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Maybe he was still drunk. Or maybe he thought he was dreaming.
Maybe I really am invisible.
This is a disaster. Not that I’d processed what sort of reaction would be appropriate.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said. “And I can leave if you want. But. . . but I need your help.”
He cleared his throat and lay back, propped up on his elbows. “What’s wrong?”
I expected him to cover himself, but he didn’t.
I sat on the windowsill opposite him, which was a terrible decision because it gave me a better view of everything he had. Or maybe it was a good decision.
“Do you recognize me?” I blurted.
He frowned. “No. Should I?”
“No. Just checking. Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” Finally, he wriggled the sheet from beneath his bottom to cover himself. “Why do you need my help?”
I unfurled my fingers which had a stranglehold on the layers of my skirts and ran my tongue over my dry lips. “I . . . I don’t want to be alone.”
“Oh.” He blinked a few times as if trying to wrestle from a dream.
Words refused to release from my throat despite my confidence that he couldn’t possibly recognize me. It was a long, awkward moment in which neither of us moved before I decided an honest approach to my ridiculous plan may be best.
I kicked off my heels. “I haven’t had sex for more than three years.” I reached under my skirt, hooked my thumbs into the elastic lace on my fishnet stocking, wriggled it down my left leg, and flung it aside. As I repeated this with my right stocking, George eased forward on the bed, and I held my palm out to stop him. “That’s far enough, George.”
His jaw dropped, and a frown rippled across his features. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
Oh shit! I swallowed. “You don’t know me and don’t need to know me. We’re not going to have sex. But I’m going to . . . pleasure myself.”
Just about choking on the words, I shrugged as if what I’d said was perfectly normal. “You may watch if you wish.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Is this some kind of joke?”
I rolled my lacy knickers down and tossed them onto my discarded fishnets. “No, this isn’t a joke. But I can pick up my underwear and walk out right now if you wish.”
I slipped on my heels, ready to leave, and tried to ignore the blood pumping in my neck as I waited for his response.
I could almost hear the debate in his mind.
I was doing exactly the same. The fact that he didn’t answer straight away made me respect him just that little bit more.
George was a good guy, but his cock rising beneath the bed sheet proved he wanted me.
It was nice to be wanted. . . even better to be desired.
I parted my legs, and with my eyes on George, I ran my hands up my thighs, beneath the layers of lace in my skirt.
George didn’t move, but his groin bounced to life.
“You can touch your cock if you wish.” I couldn’t believe I’d said cock. It was such a nasty word. But letting the word fall off my tongue like I’d said cock many times before made my pulse race so fast, I thought I’d pass out.
When George did as I asked, the tingling between my legs became a rolling tremor that started deep inside me and shuddered over my whole body.
I was in charge, and damn, it felt good.
