“Not here.”
“Excuse me?”
You are excused, right out of the door.
“Not. Here.”
His eyelids flick open. “Are you throwing meout?”
“Throwing? No. You are twice my size. Throwing is physically impossible. Asking you to leave politely and expecting you to honor my wishes? Absolutely.”
“But I can stay, and you can make me breakfast in the morning. I made you come.”
A long suffering sigh escapes me. Who does that? Invites themselves for a sleepover and breakfast because of a fakeorgasm? That’s on me, I guess. Hollywood owes me one. “You also came.”
“Right, so breakfast.”
“Let me get this straight—you came, and I am meant to thank you for your semen by feeding you breakfast?”
“I can feed you something else if you prefer.”
Ew, Mr. D. No.It’s not the oral I’m averse to; rather, his offer to feed me sperm. And they call me weird. I’ve had other names. Ice queen. Bitch. Frigid cunt.
I rub my hands down my face. He’s persistent, if nothing else. “Thank you for the offer, but no.”
I jerk up and slide off the bed. My fingers clutch the satin robe from the chair in the corner and pull it around my body. I flick the light on and turn around to face him. He’s laid out on the bed like a smug, muscly meal. He’s good looking, sure, but clearly, he’s depended on his looks to get him laid, which has left him with little bedroom skills.
Time to burst that bubble.
“I did not come. You were simply the latest addition to a growing list of disappointments.”
He sits, the blanket pooling around his waist, and arches a brow. “You are a bit of a bitch.”
“I tried letting you leave with your ego intact, but you are pushing for something that is not happening. There will be no bacon and eggs. No morning delight. No second dates or exchanging of numbers or bodily fluids. If you leave now, you can probably fool yourself into thinking it was my lack of response, not your skill level that left me feeling unsatisfied.”
He huffs as he storms to his feet, snatching his clothing from the floor. He jerks his feet into his dark jeans before shoving his bare feet into his boots. My lip curls. That can’t be comfortable. Who wears boots without socks? Psychopath.
“For the record, I was leaving anyway.”
The cool window supports my back as I fold my arms and listen to him spew falsities. It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes as he snatches his shirt from the floor while glaring at me. I’m not lying about him being twice my size. I can’t throw him out, but I am not a damsel either. If he comes at me with the anger sharpening his features, I will flatten him. My nose twitches as my eyes dissect his body, silently daring him to try. I haven’t been that helpless little girl in a long time. Never again will a man command my world.
He takes a step toward me and adrenaline floods my veins as my lips kick up at the sides.Try it.Although I’m short on time if I want to fit in an orgasmandan update call to Gail before I have to leave to catch my flight.
He pauses and assesses me before shaking his head. “You aren’t worth it,” he mutters before disappearing out of the room. I follow behind him as he struts down the hallway and yanks the front door open. He glances over his shoulder, lips curled in a sneer, before leaving the door wide open and jogging down the steps into the night.
I finally roll my eyes at his antics.
Funny. If a man does it, he’s simply a man. If a woman does it, she’s a bitch.
I’m protecting my mental headspace and won’t apologize for it. I reach the front door and push it closed before setting the alarm. My shoulders sag in relief. People drain me.
I make my way back to the bedroom and open the closet. The empty metal hangers swing from the barren rail, and I bat them out of the way as I scoop my small carry-on bag off the floor. Riffling through it, I locate my trusty wand vibrator. It’s not my most recent purchase, but when I’m traveling light, I ensure I take this one—guaranteed to get me off in five minutes.
Shedding my robe and climbing back onto the bed, I blindly select my optimum setting—medium strength, steady vibration—and a satisfied sigh escapes me. My legs fall open, and I press it against my clit. My back arches off the bed as I chase my release. Who needs men? This rechargeable device beats all other sexual experiences. Not that I’ve had hundreds, but enough to know they aren’t worth it. Still, my mental health healing journey apparently requires it. Four minutes… and I’m done. The little rush of satisfaction at being able to take care of this need alone makes me smile.
I shower, clean my personal items, and repack my small bag before lifting my phone from the charging station next to the bed. I press Gail’s icon and wait for the video call to connect as I tap out a tune stuck in my head onto my jean-covered thigh. It’s the start of a melody that has been lingering in my subconscious for weeks. I need some time with my guitar to iron it out.
“Ellie?” Gail’s voice croaks as darkness blurs onto the screen.
