It was a cop out question as it sounded either a way to flatter her – which it was – or competitive. Which it also was.
Amber: 90kg for four. I can do a heavy single at 105, but I’m not interested in pushing it. I like my ass as it is.
Me: It’s a good ass. I can probably squat you though. Want to let me try?
I could probably squat her twice over. The idea wasn’t unappealing. I put my phone down, recognising that my heart rate was now twice what it should be, as if I was doing cardio or facing a penalty shoot-out. The guilt was still there, and I knew it would be for some time, but not enough to make me want to stop.
Amber: Only if I can hip-thrust you.
Amber: That sounds dirtier than I meant it. Shit!!!
Me: It’ll give me something to think about later.
I wished text messages could be recalled, because as soon as I sent that, I wanted to yank it back. Guilt mixed with regret was a powerful whip, one that struck me straightaway. I didn’t know what constituted harassment in the workplace, but I was pretty sure that what I’d insinuated with that was it.
Amber: Now I have that picture too. It’s hardly unappealing.
My cock hardened. The sweats I was wearing doing nothing to hide my reaction. I tipped my head back and threw my phone onto the passenger seat, starting my car. I had another few hours before Megs dropped the girls back off at home, time which I should’ve been spending starting to pack, because we were moving house after Christmas.
Now that time would be spent in the shower, thinking about Amber riding my cock while I thrust up into her, that dark hair wrapped around my fist and her tits bouncing just for me to look at.
By the time I was home I’d reconciled myself to the fact that I’d probably picked up at least three speeding tickets, if I’d been lucky, cursing the gates as they opened too slowly and abandoning my car haphazardly on the drive.
I had a downstairs bathroom, put in only six months ago and never used. It hadn’t been there when Chan had been alive and was completely devoid of anything to do with her.
I lost my sweats and hoodie, yanking off my T-shirt at the same time, and turned the shower on. The throbbing from my dick was now hard enough to be painful and I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so desperate for release. When Chan was ill, sex had been off the table, and I hadn’t even had it on my radar. After she died I’d been too numb, the odd orgasm happening in the shower, or just before I fell asleep, trying to visualise faceless women or recall images from porn that had no connection to me or my life.
This was the first time I’d let myself lust after someone who wasn’t Chan since Chan had been diagnosed.
I didn’t feel guilty. I would’ve debated whether I should’ve felt guilty for not feeling guilty, but the blood needed to get my brain to function had headed south, and the only thought in my head was of Amber, how her ass looked in those yoga pants, how her tits were more than a handful and the hint of hardened nipple I’d seen through her vest one day. I turned the water on full as soon as I walked into the shower, letting the heat steam up the glass, shrouding me in privacy. Someone, probably my housekeeper, had loaded the shower with gel and shampoo; I squeezed a handful of shower gel in my hand and lathered it up, using it over my cock, the relief almost enough to have me coming too soon.
I paused, my hand clamped around my cock, my head full of visions of Amber being in there with me, imaginings of what her tits looked like flittering through my head like a personalised porn film. All the things I could do to her were part of the reel: how I’d play with those tits, how she’d taste when I licked her out, how tight she’d be when I fingered her and then fucked her with my cock, or she rode me, taking what she wanted.
I imagined her touching herself now, wondered whether she’d think of me, whether she’d imagine how I’d feel inside her, how I’d fill her up while I fucked her. I was tall, and broad and my dick had been thankfully made to match, so I knew that the first time she’d need an orgasm or two to help me fit.
That thought, that imagining of the first time I pushed into her tight wet heat sent me over the edge, my balls tightening and everything gripping until that sweet release exploded, my groan echoing off the shower walls, my cum painting the tiles, immediately washed away by the water.
It was enough to make my legs weaken, to have me holding onto the side, such was the ferocity of my orgasm. My lungs struggled to catch up, my heart just about avoiding going into overdrive and breaking through my chest. I leaned back against the tiles, the shower still cascading over me, water running over my face and skin.
I wondered what Amber would be like after orgasms. I wondered how quickly I could get her ready for round two. I wondered how stretchy those yoga pants were and what they’d look like when I peeled them off her if she was on her hands and knees in front of me.
My cock twitched again, needy as fuck after so long without any release. I fisted it again, slowly, and gave in once more. The part of me that had died two and a half years ago had now been resurrected, and I was thankful. It might have been a grey October day, but there was more light than there had been even in the last summer.
CHAPTER5
Amber
EVERTON V. MANCHESTER ATHLETIC, OCTOBER 21
Nate:How many pairs of those pants do you have?
Me: A dozen. Maybe more. This obsession with my yoga pants is becoming a tad worrying.
Nate: I haven’t taken photos. I promise. But if you wanted to send me one of your ass in a pair (or out of a pair) I’d keep it very, very safe.
Nate: I can also quality control the material for any faults.
Me: Like I said, this obsession is becoming worrying.
