Shoving his cum back inside me? Hot. But full-on knocking me up? Not on my watch, even if it’s all just pretend. I am not manifesting that for me. Maybe one day, but not today. I need to start over. One more try, then I’m resorting to audio erotica.
Maybe this isn’t working because I’m thinking of Isaac. Closing my eyes again, I imagine being bound to my bed, told by my usual faceless man, “You look so pretty tied up.” The mild praise holds me over as I drag the vibe lower, teasing and pushing inside me. Just an inch. But Isaac’s stupidly beautiful face pops up from between my thighs to tell me, “Fuck, Livy, you taste too good.”
“Fuck! Shit! Damn it!”
That’s it, off to my usual…
My phone is too far away and I’m too lazy to get out of the tub. I’m going about this all wrong. Isaac was the best sex I ever had because it was never just sex with him. He wasn’t Daddy Isaac by any stretch of the imagination, it was more about how he took his time and worshiped me as if the sole reason he was put here on this earth was to bring me pleasure. He made me feel safe. Loved.
There is no way in hell I’d survive seeing him in person and not having my entire soul shatter into a thousand pieces. When we were younger, each and every time he kissed me, my entire body would light up. Even after all these years, if he dared to so much as look at me again, my pussy would fucking flutter, just like it did when I listened to his voicemail before calling him back. I hate that my breath still catches after all these years just hearing his name. Attending the summit in person would be catastrophic for me—emotionally, mentally, physically… all of it.
But what if I did?
The moment he saw me, if we were alone, would he pin me against the wall? Maybe a commanding hand on my throat? Chests heavy, he’d tell me something ominous like, “Time’s irrelevant.” I wouldn’t have a moment to figure out what he meant as his lips crash into mine. Then, after I’m breathless, he’d admit, speaking into my mouth, “You’re still mine, Livy.”
Okay. I can work with this.
Sliding my vibrator between my legs again, I tease my clit, imagining Isaac locking the door, then placing me onto a large conference table. He’d work in silence, sliding his hands up my thighs as he pushes up my skirt. With heat and hunger in his eyes, he’d lower his mouth to the inside of my thigh. A little nip is all he’ll give me.
“I can mark you here, and no one but us would know.”
The way I’d tattoo his bite marks there if he did it. I slide my vibe lower, pressing it inside me slowly until the little rabbit ears are on my clit. Adjusting the setting, the shaft begins wiggling inside me, and it takes a few clicks until I find my favorite—steady pulse tapping my G-spot. I imagine him sinking his teeth into my flesh, sucking until my skin is bright red but not quite purple. A whimper escapes me, needing his mouth and fingers instead of this stupid vibrator. Just like hundreds of times before, I continue to fuck myself, wishing it was him. I used to feel shame, but it’s become more of a guilty pleasure I’m addicted to.
As he pulls me closer until my ass is at the edge of the table, a desperate plea slips past my lips, “Please, Isaac.”
“I’ve waited years to touch you again. You’re going to be my good girl and let me take my time.”
The ache in my core builds, and even with Isaac’s fictional commands, I can’t bring myself to disobey them. It’s all just pretend—there’s no harm in leaning into the fantasy. As promised, he tortures me with feather-light kisses up my legs, murmuring sweet praises as he makes his way to my center. Through his imaginary licks, I increase the intensity of my toy, and I’m so wound up, my orgasm tears through me before my imagination can catch up with it.
“I told you to wait, babygirl,” he chuckles darkly.
Keeping the vibe in place, I envision it’s his tongue on my clit as I ride out my high. Guilt creeps in as I pull the vibrator from my pussy and shut it off. For all the times I’ve touched myself thinking of him, I’ve never regretted using him to get off like this. It could be from the stress of the election or from talking toIsaac briefly on the phone. If I’m going to get through the next few months before meeting with him—even if it’s only remotely—I need to stop imagining his face between my legs… and should probably get laid.
6
Isaac
As the timer on my treadmill hits sixty minutes, I continue my eight-minute pace for one more mile. My legs and lungs are burning, but I need the distraction. Seeing Olivia on TV—even talking to her on the phone—that I can handle. Having her here, close enough I can touch her? It’s out of the question. There’s no way I can see her without wanting to feel her in my arms, taste her sweet lips, or breathe in the rose and vanilla on her neck. I doubt she wears the same scent, but years later, any time I smell either, I’m transported back to being with her.
Extra cardio tonight is a necessity.
I’ve always balked at the idea of soulmates; finding the one person you’re supposed to spend forever with is a fantasy. Mostly because I found her and lost her. If you’re truly soulmates, aren’t you supposed to endure any hardship? We survived exactly two weeks long-distance before we both had to walk away. It hurt too fucking much to be hours away from her, and the ache never subsided over the years.
After my workout, I take a quick shower, but my legs are still on fire from overdoing it. Even with stretching, I’m going to feel it in the morning. I quickly wash off, then start the water to my jetted bathtub, adding in bath salts that should help with the physical ache—there’s nothing that can heal the emotional one. As I slip into the bubbling water, my muscles are already screaming with relief. Once I’m fully submerged, I rest my head on the edge of the tub, enjoying the swirl of hot water around me.
While I savor the heat, a memory dances across my mind—Olivia and I in a hot tub during our Thanksgiving break in college. She couldn’t afford to fly home, and I didn’t want to be away from her for that long, so she came home with me to Halifax. After visiting with my family, we booked a hotel and never left the room except to use the hot tub or to swim. I had her all to myself. No school, no work… It was the best few days of my life, even if her black bikini still haunts me.
“Why are you all the way over there?" I teased. It doesn’t matter how many times we had sex, I always needed her near me.
“If I come any closer, you’ll have my swimsuit off me in ten seconds,” she laughed, playing with the jacuzzi bubbles. “I should’ve brought a one-piece.”
“Why? Do you really think a little extra fabric would keep me from touching you?”
Livy was always fun and spontaneous when we were alone. It was a side of her she reserved only for me. The sweet, unassuming facade cracked whenever we were together. Her removing the bikini bottoms and tossing them at me still lives rent-free in my mind.
She knew it would be my undoing. With us being in public, I didn’t do more than kiss her. But now? If she dared to do it again, I’d lift and twist my little temptress until her chest was pressed against the pavement, and feast on her until we’re caught.
I’ve always considered myself as a calm, reserved man. Many would say quiet, even. It’s a struggle being in public office when I’d rather be behind the scenes. But when I was with Olivia, she pulled something out of me from deep in my soul that I never could explain. In therapy, I brushed it away as some primal, caveman shit, but it was something else entirely, almost as if Livy and I both gave into other versions of ourselves when we were together. Even now, the mere mention of her name awakens it.
