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“Mum’s the word,” I say, opening the door. She steps out onto my little porch before I remember part of my conversation earlier with Grandma. “Oh, wait. I’m going away for a few days next week to some big florist convention. Rachel is going to work full-time, but my only other option for help is Grandma. I was going to ask Jaime because she used to work there, but she’s so busy sucking face, and other things, with Ryan. Do you think you can pop in and just check on things for me?”
I know AJ understands what I’m asking. It’s not that I don’t trust my grandma, but I’ve spent my entire adult life building up this business and I want to make sure it goes smoothly in my absence.
“Of course. I’ll stop in on my lunch break each day and after work. I don’t think she’ll be too suspicious if I bring her chocolate,” she says with a wink and a smile. Grandma’s sweet tooth is legendary, and using that to our advantage is something my sisters and I learned a long time ago.
“Thanks, A.”
“You’re welcome, Pay. Get inside and dream about baseball,” she hollers before slipping into her car. Even in the darkness, I can see her smile reflecting in the moonlight.
Making my way back into the house, I lock up and head for the kitchen. Even though it’s late, my eating schedule isn’t exactly what you’d call normal. Not when you put in crazy hours to maintain a small business. I grab the bread and peanut butter out of the cabinet and the jelly from the fridge. This was my favorite sandwich growing up, and surprisingly, I’ve never gotten tired of it. Even in college, I could eat a PB&J every day and still want more.
I wouldn’t mind taking a bath and relaxing a little, but it’s already getting late for a weeknight. No, ten o’clock isn’t exactly late, but for me, it is. I opt for a quick shower instead. As I strip in my room, I zero in on the red burn on my neck that AJ noticed. Memories of being laid out on his desk while he slid inside of me assault my mind, a tingle of something more than awareness slips down my spine.
The warm water does nothing to ebb the ache in my body, especially after I replay the entire scene over and over again in my head, and by the time I’m washed up, I find myself spending extra time washing a certain area. How can a woman go from completely sated to crawling out of her skin in need only a few hours later?
It’s him.
Being single most of my adult life, I’m not ashamed to admit I have to take matters into my own hands every now and again. And by hands, I mean my fingers or my vibrator. Since I’m without Waterproof Waylon, that’s my seven-inch vibrating, swirling, and pulsating vibrator that leaves me in a quivering pile of hormonal goo where I stand, I have to resort to the old fashioned way.
Closing my eyes, I picture a big hand skimming down my belly, angling towards the place I ache. I slide my fingers between my legs, letting the water cascade over my body. I recall the way his breath tickled my neck right before his mouth skimmed from my collarbone to my jaw. I slide two fingers inside my body, while my other hand concentrates on my clit. A groan slips from my lips and my body starts to shake as I remember his words. “Being inside you is fucking heaven.”
I explode around my fingers, tightening and pulsing as the orgasm sweeps violently through me. Not worrying about anyone hearing me, I vocalize my release, Dean’s name slipping from my lips. It’s always his name, or at least it has been since I met him in his office last spring. It’s his body I picture, his dick I pretend to ride, or his mouth I feel between my legs.
Washing up a second time, I shut off the water and wrap a big fluffy towel around my body. I’m still weak in the knees and my legs are shaky, but I manage to make my way into my bedroom. I don’t even bother with pajamas; instead I go for the one shirt I sleep in more than I probably should. I fasten a few of the white buttons before bringing the material up to my nose and inhaling. It doesn’t carry his scent anymore, but I can picture it in my mind so vividly, it’s as if he wore the garment just yesterday. Of course, being in his arms a few short hours ago helps trigger that particular sense.
I set my alarm before climbing into bed. I’m a belly sleeper usually, but with him, I reveled in the feel of his body against mine as he spooned me from behind. Of course, it didn’t hurt that it was the perfect position for a midnight romp when all he had to do was basically surge forward and into my wet, waiting body.
And there I go with the memories again.
Closing my eyes, I try to think about things other than Dean. Mrs. Simmons was so surprised when I delivered a beautiful bouquet from her husband in celebration of their twenty-ninth anniversary. The nursing home residents loved the winter holly and berry mix I arranged for their dining room tables. And I picture the delight written on the face of a high school senior whose boyfriend sent her three roses for her birthday. All smiles that are part of my day, but it’s Dean’s that I can’t get out of my head right now.
And it’s his that will likely fill my dreams again tonight.
