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Oh my God, how loud was I? In my dream I was screaming his name. Please lord let me I have just done it in my head and not on the top of my lungs like it felt.
My body is still shaking, coming down from the orgasm. I haven’t even had anything like that during sex, so why now in the middle of the night when I should be burying any sexual attraction I’m still holding onto?
I need a plan, that’s it. I can only see him when I’m doing his rehab. Then get out and explore the city, meet people. I know, I’ll sign up for Tinder. Get fucked by a different guy every night. That will make me forget about Jordan. Maybe that’s my problem, I’m sexually starved. It’s been so long that I keep thinking about Jordan, when really, I just need to get any cock. Yep, that’s what I’ll do.
Pulling my pants back on and grabbing the sheet and blanket, I try snuggling down into the bed again. Repeating over and over in my head that I don’t need Jordan. I just need any man.
Within five minutes the tears start again, because who am I kidding, I can’t do any of that. If the dream about Jordan was my ultimate fantasy, going out on a Tinder date just to get fucked would be my biggest nightmare. The whole time I would be picturing Jordan and wishing it was him. This is the sole reason I have always had trouble dating!
This whole thing is fucked up and I need to get over it and go back to sleep. Otherwise tomorrow I’ll be a wreck.
Sleep, yes, that’s what I need.
Lying there for another ten minutes, I’m starting to get the picture. There is no way I’m going back into Z-land anytime soon. Picking up my phone, I open up my reading app. At least if I can’t have the real-life sexy-as-fuck boyfriend, then I may as well keep reading my latest book boyfriend. That’s as close to reality as I’m getting.
* * *
As I drag myself out of bed with the early alarm, standing in front of the mirror, it’s exactly like I thought last night. I look like I’ve been dragged backwards through a row of bushes and my face painted with black smudges just for effect. Not washing that make-up off last night was not smart. The tears have me looking like a zebra with all the black lines running down my cheeks.
Real classy, Nat.
The sound of movement in the hallway has me slamming the bathroom door shut quicker than I should have, making a loud bang. Stripping off my clothes, I hop in the shower, trying to wash away all the evidence and memories from last night.
Pull it together, woman, and get to work. You need to march down those stairs like the sassy woman you are in the gym. You handle the cockiest men and turn them into pussycats, doing exactly as they are told while you inflict pain through their training session.
You’ve got this. Pretend he’s just one of those gym jocks that you need to pull into line, and before long, they’re working hard and treating you like one of the boys.
Pulling out the first set of training gear I put my hands on, I get myself dressed and revved up. I wish I could have spoken to Zara first, but she’ll be at the gym with Xavier at this time of the morning and cursing me the whole time he is pushing her hard.
At least she will be heading back here to New York in a week’s time after her mid-show break. Her holiday with Grant will be over and she will need comforting. I can see an ice cream and girly movie night in the making. Because I’m sure as shit going to need it by the time she gets here.
The smell of coffee meets me as I’m walking downstairs. Thank God for small mercies. I rehearse over and over in my head the small-talk topics I thought of for this morning with Jordan. How’s his shoulder? What’s for breakfast? How long does his training season run for? Does he want me to organize the equipment I need to help him or will he? All great ice-breaker questions to start the day.
He’s standing at the coffee machine with his back to me. His skin’s glistening, still wet from his shower. The waves in his hair aren’t dry yet and his training shorts are hanging low on his hips, just enough for me to see the two dimples on the top of his ass.
Spinning around to greet me, the smile that makes me melt hits me straight on.
“Morning, Nat, sleep well?” All I can think of is he heard me last night and knows what I did in my sleep.
Brain to mouth, please engage… but apparently, my brain is offline. Sorry, malfunction in command.
“I wasn’t dreaming about fucking you, you heard wrong. I won’t fuck you, you’re married!”
“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice drops to the deepest level I’ve ever heard and the pupils in his eyes are black as the ace of spades, fully dilated with lust.
Oh my God, what did I just do!
ChapterEighteen
JORDAN
Waking up this morning, I feel a lot more optimistic than I did yesterday. I can’t believe Nat agreed to come to New York with me. Or that she sat here in my home last night, relaxed and reliving all the stories of us growing up. It just makes me kick myself harder for not seeing her earlier when we were teenagers.
Doesn’t matter now.
I’m finally working it all out now.
I hear her behind me coming down the stairs while I’m getting ready to make her coffee. I haven’t felt this happy or light in a long time.
