My orgasm hits me like a fucking freight train, and I come all over my hand and stomach with a groan. I keep moving through the aftershocks, clinging to that image of taking Stella from behind, her knuckles white on the back of the couch as she begs me for more.
“Fuck,” I mutter when the last of the pleasure is wrung out of me and the water’s washing away the evidence. I needed that, but I already know it won’t be enough, because no matter how many times I use my hand and vivid imagination to deal with these increasingly frequent Stella fantasies, it doesn’t change that she’s all wrong for me.
Didn’t stop you last night, a voice whispers as I wash. If Smithy hadn’t interrupted us, I wouldn’t have stopped unless she’d asked me to. And if Dean hadn’t suggested I give her a place to stay, I know exactly what would’ve happened after everyone left—or, at least, what I wanted to happen.
But now she might be moving into your backyard.
Do I really want to continue this unrelenting lust-fest when she’s that close? Can anything good come of that? There are a thousand reasons why I should stay away from Stella and only one why I shouldn’t. And since my libido isn’t the greatest decision maker, I guess my decision’s been made for me. Maybe I wouldn’t be so fixated on Stella if I was dating around, like Amy suggested. I should use that damn app—find someone I can enjoy myself with, have sex for the first time in way too long. Then maybe Stella won’t be the temptation she is now.
By the time I climb out of the shower, my mind’s made up. I grab my phone and log on to Random.
There are a few potential matches waiting for me—women who’ve already indicated they’re interested. The girl with the cleavage shot Amy swiped on left me a message last night, and I almost laugh when I see her username. I click to read what she said and—nope, make that four messages.
Bambi: Hey, gorgeous. You want to meet up?
Bambi: Hey, I’m still around if you’re down for this.
Bambi: Hello?
Bambi: WTFever. Don’t swipe on women if you don’t have the balls to follow through.I blow out a breath. Looks like I fucked up my first interaction on Random—not that I would’ve met up with her anyway. Do people really do this? Hey, you looked hot in one picture. Let’s fuck!
Shaking my head, I close out the text stream with Bambi and scroll through the women who swiped interested on me since Amy set up this account Friday night. LisaLuvsRoosters is a blonde with blue eyes who reminds me way too much of Amy, so she’s out. CarrieBerry is cute. Her dark hair brushes her jaw line, and she has big brown eyes and a pretty smile. She strikes me as the kind of girl who smiles a lot, but she also looks like a girl. As in, I’m not even sure she’s old enough to be on here. Her profile says she’s twenty-three, but I would’ve guessed much younger. That “barely legal” thing has never been my fantasy.
Then there’s JimmysGirl. Weird profile name, but she’s . . . Okay, she’s fucking hot. In her profile picture, a white dress hugs every inch of her body. She has full tits, curvy hips, a tiny waist, and long, dark hair that cascades down her back in soft waves. I’d bet she gets a lot of interest with that pic, but I try not to think about that as I click through to her profile.
28-year-old female. Pharmacist.
I’m Jimmy’s girl, just like my username says, but Jimmy likes to watch. Wanna play?
Yeah, not my kink. Pass.
I’ve pulled up my texting app and started typing out a message to Amy before I realize what I’m doing. The fact that I want to talk to my ex about this experience says so much about why I haven’t moved on. I delete what I’ve typed and head to the kitchen to make coffee.
Amy would love to hear about these early matches. She’d get a kick out of JimmysGirl and probably call me an old-man prude for my concerns over CarrieBerry’s age. It’d be fun to laugh together, but that’d only set me back and . . . well, she’s right. It’s time to move on.
After my coffee’s done brewing, I sit down with my phone and decide to try again. Just because those were the only women who swiped on me in the last fourteen hours doesn’t mean they’re the only ones on the app who might be interested.
My stomach sinks as I scroll through. I can’t stop thinking about why these women are on here. Are they crazy? Desperate? And my awareness that I too am on Random and am a hypocritical asshole only makes me feel worse.