Myballsexploded.
Kinda felt like my heart blew out of my chest. I groaned as the orgasm rocked through me.
Fuck. Me.
I collapsed on the chair, fucking panting. My sex life was good, but Christ…
When was the last time I came like that?
“Mmm, I knew you could do it,” Tawny purred, licking her lips. Then she winked at me again.
Fucking strippers. You’d think this one was campaigning for an Oscar or something.
I pushed her off, gently; told her she had to leave, pretty much immediately. I mean, I let her get dressed first. Mostly.
She smiled at me as she put on her bra. “In a hurry, aren’t we?”
“My, uh, roommate doesn’t like overnighters.”
She glanced out the bedroom door into the living room. We were in a one-bedroom guesthouse. “Roommate?”
“Up in the house,” I said vaguely, pulling on my sweats.
“Sure, hon. Whatever you say.”
I walked her out through the dark backyard, around the pool, and up the path that wound around the side of the giant house, through the trees. I didn’t mention Cary’s name; I’d never tell this chick who lived here.
She followed me up the long driveway to the gate, and to her credit, she didn’t ask any more questions. By the time we got out to the street, her cab was rolling up.
As I put her in the car, she said, “Send me that video?”
“Sure,” I said. Then I watched to make sure the cab was gone before I walked back to the gate and locked it behind me.
Of course, there was no video. Just a fucking tiny thumbnail photo of Courteney Clarke in a hoodie.
And me, losing my fucking mind over this bullshit again.
Always, this fucking shit with her.
I made my way back around the house in the dark, wondering where the fuck this night went so wrong. Because somewhere along the way, it had gone very fucking wrong.
One minute you’re having a perfectly civil night with friends at a bar… the next you’re saying incredibly fucking inappropriate shit to your best friend’s little sister in your car… and the next, you’re having the worst sex of your life with a stripper, followed by the most powerful orgasm you’ve had in recent memory.
But it wasn’t the stripper who got me off. Definitely wasn’t her I was thinking about when I blew like that.
It was that other shit.
Shit that shouldnotbe getting me off…
Arguing with Courteney Clarke in my car, in her parents’ driveway. And that look in her eyes.
Why the fuck did she have to go looking at me like that?
Bring it on.
My phone was still in my hand. I swiped the old conversation with Courteney left, deleting it. So at least I wouldn’t have to see her smiling at me every time I checked messages.
Unless she ever actually messaged me again—which, after tonight, was probably never fucking happening.
