me and I moan, coming to the image of him braced above, working me over with a wicked grin. But it’s more than his masculine voice, appearance, and stellar imaginary performance I get off to who he is as a whole; his stoicism, his artistry, his natural dominance. I want it all.
The tension in my shoulders dissipates, and I lie there, soft and spent, gradually coming to terms with my own feelings toward Logan. If post-nut clarity exists, then pre-nut psychosis must also. This isn’t that. There’s no regret. I’m physically satisfied but could go another round with the same daydream.
This was supposed to stop me from thinking about him that way, clear the persistent hormones that hijacked my control panel. Somehow, I’ve gone and done the opposite, and I’m left even more confused than before.
Fuck . . .
Fuck!
He had it coming—he had it coming for a long time, and landing those blows felt so fucking satisfying. As soon as he insinuated there was anything “sloppy” about Kelly, it was over for him.
However, the response from her, or lack thereof, has not been ideal. I pull my phone out of my pocket and reread the text thread between us.
You okay?
I can tell you’re mad.
Kelly
I think it’s best if we put some distance between us right now. I need time to think.
About Jason?
Kelly
It’s not your business.
When I help you pick up the pieces after your breakups, you make it my business.
Kelly
Fine, then let’s talk about it. Why don’t you tell me why you got into a fight with Jason?
There are a million things I want to tell her, but I don’t know how to say any of them. Not over text.
Kelly
Typical.
Stop acting like you’re some innocent bystander in this. You want to be involved less? Give me the space I’m asking for.
I grit my teeth. That was last Tuesday, a week ago—a whole goddamn week—and she has barely said two words to me since. I’ve practically been rocking in my seat with all the shit that’s been piling up in my head for the last seven days. I’d grab a drink, but there isn’t enough bourbon in the world strong enough to soothe the choke hold that anxiety has on me. Even at work, her answers are short and clipped. She keeps her head down. It’s so unlike Kelly, and her behavior scares me—it’s unnerving. A few days ago, she went into the attic, and it took everything in me to stay put. I always help her with Clyde’s stuff. How long does she need to think?
With my phone shoved back in my pocket, I try to focus on the book in front of me. I’ll be making up my days off today and tomorrow since I did some commission pieces on Sunday and Monday, and I’m trying to relax like a normal person eventhough I want to crawl out of my skin. After a few sentences, my mind wanders and I have to start over again.
Maybe I should go into the shop . . . However, knowing our friendship is on the rocks has me distracted, and I can’t sit still. I close the hardcover and toss it beside me on the sofa. The same one she was arching her back on during our photo shoot.
I don’t expect her to be ready to jump into a new relationship overnight, even though that would make my life a lot easier. She thinks she has a choice in the matter, which is by design, but the truth is, I’m the only outcome. When it comes to me, there’s no escape clause and no expiration date. When we do this, it’s permanent.
