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Beside him, his phone vibrated on the nightstand, and he almost ignored it. The only thing that caused him to pick it up was the chance that it might be the woman who was quickly becoming the only fucking thing he could think of.
He grabbed the device off the nightstand where it was charging and saw that it was a message that included two words and had a very specific meaning.
Catrina:You up?
Those two words were universally known as a booty call. In this case, it was a virtual one.
Knox and Catrina had been having phone sex for the past three years. They’d met and dated when he’d been on leave and gone to Bali with two guys from his squad. They’d spent two weeks in bed together and kept in touch via FaceTime since then.
She was originally from Brazil but lived in Australia, so depending on where he was in the world, the time difference could be significant.
Knox popped a boner every time her name showed up on his phone. It was a Pavlovian response. They’d had great sex during the weeks they’d spent together and amazing virtual sex for the past three years.
As he stared at his phone, he thought the timing could not have been more perfect because he was already rock hard and this would relieve the tension he was feeling, and maybe he could get some sleep. But there was a problem. Instead of getting harder, when he saw the message, his boner deflated in his hand.
He squeezed it as he made mental withdrawals from his spank bank in an attempt to revive it. He used some of his and Catrina’s past X-rated FaceTime sessions, but nothing was bringing him back to life.
Frustration surged through him as he set the phone down without responding and began to manually stimulate himself. He stroked once, twice, but nothing was happening. He was limp as a ragdoll.
"What the fuck?" he muttered to himself beneath his breath.
He knew he was getting older. At thirty-eight, he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. But he’d never had any issues getting or maintaining an erection. Some of the guys that had gotten out before him had mentioned having a difficult time adjusting to civilian life. Could his impotence be due to him not feeling like he had a purpose?
No. He’d served his country proudly; the men and women he’d served with were family to him, but he’d never been defined by being a SEAL. From the time he was little, he’d wanted to follow in his grandad’s footsteps, and that’s exactly what he’d done. But it had never been his entire identity.
If he was being honest with himself, his identityhadalways been tied to his love of the opposite sex. He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t loved the opposite sex. Although Laura was his type to a T, he appreciated women of all shapes and sizes. He had no preference. He just loved women. And Catrina had been one of the women he loved to love.
So why in the hell had he lost his erection when her text came through?
Could this be the first signs of erectile dysfunction? He pondered again, but quickly dismissed that theory since just seconds before he’d been rock hard.
Frustrated, he sat up in the bed, and when he did, he caught a whiff of the lavender scent that was uniquely Laura. The fresh, floral aroma drifted into his nostrils, and the memory of her bending down in front of him when she’d dropped her keys on the steps caused his limp appendage to harden once again.
"What the fuck?" He looked down at himself.
He wasn’t standing at full salute, but he was rocking a half-chub. All it had taken was picturing Laura’s ass in her cutoff jean shorts. Purely for research purposes, he imagined the slope of her neck and the dip of her lower back. His mind’s eye pulled up the image of her breasts pressing against the thin cotton of her tank top as he’d held her in his arms tonight.
The imagery worked like a snake charmer, with his dick being the snake in this metaphor. He was now fully erect. Which meant that there was nothing wrong with his equipment. His losing his erection had been a mental block, not a physical one.
That information should have made him happy, but it actually had the opposite effect.
What sort of voodoo, witchcraft, or sorcery spell had Laura Lopez cast on him?
Not wanting to believe that his libido was under her power, he ventured deep into the hallowed halls of his mental masturbatorium. He was talking the archives that he only pulled out for special occasions. The night he’d spent with the Playboy model. The threesome he’d had in Spain with a Sports Illustrated model and her best friend, who happened to be on the Maxim Top 100 Sexiest People that year. He even went all the way back to his first time with the woman who’d turned him down at prom, Kailey Mitchell. A woman three years his senior and every single West High boy's fantasy.
Nothing worked. None of his go-to get-offs were going anywhere.
He could pull up porn, but he’d always prided himself on not needing the assistance of outside stimulation to get off. It was a skill that had come in handy during some of the longer, isolated stints he’d had during his time in the service.
In all his thirty-eight years, he’d never had an issue choking the chicken. He’d always been able to knock one out without any problem.
Now, one day after meeting Laura Lopez, the only thing that aroused him was thinking of her. Not even thinking of her naked. Just a scent that reminded him of her. The slope of her neck, the fullness of her lips.
Even now, those things were making his balls tingle.
Knox had always heard people throw around the term red flag. He never subscribed to that way of thinking. Every person had a past, and that past affected their behavior. He accepted people for who they were, without judgment. Which he was able to do because he’d never imagined anyone being in his life in a long-term capacity. He could deal with anything for a few months.
But this,thiswas a red flag. Not being able to get hard thinking of anyone but Laura was not okay. He wasn’t sure what the hell he was going to do about it, but he wasn't going to give in. His head was holding his cock hostage, and he would not give in to its ransom demands. He was stronger than that.
