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After Jace does a passable job at cleaning his pearly whites, I carry him to his bed, pretending to be an airplane, and toss him in. “What story are we reading, tonight?”
“The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Porcupine.”
I catch sight of it on his nightstand.
“Ouch.” Grabbing it, I sit beside him and crack it open. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Leaning back against the headboard, I start to read, but in the back of my mind, I can’t help thinking about Stranger7721.
5
Stranger88: Challenge accepted.
A minute ago, I was lying on my bed, one hand in my panties, stroking myself, wanting more of this silly little fantasy when the messages just… stopped.
Half of me felt a little foolish. The other half wanted to continue more than anything, to see what other kinds of fantasies he’d conjure up. In a world where porn is a click away 24/7, sometimes it’s nice to not to browse for ages, to let someone else do all of the work for a change.
I needed it after the day I’ve had. I’d plummeted from the highest of highs—thinking I was about to be awarded the promotion of a lifetime—to the lowest of lows, having to work with Brooks freaking Gentry. Even though I wanted to stay and get up to speed on the file, I’d had to call it a day early after that devastating blow. All I wanted to do was come home and eat a gallon of ice cream and mope.
I’m not myself, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it.
The day wasn’t all bad though.
My internet stranger may not have been a promotion, but he’d at least made me feel wanted.
And then he was gone. Just like that. No goodbye. No nothing.
Given my profession, my mind wanders to a worst-case-scenario where he’s a married man and his wife came home from work early so he had to put his phone away.
Ugh.
I shove my phone away and pick up a book. Maybe some light reading before bed will do me good and get me out of my own head for a bit.
Except a few pages in, I’m finding it impossible to concentrate. My mind’s wandering all over the place. It’s a good book, but a sad substitute for the words my stranger wrote to me. And it doesn’t stop the ache I feel down below. My clit is engorged, throbbing. Begging for another release—again, this isn’t like me.
So I reach into my night table and pull out 'Old Reliable’ —my nickname for my pink vibrator with all the bells and whistles.
I switch it on, tug the waistband of my panties down, and slip it in, spreading my legs wide.
Closing my eyes, I start with the same, familiar fantasy that has done the trick, all through college and law school and my many lonely nights in this room. Roses, candlelight, a big king bed, and sensual sex with a man who looks an awful lot like Ryan Gosling.
But tonight that doesn’t quite do it for me. It is a bit vanilla, I’ll admit. After my chat with my stranger, I need more.
So instead, I summon a different fantasy.
The second I picture a tall, faceless man, nudging me into a cubicle, kissing me, the ache between my legs intensifies. I can’t even feel shame at this point… I’m too aroused. Within minutes, I’ve found the spot, jolts of electricity spasming through my body that I tamp down because I’m not ready for this to be over so soon.
I squeeze my eyes tighter. In my mind, my faceless stranger sidles up behind me, his strong hands molding my breasts as he dips his head to bite my nipples. Then, he turns me around with an ease that commands my entire body, sending me into a state of liquid mercury. He nudges me back upon the cold surface of the desk, lifting my skirt, inch by teasing inch, delving his warm, rough fingers under my panties. Throwing my back against the headboard, I steady myself.
“Harder,” I whisper as the need gets fiercer, creating a friction so euphoric I never want it to end. Without warning, it changes, becoming something more.
“Come for me,” my fantasy man commands, and I shake my head, because we’re in public, and I know I’ll be too loud. “Yes you will. I’m good at convincing people.”
I buck up on the bed, moaning wildly. It’s just when this new world is opening up to me that the man leans forward slightly to steady my thrashing body. It’s then that his face emerges from the shadows.
Brooks Gentry…
Everything falls apart after that, the fantasy in my mind’s eye disintegrating. Contrary to what I’d expected, his face is twisted into a sultry expression as he appears to be genuinely enjoying this.
My hand stops moving in my panties as the shock courses through me, along with the fluttering waves of an incomplete orgasm. I yank Old Reliable from my waistband. What did I just do? What does this mean?
