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Because he’d been so nice to me. He’d treated me like I meant something.
Now I closed my eyes and remembered the way he’d kissed me. He’d tasted like beer and smelled like cologne. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, but the combination had been intoxicating.
My skin grew hot, fire dancing along it, and I ached with need for a release. I ran my hands over my body, thinking about the way he’d done it. He’d touched me as if I were made of porcelain. Every touch had sent shivers down my spine.
I pushed my hand into my pants, and my fingers found my clit. In my mind, I was back in that bedroom years ago, with Bas’s perfect body hovering over mine. His erection pressed against my hip bone, and I moaned with lust.
His hands cupped my breasts, and I gasped, cupping my own breast. I pushed my hand under my shirt and tweaked my nipple, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger while I found my clit with my other hand.
Bas kissed a line of fire down my neck, onto my chest, sucking my nipple into his mouth, and I flicked my fingers over my clit, moaning and jerking with the sensation. I touched myself, letting the fantasy take over.
Bas made his way down my body, pushing up my shirt, kissing a trail down my stomach. When he reached my pajama pants, he pulled them down and spread my legs, his mouth finding my pussy. He licked my clit, flicking his tongue over it a few times, before he sucked on it, his lips closed.
I curled as an orgasm built inside me, and pulled my pants down so the waistband didn’t bother me as I rubbed myself harder and faster.
In my mind, I jumped from Bas going down on me, licking and sucking my pussy, to him on top of me, his cock buried to the hilt. I trembled around his sex, and his eyes—deep and dark—were locked on mine.
When he bucked his hips, it was hard and fast right away. I rubbed myself harder and faster, using my memory to fuel my fantasy. I moaned loudly as pleasure built inside me, and finally erupted, spreading from my core to my extremities. I cried out, riding the wave of pure ecstasy.
It disappeared not too long after—it wasn’t the same when I did it myself as when I was with someone else.
I groaned and pulled my pants back up, righted my shirt, and rolled onto my side. Irritation replaced the sexual bliss I’d created for myself.
Why was Bas the person I thought about when I did this? I’d had lovers after him. I’d had one-night stands, and I’d tried my hand at dating. But every time, I came back to Bas.
“He’s a jerk,” I said to Mittens, who jumped off the windowsill and found her spot on my bed. I reached for her, scratching her behind the ears, and she purred.
In my fantasies, Bas was the hero I’d thought he was all those years ago—kind and caring and there for me.
In reality, he was the asshole who hadn’t called me back after taking my virginity, who’d gotten what he wanted and walked away without looking back. His money, his life from then on ... I’d been shut out of all of it, forced to stand on the outside, looking in.
Like everyone else in his life. He had a reputation for being a playboy now. A rich playboy, at that. He had more money than any man could dream of—all the Conrad brothers did. And what did they do with all that cash? Spend it on booze and women and expensive trips.
How much good could he do with all that money if he set his mind to it? But that would mean parting from his money and from the disgusting frat-boy image he’d been slinging around like a badge of honor.
Well, that announcement was going to make life hard for him. He was going to get exactly what was coming to men like him. He’d dug his own grave too.
As the pleasure I’d created faded, and my logical mind kicked in again, my hatred for Bas returned. Good, I was more comfortable this way. I hated Bas after what he’d done to me, and karma would get him for what he’d done.
It wasn’t very Zen of me to wish him ill will. But he’d hurt me more than I’d ever admitted to anyone—even Jess. A part of me relished that the man was sinking his own ship.
