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“God…” I sigh, sitting back on my bed, staring at the mirror hanging on the back of my door.
“You’re an idiot,” I keep telling myself as my thumb continues rubbing over my lip and my other hand strokes up my thigh. It’s too soft and too small, but I can pretend. I can imagine Henry’s large hand kneading its way up my thigh, leaving more marks like a souvenir. A token of where he’s been, how he’s touched me.
“No.” The protest escapes me when my fingers graze my underwear. It’s hot, damp, and… “Fuck!” The light touches feel so good. Too good. But it’s not enough.
Not after having felt his body pressed to mine. Hard muscles and chiselled grooves. I don’t know much about guys, but I know that he’s all man. I know that he’s big, and having him inside me…
“Mmm…” A moan escapes me as I dip my fingers under my knickers.
I’m wet. Wetter than I’ve ever been. Needier than I’ve ever felt. It doesn’t matter how many times I stroke through my slick flesh or how hard I rub myself. None of it is enough. Because it’s not him.
Even though I want to hate him, I can’t. Even though I shouldn’t want him to touch me again, I do. Although I swore I wouldn’t go back tonight. That I was done with him and our weird meetings. I’m not.
Every waking thought I’ve had has led back to this. An overwhelming need that I’ve never felt. A want that coils deep inside me. So deep that it hurts the more I try to ignore it. I can’t sate it even though I’ve tried and I’m still trying.
My fingers push inside me, stroking and stroking and stroking, harder and faster, as I close my eyes and picture him. My duke. Looking into my eyes. Wanting me. Needing me.
Come for me, darling.
“Yes,” I whimper, falling back onto the bed. My legs are wide open, and my body is writhing for more of his rough touch.
The hammering force of my heart against my ribs makes it impossible to catch my breath or myself.
Come, my pretty little whore.
Yes, Your Grace. “Ahhh…”
I’m getting hotter. My body is getting tighter. Holy Christ, I can’t take it as my insides spark and my entire being implodes. My breath rips out of my lungs over and again.
Good girl. The words echo and echo, and satisfaction seeps deep. His voice roots itself in my bones, so good that I hate myself for needing him so much.
* * *
It’s there. Just like he said it would be. Henry’s car is parked outside the door to my flats. The black sedan comes to life the second I step outside. I stand there gaping at it in disbelief. Of course, I should’ve known he meant it and that nothing I said would sway his resolve. Henry isn’t the kind of man that takes no for an answer, but I’m not giving him any answer right now.
Pulling my backpack over both shoulders, I walk past it. And I continue walking as my phone rings. The tone sounds angry compared to its usual trill. Maybe it’s because I know it’s him. Perhaps it’s my guilty conscience. Last night, this morning, and every time in between that I touched myself to thoughts of the Duke of Gloucester. To the memory of his angry touch and hungry stare.
Looking over my shoulder as I make my way to my bus, I find the car following steadily behind me. The driver, Andrew, has his sunglasses on even though today’s weather isn’t much better than yesterday’s.
At least there are no thunderstorms in the forecast. I breathe a sigh of relief that’s cut short when my phone rings again. I could ignore it, but I know that he’ll just keep ringing. In fact, he probably has someone on hand to redial my number for him until I pick up. He’s that rich and that obnoxious. But somehow, the thought makes me smile.
I’m not the only one incapable of staying away.
Henry’s thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about him. I hope that it’s torturing him as much as it’s aggravating the crap out of me.
“Oi, Cinders!” I pause as Alfie stops on the opposite side of the street. “Get in!”
Andrew stops his crawl as I debate whether to keep going or to take Alfie’s offer of a lift. When my phone rings again, it makes the decision for me.
“No,” I answer the call as I cross the street and get into the Corsa.
“Get in the car, Eve.” The gritted edge to Henry’s voice makes me shiver as I look over at Andrew and notice him taking a photo.
“I have a ride.”
Alfie gives me a curious look, to which I reply with a smile. I feel it shake when Henry growls back down the phone. “Don’t fuck with me.”
There’s something in the depths of his voice that gives me pause. Something’s wrong; I feel it deep in my gut. Maybe this isn’t the right time to give him the proverbial finger, but I’ve made my decision. Now, I’m committing to it.
