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I clamped one hand over my mouth, ensuring I wouldn’t repeat my more, uh, extreme noises from earlier. The other hand went to work.
With practiced skill, I found my clit and began to strum, delicately at first, and then with more vigor. While my little session in the shower had been desperate and fast, this felt like a symphony. There were patterns, rhythms, feints and false starts. I was engaging my pussy in a complicated art, one as old as humanity itself.
What would Carter have done on that blanket next to me, if I hadn’t asked the question about Henry’s mother? Would we still be talking? Would we have moved to his bed? Oh, but if only I could see that man naked. I rethought my earlier firm ground on “needing openness and communication.” Who needs morals when you have the hottest man in the world writhing on top of you?
My fingers sped up their complicated pas de deux, and a heat was surging in me. I moved my instruments down further, to my tender opening, and slid them inside. It only made me hungrier for more. My small, dainty appendages could never fill me up the way I desired. They could never fill me up like Carter.
I quickly turned to see if Jo-Beth had awoken, preparing myself for the inevitable lecture I’d receive. Instead, she remained cozy and content. Damn, that girl can sleep.
It was all the reassurance I needed.
Carter. The word pierced my mind. Carter.
I focused on him, his body, his lips, his voice. My fingers migrated back to my clit. Several minutes had passed. Maybe five. Who was to say? I was lost in my own little world.
Carter.
The strumming intensified, built, changed. This dance had gone on long enough. It was time for the finale. Maybe then I could finally get some goddamn sleep.
Pushing my body further and further, I squeezed my eyes shut and tore at my pussy like a wild animal, frantic. The sheet rose and fell atop my hand. Jo-Beth didn’t move. I was in the throes of passion, and she in the throes of sleep.
Stay quiet. Stay quiet.
And then, though I’d been edging, trying to build to my completion, the orgasm came all at once, like the sun dawning over the horizon, bright light consuming my body. My back arched, hips shooting to the ceiling.
It went on and on and on. I was lost in my own pleasure, determined never to return Earth-side. It would just be me, my fingers and my pussy from here on it.
Well, and maybe Carter. Not that he wanted to get on board.
My orgasm receded, the strangulation of energy dying down. Sweat had dampened the collar of my T-shirt, and the wetness between my legs was seeping through the sheets. I felt slightly bad for Jo-Beth, not that she’d so much as stirred. To make my penance, I shifted so that my thigh was entirely in the ‘wet spot.’ It was already cooling, making me shiver.
I couldn’t believe I’d jacked off to thoughts of Carter twice in one day. But more importantly, I couldn’t believe that it hadn’t really worked. I was no less horny, no more satisfied. I was exactly as frustrated as before, only now, I felt guilty for masturbating next to my sleeping friend.
Oh, if only Carter would put me out of my damn misery and just fuck me already.
CHAPTER 12
Carter
MY ALARM clock went off, and Elvis filtered through its tinny speakers.
I’m an idiot.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I sat up in bed, disoriented in everything but the confident knowledge that I, Carter Conlin, was an idiot. I’d had dreams about being an idiot, and now those dreams were infiltrating the waking hours with their irrevocable truth — the one about me being an idiot.
I should never have the left the blanket like I’d done last night. I’d been pissed, sure, but that was no way to handle things. If my knee-jerk response to conflict was to just stonewall the other person and storm out, then what kind of emotional integrity was I passing on to my son?
Feeling like not just an idiot, but a bad father, is not pleasant at seven in the morning. It’s not pleasant any time of day, but especially seven in the morning, when you still have sleep dust in the corner of your eyes.
The second, wholly formed thought that emerged as I threw back the sheets was I have a hard-on.
Not that that was so much a thought as a sudden, visual realization. Through the top sheet I could see a massive tent. My dick was at full-mast, begging for release.
Sorry, little guy. Or, erm, big guy.
There was too much to do. Even in a tiny place like Rough and Ready, being a single father kept me busy, especially the mornings. Henry was on a tight schedule to give him a stabilized routine. That’s what all the parenting books I’d read said, that kids need a ‘routine.’ Helps keep them grounded.
