I’ll figure you out, Ally Kingston.
6
Ally
The Next Day
I barely slept last night. I was pooped when I got home, but how could I sleep? One does not simply sleep when they’ve got Jude Novak in a bed down the hall. Probably shirtless. Possibly pants-less. Maybe even naked. The images!
And I made a critical mistake with my Jude Novak booty call – I didn’t see him sleep. I conked out so fast after that mind-blowing sex and didn’t wake until he was gone, so had a sharp stab of remorse – not getting to see the gorgeous man naked beside me.
So last night, first I seethed. I also panicked, but somewhere in the deep of night I also pondered what that vision might look like. Just as well I don’t have the actual vision. This sucks enough as it is.
I don’t have a lock on my door, either, and this made it even worse, because I had visions of him coming into my room. I almost slept in my secret nook. I should’ve.
And then I felt compelled to check and make sure it was still locked, hoping he hadn’t done any snooping.
Maybe I would’ve gotten more sleep in the nook. And I still need to put away my ID, which I almost flashed to him when I dumped my purse earlier.
I lay in my sad, empty bed with visions of him coming in. And then those visions turned lurid. They became vivid reels of him with that body, that mouth, those fingers, and that cock. My fantasies that may or may not have led to me touching myself. Yeah… they totally did.
And this was thrilling for a number of reasons including the fact that the entire time I was doing it, I was thinking he might come into the room any second, catch me, and take over.
You stirring macaroni in here, Vixen? Let me help with my big spoon.
And then he’d take over doing the stirring. Doing the licking, sucking, touching, squeezing, spanking, biting, fucking…
I chewed a pillow to mask the sound of my orgasm and then slipped under, sated.
But I woke up not even an hour later and tossed and turned for over an hour. I masturbated again to one of the Not-Jude lookalike porn videos I’d found a week earlier (though it took me half an hour to find it) and he was dicking a girl with long blonde hair, so stupidly I imagined it to be the old me with my brain Photoshopping more tattoos and a beard on the guy, and then I slept for another two hours, then up again. This was my night.
And now it’s morning and I need to go to work.
And I’m stuck going in to work without the ability to talk to my bestie about this shit or to demand that her new husband undo what he did because they’re still on their honeymoon and haven’t called me back yet.
And even if I could talk to Carly about it, I can’t really talk to her. I feel like I’m semi-gagged and have been for months and months.
I haven’t revealed all the sordid details of everything to anyone. I told Scotty King nothing and told Tori next to nothing because she insisted it be that way and would’ve turfed me out on my ear if I’d revealed anything that might put her in danger.
“They can’t torture me for information if I don’t have any.”
I can’t tell Carly everything, so instead I stew in my own juices on stuff and have no choice but to come to my own conclusions without the benefit of being able to spill my guts and get perspective from my friends. It bites.
It hurts to have to keep my mouth shut all the time. It’s probably why I meddle in my friends’ lives so much.
I trudge to the bathroom and seeing my reflection does not help matters because I look like lukewarm garbage. I unwrap my hair from my sleeping scarf and pull on my massive shower cap to keep my extensions dry while I shower. I’m grateful I’m getting them out after work today; they weigh a ton and remind me too much of my old look. Plus, because I used my real passport, it makes sense to change my look as soon as possible, part of why I got them for the wedding.
My nose and shoulders are peeling from the sun from the weekend, and I have bags under my eyes.
It’s extra-early too because I have to prep for a nine o’clock meeting. The jerks who book early Monday morning meetings should be drawn and quartered. It’s even more offensive than a late Friday afternoon meeting!
I’m still waiting to hear back from Wade Daystrom about a campaign that’s nearly due. I sent him some details Wednesday and he hasn’t written back to me so I can only hope he’s been able to help with stuff that’s a little outside my wheelhouse.