It’s just because it’s been a while. It’s not because it’s her. You just need to get laid.
Accepting that it’s not going to go away, I reach my hand back down, working up and down my shaft and trying to picture anything but what I just saw.
But as my body shudders, my orgasm spilling down the bathtub drain, the last thing I see are fiery curls thrown back in rapture, and the face of the pretty girl they belong to.
Chapter 16
Abby
Sixteen Weeks
Holy fuck.
I should have locked my door. I should have checked the time, or asked when Jack would be home from work, or gotten in the shower.
I should have done anything and everything possible to prevent…that.
I’m mortified. My hormones have been off the charts lately, and since I don’t exactly have anyone to help with that anymore, I bought myself a nice little toy as a treat. And she has been putting inwork.
But no one needed to know that. Especially Jack.
This is so bad.
Without finishing, I quickly toss the rose into my bedside table and straighten out my nightgown before opening my door and flying down the hall.
“Jack?” I call out, but then I hear the shower running.
Okay, so he’s avoiding me. Or maybe he’s just showering after a long day at work.
Fingers crossed it’s the second one.
I sit on the couch with a sigh, my head dropping into my hands, elbows propped up on my thighs. Those thirty seconds play on repeat in my mind, no matter how hard I try to fight them.
The horrified look on Jack’s face would be funny if this weren’t so overwhelmingly embarrassing. But the pulsing between my legs resumes when I remember the split second before he realized I saw him.
His gray eyes were fixed between my legs, a hungry expression on his face that I’ve never seen before. For the briefest moment, there wasn’t shock or mortification–I swear there waswant.
Except you have seen that expression before. You know, in the wildly inappropriate sex dream you’ve had about a dozen times?
The thought has me squeezing my thighs together, the slickness between my legs returning in full force.
This is not good,I think to myself, even as I walk quickly back to my room to finish the job.This is Jack, for goodness sake.
But I can’t deny how good it feels to feelwantedagain, even if I was imagining it. It’s been four months since Aaron died–four months since I’ve had an orgasm. The longest I’ve gone since Aaron and I had our first time together at age sixteen.
It’s natural that it would feel good. You’re a grieving widow, but you’re still a person. And your hormones are going wild. It has nothing to do with Jack. It could have been anyone.
When I’ve finally reassured myself enough, I reach back into my bedside table and retrieve my new hot-pink best friend.
No use in robbing yourself of an orgasm just because it was a little awkward.
It doesn’t take long before I’m seeing stars, my body shaking as I ride out my orgasm. When my breathing returns to normal, I tiptoe to the bathroom, trying not to make any noise as I clean the toy off.
I need to smooth this over with Jack, play it off like it’s no big deal.
The look on his face appears behind my closed eyes, and I decide I need a little bit longer to cool off before I’ll be able to look him in the eye again.
If that’s even possible.
