My dick agrees, roaring to life, harder than I’ve been in a long time. It’s a short drive to my house, and I’m grateful. I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped, if I had kissed her, and if I don’t get inside I’m going to be jerking off in my car for all my neighbors to see. As it is, I barely make it inside, dropping everything, I lean against my front door with my cock in my hand, thinking about what might have been.
I might have kissed her, caressing my tongue against her lips, feeling her open to me, her back arching and breasts pushing against my chest. Her nipples would be hard enough for me to feel through our clothes, and her breath would be shallow, panting for me. I might have run my hands underneath her shirt, reveling in the first touch of skin. I might have said Come with me, and she would have said yes, an answer so soft and breathy it would make my cock even harder.
I would have pulled her with me into the back room of the Pleasure Chest, finding a small amount of privacy among the shelves of sex toys—ignoring the fact that I wanted to use every single one on her. She would have pulled my face down to meet hers again as I undid the buttons on her jeans. I would slip my fingers down, running them through her folds, savoring her wetness before slipping them into the slick heat of her cunt.
My hand moves faster on my cock and I’m so close to coming that I can’t even stand. I lower myself to my knees, never letting go of that image of her. I imagine her sliding her pants off her hips, helping me get my belt open, fumbling with the anticipation. I would have fit myself against her, plunging inside in one long, smooth stroke. I can hear the moan she would make as I entered her, imagine the heat surrounding my cock on all sides, the feeling as she squeezes me with her pussy—
My balls tighten, and lightning thrums through my nerves as I come over my hand. I groan as the sweet release of orgasm rushes through me, releasing tension I didn’t even know I was carrying. My eyes are closed as I let the waves of pleasure pulse through me, spill out of me.
When it’s over my body is filled with tremors. Delicious little signs of weakness from something that was amazing. I can’t remember the last time I came like that. I selfishly hope that Christa sees her, that I somehow have an opportunity to see her again. I don’t want to upset her more than I already have, but I can’t imagine never seeing her again, never having the opportunity to live out that fantasy I just painted for myself.
I lean back against the door, spent. One things for sure, even if I never see her again, today’s one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.
But damn, I hope I see her again.
6
Mayra
I turn over in my bed for what feels like the millionth time. This bed is too hot, even with the air blasting and the covers thrown back. It’s because it’s L.A. in the middle of summer, and is not because every time I close my eyes I see Philip Crew. It’s most certainly not the dream I had where his head was settled firmly between my legs, tongue driving me mad with pleasure before he gave me exactly what I wanted. In that dream he fucked me breathless into more than one of the best orgasms of my life and I woke up wet and panting, cursing the universe that he’s a player and that it can’t be real. Even my fingers and imagination aren’t enough to get rid of the sexual energy clinging to me—I tried. Multiple times.
Now I’m tossing, trying to get a couple hours of sleep before the day. It’s Saturday, so I have nowhere to be. It’s fucking unfair that I can’t sleep in because of a dream. I roll over again, adjusting my pillow and closing my eyes. I will myself to go back to sleep. Dreamless, peaceful sleep. Instead, I feel the way his lips pulled at the skin of my wrist. I remember the press of his hard cock against my leg. I’m face to face with those dark blue eyes, melting with want, waiting for him to kiss me.
Damn it. Damn it all to hell.
My body clearly doesn’t understand the impossibility of this situation, warming at just the thought of touching Philip again. My pussy is wet again—hell, that’s been its natural state for the last twelve hours. I grab blindly for my phone, checking the time. It’s barely six a.m. I groan, pulling a pillow over my head. Am I really going to be defeated by my own body? No. It’s my day off. For once, everything in the land of public relations is quiet. There’s no terrible celebrity blunder to fix, no fire to put out. I’m free, and I’m going to sleep. That’s that.
As soon as my eyes close I’m confronted by the feeling of his hands on mine as he guides me in how to jerk someone off. You own his pleasure.
I sit up and fling the pillow across the room in frustration. That doesn’t help. That is the complete opposite of helping. I get out of bed, resigning myself to the fact that my body is not going to let me sleep right now. I pull on the closest workout gear I can find, because the only thing that is going to help me right now is to force my body into submission, and that means getting out every ounce of energy that I possibly can.
I grab my gym bag and purse and head out the door. My gym isn’t far, and I decide to walk. One more thing to expend energy. Even though it’s L.A., and everyone is more than a little gym crazy, it’s still Saturday. Only the most dedicated people—or the insomniacs like me—are at the gym this early on a Saturday, so it’s pretty empty. I have no problem getting a good treadmill. I set the channel on the TV to the food channel, only to change it to the news because they’re making some kind of dessert with chocolate drizzle and all I can think about is Philip licking it off me.
I don’t understand what’s happening. It hasn’t even been a month since I’ve had actual sex, I shouldn’t be in this kind of frenzy. It doesn’t matter why it’s happening. I can beat it. I turn up the speed on the treadmill and focus on the story of the wildfires in the hills surrounding L.A.
An hour later, I’m exhausted from running but I don’t stop. I hit all my favorite weight machines. It’s been a few days since I did them, and now seems like the perfect time. By the time I’ve finished I’m sweating and shaky in that way that tells me I’ll be the good kind of sore tomorrow. I may actually be able to take a nap with the kind of workout I just put myself through, though I can’t say that the workout has lessened my sexual energy. I can feel it simmering beneath the surface, ready to rise up. But at least it’s a little less desperate.
I can’t go back to that class—can’t see him again. If I do, I’ll give in. I know I will. I’ll let him take me home, and if he’s anything like what I imagined, I will let him do whatever he wants, for as long as he wants. And then he’ll disappear, and even though I know it will happen, and even though I tell myself it’s only one time, I’ll still be sad. He won’t feel a thing, because I’ll be just a notch in his very long belt. I’ve been there, done that. I’m not going to do it again. So I’m not going to think about him, and I’m not going back to that class.
I make the shower as hot as I can stand it, and it feels amazing. I stand under the water longer than I probably should, letting it soothe my muscles and relax my mind. From my purse in the little changing area, I hear the ding of a text message. Turning off the water, I wrap a towel around myself and dig through my purse, looking for my phone where I threw it before I left the house. Before I can find it, I come face to face with the neon dildo.
In my hurry to leave the store yesterday, I forgot to put it back. But I can’t even think about that, because everything I’ve spent the last couple hours pushing down comes roaring back. I see Philip’s smirk, hear his voice as he says Well…not quite my size. I avoided looking at it much yesterday, but I do now. It’s a detailed replica, subtle veins running along the surface and the texture soft and supple like skin. The swirl of neon colors removes it from reality in a pleasant way. I like it—flesh colored dildos always freak me out a little. I pick it up, and I remember its name. The Mustang. I like the feel of it in my hands—soft enough to be pliable, firm enough to feel real. A ferocious curiosity grips me, and before I even realize I’m washing off the dildo and making sure that the door to my changing room is locked. I peek outside to make sure I’m alone, but luckily it’s still early and I don’t hear anyone else in the locker room.
If this toy is actually close to his size, then I want to know how he fits in me, and how much I can take. I raise the toy—the Mustang—to my lips, and I feel a quiver of anxiety. This dildo isn’t small, and if he’s bigger than this…
His voice echoes in my head again, and I remember the way his breath felt against my ear. Trust yourself to be in the moment. You’re a beautiful woman.
I suck the head of the dildo into my mouth, and can’t help but imagine that it’s him. That I’m kneeling in front of him, taking him as deep as I can. I fail completely to stifle my moan, and I hope that there is actually no one in here. I do exactly what Philip described, swirling my tongue around the head and teasing the bottom. I suck on it, picturing the way his eyes might close as I do. Gripping the base, I push it deeper into my mouth. I take it as deep as I can, letting the tip touch the back of my throat, enjoying the smoothness of the dildos surface and the feeling of fullness it gives me.