“You like him!”
I groan and bury my face in the sofa cushion I’m currently clutching onto as though it’s my lifeline. Hannah giggles and pokes my sides playfully while I slap her hands away laughing.
“Stop!” I protest and hit her with the fluffy pink cushion. “Of course I like him, I wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise, would I genius?”
Hannah rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “No, I mean you really like him.” She states jauntily, her dark brows rising when she stretches out the word ‘really’ to better elucidate her point. “And don’t you dare try lie to me either. I’ve known you since we were in high school betch, you look at him the same way you used to look at Nathan Pratt.”
I sigh remembering my high school crush. Nathan wasn’t your typical arrogant high school jock. Yes, he played for the school’s football team as their linebacker; yes, he was popular and so darn handsome and while those were the qualities that most of the school admired, they were not the things that attracted me to him. Nathan Pratt was kind and humble. He was smart and cared about his grades. He didn’t walk around the school like he was some God unlike most of the boys on his team.
And now he's now playing in the NFL for the New York Giants. I knew he would make it, the boy was gifted and fated to go places. Yes, I do stalk his social media now and then to see what he’s been up to.
He’s also still so effing hot.
I sigh and toy with the corner of the cushion. “Okay fine, I do like him and honestly Han, it’s daunting how quickly I’m developing feelings for him. It’s only been like three days, and I don’t really know much about him at all.”
Hannah smiles and piles her hair up on top of her head in a messy bun. “You said he asked you out on a date, right?” she asks and I respond with a nod. “Well, clearly you’re not alone in your feelings because if it was just about the sex he wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to drive all the way here to ask your friends where you were so he could surprise you.”
I smile remembering the way my heart started to race at an uncontrollable rate when I saw him standing there. “I suppose you’re right. God, if my parents ever found out I’m dating a forty-year-old man they would hit the roof.”
Hannah laughs heartily, “Yeah, especially if they knew what said forty-year-old is doing to their sweet saintly daughter.” My cheeks burn hot and I throw a cushion at her. “Ow!”
“Shut up!” I gasp mortified, yet still unable to keep the grin off my face. “I’m not a fucking saint.”
“Not anymore you’re not.” Hannah adds with a giggle and barricades her head with her arms when I hit her with another cushion. “Ahhh, stop abusing me, you filthy little slut!”
* * *
Later that eveningI retire to my bedroom shortly after eleven. Hannah and I ordered in a pizza and binge watched The Bachelor. Venice hates reality tv shows with a passion, so Hannah and I watch it when she’s at work or out with one of her ‘friends’.
Usually I have a routine, I shower, do my night skincare and curl up with a book while lying in my bay window till my eyes grow heavy. That routine has now been shot to hell after the past seventy-two hours.
I turn off the lights and the LED lights around my window come on. Usually, I would close the blinds, but tonight there’s a storm and I love listening to the ear-splitting roar of thunder and the rain tapping against my window. I find it really soothing, especially on nights like these when I’m feeling restless.
The book I’m reading is doing nothing to pacify the wild and errant thoughts roving around in my head. I’m an avid romance reader, have been since I was a teen. My friends don’t know this, but my book choices have become more… risqué over the last couple of years. Growing up in a strict Christian household didn’t give me a whole lot of freedom to ‘explore’ myself. I was brought up to believe that sex outside of wedlock was a great sin. Touching yourself or even having wayward thoughts was blasphemy.
My mother always told me the only man that should see you naked and touch you intimately is your husband.
While on the outside I appeared to be a dutiful daughter and abode by their beliefs and values, deep inside I’ve always had this licentious side to me, a part of me I kept dormant too afraid and ashamed to share with anyone. My mother drilled it in to my head that touching and pleasuring yourself was a shameful act. “God is always watching, sweet pea.” She would say and that stuck with me until I was fifteen. One night, I lay awake in bed staring up at the ceiling, the house eerily quiet. My parents sound asleep in the room next to mine, my wall adjacent to their bedroom.
I couldn’t sleep, there was an insufferable tingle between my legs. I’ve felt it before and I ignored it unit subsided, but that night I couldn’t, however hard I tried the feeling wouldn’t ease. I had no idea what it felt like to be aroused back then, all these feelings were new to me, but the feeling was so overpowering that I couldn’t fight off the urge to touch myself.
When my fingers first brushed against my clit my body shuddered and I almost whimpered out loud but caught myself just in time and bit my lip. My fingers were instantly coated with warm and sticky arousal, my shorts soaked through.
I brushed my fingers over my clit in slow teasing circles, the tingling from before intensified and my body started to warm and get clammy. My hips rocked back and forth and bucked up into my fingers desperate for more friction and longing for more, that mind-blowing feeling slowly building deep in my groin until it consumed me.
I knew it was wrong, but in that moment, nothing felt more right. I didn’t care who was watching while my body shook. I covered my mouth with my free hand to smother the cry of pleasure that crashed through me for those ten blissful seconds.
Something that is made to feel that good, shouldn’t be deemed wrong or dishonorable. After that night, I couldn’t get enough, it’s all could think about. I couldn’t wait for it to be night so I could crawl into bed and do it all over again, each night dragging it out to savor the feeling until I discovered edging and the intense pleasure that followed by denying yourself.
And that’s how I feel right now. I feel that same overwhelming, burning need for Logan as I did my nightly orgasms.
The vibrating of my phone sitting beside me pulls me from my reverie. I pick it up and see Logan is calling. For a moment I stare at the phone smiling, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest. I press the green answer button and I hear his deep and husky voice in my ears through my airpods.
“Hi, Wildfire.”
“Hi,” I answer, leaning back into the cushions.
“What are you reading?” I go to answer but stop and stare down at the book laying open on my stomach and then turn to look at the window.