* * *
A few hours later,we’re safely home, feet up, alternating between passing the bottle of bourbon and the bottle of vodka back and forth.
“Trent?” Finley asks when I get to the end of my heavily edited story. No need to parade everything in front of her. She doesn’t need to know that the evening could have taken quite a different turn. “Pretty sure Ben said that’s the name of the guy throwing the party. You should have stuck around longer, girl. His dad must be loaded to own a house that size.”
“Really?” I bring up the pictures of him I’ve stored carefully in my memory. The first, where he looked like an angry giant who’d come to break shit and take names. The second, where his smile transformed him into a gigantic teddy bear.
A teddy bear who—upon reflection—had a raging hard-on when he burst into the room. Either that or a third leg was tucked down the front of his jeans.
Whatever tipped him off to what was happening, it seemed coming to my rescue had disturbed him mid-action. I can envision the perfectly coiffed girl he must have left behind while he intervened to beat the shit out of my tormentors. Imagine having someone that large in your mouth when he suddenly turns into a white knight and gallops off to another girl’s rescue.
Bet she was pissed.
“What’re you giggling about, hm?” Finley reaches over to tickle me, making my laughs so much worse that I’m soon struggling to breathe.
“Stop,” I blurt along with a snort. “There’s no need to resort to torture.”
“Shh,” Finley says, eyes widening. “You’ll wake Lily.”
“Fuck,” I say, giggling again. “I completely forgot she existed.”
We collapse together, barely able to draw in air through our shared mirth. “Tell me what you were laughing at before or I’ll drag her out of her room so we can interrogate you en masse.”
“I might have remembered how well-endowed he was,” I sputter.
“You should have got some,” Finley says with the wise tonal qualities of an old woman who lives alone in a forest. “At his level of wealth, he probably ejaculates gold.”
I smack my lips together and she holds a hand over her mouth to stop the gales of laughter from waking our slumbering flatmate.
“Time to call it a night,” I say with genuine reluctance.
Although I’d love to stay up—it’s been ages since I’ve had so much fun sitting on the couch—I have a shit tonne of assignments to get on top of before Monday and I can’t leave them, not with work taking up four afternoons a week and visits to Mum using the rest.
It’s not a lot, I remind myself as I peel enough clothes off to make it look like I’ve changed for bed. There are people working full time and going to uni. People not studying at all who have two or three different jobs just to make ends meet.
I’m lucky. I still have the freedom to do the things that are important to me.
Still, thinking of luck leads my thoughts back to the blond boy who looks better every time I pull out his memory. Ben probably knows his surname if I ever want to look him up. Not that Iwould, that’s not really my style, but knowing Icouldstill makes me happy.
I pull a toy out of my side drawer, checking my main door is fully closed before I turn it on to be rewarded with its steady hum. As I gently tease it around my clit, using wider and wider circles so I can edge myself rather than opting for a quick release, Trent fills out the visual board in my mind’s eye as effectively as he filled that doorway.
He puts his hand on my shoulder, the one with blood ground into the knuckles and bruises flowering underneath, guiding me to my knees.
My fingers unzip him, freeing the full gloriousness of his erect cock. So large that even my watering mouth struggles to take him inside, choking on his thrusts as his hand rests on the back of my head, fingers gently stroking my hair.
Then he takes my hand and eases me to my feet, my neck craning to keep his face in view. He pushes me against the wall and suddenly he switches. No longer Mr Meek and Mild but the bulldog ready to attack, a menacing tint to his eyes, those thick fingers closing around my neck as he holds me in place, his other hand dipping between my legs, inserting into me while his breath is hot and heavy on my cheek.
His rough gasps as good an indicator of how much he wants me as the throbbing monster between my legs, stretching me like some gigantic novelty dildo.
And the image is too delicious, the hallucinated sounds, the pulsing response to his imaginary touch too great to deny. I clamp my legs over the vibrator, fumbling for the off button when what had been pleasurable becomes overwhelming, my mouth dry and lolling open, dragging in each large breath.
He doesn’t even know your name.
Mm. But isn’t that half the attraction?
The Trent living in my memory will be a thousand times more pliable than any man in real life could be. A pity I can’t conjure his credit card into reality, but a girl can’t have everything she wants.
If I hadthatsort of money, I’d never leave bed.
