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“No!” The word came out much louder than I intended. Ansel raised his brows but said nothing. I had almost forgotten he had my phone. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact Carter was calling me? He never called me, even when we were eight years deep into our relationship. He hated talking on the phone unless he was negotiating a business deal.
If Ansel had access to my phone, why was he asking me? All he had to do was scroll through my photos or look back a couple months to see I used to be romantically involved with Carter. I couldn’t quite figure out Ansel’s reasoning for asking—either he was trying to torment me, or he honestly didn’t know. I studied him for a moment. Ansel had been so honest with me up until this point, why change now?
Well, honest when he wasn't being avoiding the question. Whenever he did open up, it was the truth.
I stifled a laugh. An honest criminal. I have never heard of such an absurd thing.
Though I trusted Ansel was telling the truth, I had seen his violent side. I mean, he killed people for a living. Bad people of course, but for now it was best to play it safe. “He’s a coworker. I left as we were working on a big project together. He’s probably calling to get me to share my files with him.”
Ansel gave me a narrowed look that said“Uh-huh. Sure.”But didn’t press the issue. I don’t blame him for not believing me, I had a panic attack in front of him from just the mention of Carter’s name, but I didn’t trust Ansel enough to bring up Carter’s true history with me. It was safer for everyone involved if we just dropped the topic completely. Ansel had his secrets, and so did I.
But why was Carter calling? Was he calling to say he misses me so much it hurts to even think about it, and he’s finally ready to settle down with me and have kids?
The thought didn’t excite me as much as it used to and that . . . really scared me.
The only way I could live with myself after Carter’s monthly booty calls and having to experience the feelings of rejection all over again, I would entertain these little daydreams of Carter and I getting back together. It would always occur during our hook-ups at his house, usually when he was fully seated inside me. He would look into my eyes and realize what we had was special, that he was a fool for taking it for granted, and whatever insecurities he had about marriage no longer mattered because our love was stronger than his fears. He would propose to me then and there, and we would have sex all night long.
And best of all, I would havemultipleorgasms that Carter orchestrated with just his tongue and fingers. What a great way to start our happily ever after.
But when I told my therapist about my daydreams (minus the detail of Carter being balls deep inside me), she would shake her head sadly and point out this was one of the many reasons I couldn’t let Carter go. If he was going to propose, he would have done it already. He already had eight years to do it, if not then, why now? These fantasies only served one purpose: to make me feel shittier than I already did.
At that moment, I was more excited to tell my therapist how wrong she was than the fact Carter was calling to get back together. That was not a good sign.
You’re okay. It’s not that you still don’t have feelings for Carter, you’re just not in the right headspace. You’ve been kidnapped by a sexy orc, and you probably still have all those sex hormones running through your body, fogging up your brain. You still love Carter, and you’re not throwing your life away because of one really good orgasm. Tomorrow, when Liam takes you home, you’ll see. You’re still in love with Carter.
I raised my hand to my mouth, faking a yawn. “I’m really tired,” I said. The fake yawn brought a real one to the surface, causing my jaw to pop. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay. It’s really late.”
Ansel’s eyes studied me for a moment, and then he nodded, patting my lower back. “We can go to bed, but just so you know, we’re not done playing this game.”
Greeeeeat.I gave him a tight smile and headed to the dresser and opened the top drawer—the space Ansel had cleared for me—and grabbed my pajamas. When I returned from the bathroom, Ansel was already laid out on his sleeping pad, his hand and pillow tucked under his head, so his elbow stuck out. He stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.
I flicked off the lights and crawled into bed. I didn’t even bother checking if he had locked the bedroom door. Not that it mattered anyways—I was leaving tomorrow.
I rolled over on my side to study him in the dark, still staring upward. “Are you comfortable sleeping on the ground? Doesn’t your back hurt?”
“I thought we were done playing twenty questions.”
I rolled my eyes to myself. “We are. I was just asking.” Almost adding:Don’t worry. Just one more night and then you’ll get the bed to yourself.But I stopped myself before the words could slip out.
“Don’t ask unless you’re offering to share the bed with me,” he said in his stern-principal voice. Heat immediately flooded between my legs; his words feeling like a soft caress along the sensitive places of my skin.
“Good night,” I said tightly, rolling over so my back was to him. Ansel chuckled under his breath as if he knew the effect his words had on me. That he could turn me on with just the sound of his voice. But there was no way he could know that . . . right?
Sometime later, when I heard Ansel’s slow, deep breathing, I reached into my pajama shorts to touch myself. I was so wet, so aching, even the light touch of my fingers had me biting down on a moan. I couldn’t wake Ansel, even though I rolled and pinched and kneaded my swollen clit to the images of him and what would happen if I did invite him into my bed. Even though every inch of me was desperate to find out what would happen, I couldn’t risk it; the idea of leaving Ansel was too hard already.
My climax came faster than I was expecting. It wasn’t as mind-blowing as the one from earlier, but still felt so amazing, I had to bite down on the corner of the pillow to keep quiet. I writhed on the bed as the waves of pleasure washed over me, silently applauding myself for finally doing it. After thirty-three years, I had finally made myself come with my own fingers. That was worth celebrating on its own.
See?I told myself as my eyes became heavy and I started to drift off.You don’t need Ansel. You’ll be fine without him and his magic fingers.
Before I drifted off to sleep, I mentally reviewed every little detail of what Ansel did in the club to make me orgasm so hard that it led to my brief out-of-body experience. I committed it all to memory, so that when I was home with Carter, I could teach him exactly what he needed to do to help get me off.
Ansel was gone the next morning, bright and early, just as expected. That was fine by me, I always acted overly emotional when things came to an end. When I was younger and attended summer coding camp, I always gave my friends the cold shoulder on the last day because I didn’t want them to see me cry. I couldn’t risk Ansel sensing something was wrong and foiling my plan.
I didn’t even bother showering this morning; I could do that at home. I was downstairs, dressed, and all my items packed in the same shopping bag Ansel had bought me, before Liam had the chance to bring me breakfast. I was too excited to be hungry.
Demie was sitting at the folding table, eating a bowl of cereal, and Liam was . . . working out.
“Morning,” Demie said around a mouthful of cheerios as I breezed past. I gave him the briefest smile as I headed towards Liam.
