Page 9 of Never Pucking Ending

Me: Just let me know you’re not in a ditch somewhere please

Me: Jesse?

All five messages are ignored. Thinking about what happened turns the pure shock and arousal I’d been feeling into irritation.

He’s the one who barged in on me. He’s the one who stared at my boobs like they were an all you can eat buffet being offered to the team right after a big game. So why the hell is he the one who stormed out?

Maybe I should get my head examined for what I do next, but there’s too much pent-up frustration built inside of me to just go about my day. So before getting out of bed, I reach into the nightstand drawer and pull out the vibrator that’s been my trusty companion for years now.

And I let my mind wander on the heated gaze he pinned me with. How his eyes roamed over me with hunger, and his body heat soaked into me when he stepped forward. I imagine exactly what he would do if we weren’t interrupted. What I hoped he would do.

In my mind, I see Jesse dropping the towel back onto the ground and closing the distance between us. His mouth is on mine and his hands are on my body, yanking me into him until I can feel his hard cock against my center. I think about how good the friction of his denim would feel against my clit as I rub against him while he devours my mouth. His hands move up my body until one of them palms my breast and plays with my nipple, making me even wetter at the sensation of him pinching and pulling and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

He pulls back, biting down hard on my bottom lip and earning a mewled noise from me. With a cocky smirk, he says, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

And this turns into so much more. His other hand not working my breasts go further south, stopping between the apex of my thighs and feeling how hot I am. It would be so easy for him to slip inside me if he took himself out of his jeans.

When he realizes how wet I am for him, his smirk grows against my lips. “You want this too, don’t you? How long, baby girl?”

That nickname makes my hips arch as I feel the telltale signs of an orgasm building. “So long,” I say aloud, mouth falling open as I picture his fingertips dancing along my slick folds. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

The admission earns me a growl of appreciation, and his knuckles graze my sensitive clit until I’m moaning aloud.

“Please,” I whimper. I’m so close.

So, so close.

“Please, what?” he goads. “Say it, baby girl. Tell me you want me to make you come.”

“Please,” I cry out, at the pinnacle and ready to jump. “Please make me come, Jesse.”

The second I imagine his fingers entering me, I’m done.

I come hard while crying out his name, waves of pleasure sweeping over my body with an intensity I’ve never felt before in my life. The orgasm is mind-altering good, and my legs shake as the vibrator moves against me until I can’t take it anymore.

My breathing is fast as I turn the device off and drop it onto my sheets, feeling my heart drum wildly in my chest from the fantasy I’ve had one too many times.

It’s only after I come back to reality when I hear the footsteps in the hall moving away from my room and a door slamming at the other end.

Oh.

My.

God.

Jesse.

*

I decide two hours after this morning’s incident that the mirror I broke years ago really must have given me seven years of bad luck. I’ve never considered myself a superstitious person, even as someone who spends a lot of time with athletes that almost always have superstitions of their own. But me? I wasn’t convinced until today.

Because not even a day after my stepbrother walks in on me naked, he hears me get off saying his name. And I haven’t quite decided how to take myself out yet. Do I walk in front of an eighteen-wheeler? Drown myself in a bubble bath after getting drunk off my favorite bottle of Moscato? Start cheering for Boston’s hockey team at a Pittsburgh Penguins game? All are perfectly good ways to end this life, and each of them are better than dealing with the absolute mortification that comes with facing Jesse.

Thankfully, the stint of bad luck eases when I get a call from Rae telling me my paperwork is ready to be signed and keys can be picked up. I waste no time getting the hell out of the house before Jesse decides to leave his room.

I try to wipe everything that happened from my mind when I see Rae’s smiling face at the store. “Hi,” I greet, holding my hand out to her.

I’m silently grateful that she has a busy schedule ahead of her and can’t stay long to chat after the rental agreement is signed and a check with the first three month’s rent is given to her. It isn’t until after she leaves that I release a relieved breath of air and study the space that’s now mine.