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“Ah…hey.” I try to sound casual. “I’m home.”
“Hey.”
She doesn’t turn to make conversation or ask me about Aiden, and, taking the God-given gift that is American drama, I reply, “I’m gonna go to bed.” I consider fake yawning, but Lyla’s general lack of response tells me that extra theatrics aren’t necessary, and I make for the stairs without hesitating.
In the privacy of my bedroom, I strip my dress slowly, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Aiden, and of the night behind me. I’ve never met a man quite like him before, all cautious sweetness when it comes to flirting but grave authenticity when it involves everything else. The mix, the sweet seriousness of it all, has left me wrung out.
It would have been so easy to take it further. I wanted to.Hewanted to. But I made the right decision by waiting. I need to think things through. I need to figure out what happens next, if anything, because letting Aiden into my life will change things. He’s not the type of man who starts anything casual, and I think knowing that about him is my biggest hesitation.
I momentarily wish things were different. We could have been two strangers, passing each other on the sidewalk, both turning to look after the other at the same time and smiling at being caught. We could have gone from there, two blank slates with nothing but mutual attraction as a start. Like normal people.
And then I think about tonight, the long conversations and waltzing up on the top floor of the Twelfth Tower, and I realize that it couldn’t have been different. The wonderful things he’s said to me, the things he’s shown me, the way he’s touched me, were all so new to me. He knows parts of me after a few weeks that I would’ve taken years to share with an outsiderifI shared them at all. So, maybe, it all happened how it was supposed to? Maybe, we never would have gotten past strangers, crossing each other on the sidewalk, if things had been different. Maybe, Lizzie’s death caused a chaotic tremor that blew Aiden and my butterflies off course and into each other.
Straightening from picking my dress up off the floor, I sling it over a chair, inadvertently catching my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. My long hair is losing the curl I painstakingly applied before I left for the hotel. There is a small mascara smudge beneath my left eye. The goofy smile on my face is new; it gives my eyes a new light, making me look like an entirely different person.
I twirl once, twice, in the center of my room, dressed in nothing but my underwear, then collapse on the bed, spread eagle. There’s a laugh in my chest that is begging to break free.
For the first time in forever, I amexcitedabout tomorrow and what it could bring. My entire body is full of centered energy that makes me feel giddy, almost silly. It’s like that first moment you get off a merry-go-round, when the world is twirling with excitement and your mind can’t seem to find gravity.
I turn off my bedroom light, casting the world into darkness, then slide between my familiar sheets, and let the scent of my own bed surround me in peace as I curlthe comforter around my feet and roll either side, tucking it in around my body. All these years later, I still need the security of my weighted blanket folding me in. There’s something about the dark and the way my blinds cast shadows on the floor that unsettles me, so making sure that my head is the only part of my body exposed makes me feel an irrational safety that I can’t fall asleep without.
And then I just lie there, in the dark for thirty minutes, replaying every conversation and lingering moment. The memory of the rough groan that tore from Aiden’s lips when I sucked his earlobe into my mouth has a lick of heat slashing low in my belly. And the gentle pressure of his hands on me as he pulled me close has me burying my silly grin in my pillow.
But the memory of his lips on mine, completely gentle and coaxing, flames the heat, lighting a fire within me that starts between my legs and spreads outwards until even my heavy breasts ache to be touched, and in that moment, I would give anything to have those heavy palms cupping me.
As someone who works four nights a week trying to please other people, I am well versed in the empty yearning that is taking over my body now. There have been so many nights where I’ve worked hard to create the perfect fantasy for a client, be ithisperfect date orhisperfect sexual encounter. But the nights that I have left a client with my own needs satiated, or even satisfied, are remarkably far and few between.
The sex is not about me. I provide a service. And that’s fine, but a girl can only be content with so many hours of foreplay and fake orgasms before she needs a healthy stock of vibrators waiting for her when she gets home at two in the morning. And the desire currentlyfeeding my blood might have started out differently, but experience has taught me that the result will be the same.
Loosening my mummy-like sleeping roll, I turn over in my bed and grab my phone off the nightstand. The minute it’s in my hand, I consider calling Aiden. He is, after all, to blame for my current predicament. But, while the idea of having phone sex with him is both wildly inappropriateanderotic, it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
I’ve promised to think about what I want. And I will. Aiden is sweet and kind and hopelessly genuine, and it’s important to me that I think about him too. Calling him might scratch an itch for both of us, but it would also be extremely unfair considering I still don’t know what comes next.
So, I don’t.
I put my phone back down, and, opening my drawer instead, take out one of my three vibrators. This one is a bright pink rabbit by my favorite brand, made almost entirely from silicon. It’s light to hold and easy to use, and, although it has six settings, I found that once I learned what I liked, I stopped using the other five. Most importantly, when you have roommates, and have to be quiet during Me Time, the whisper feature on this toy makes incognito orgasms easily achievable.
I press the device on and flick it up to the right speed before slipping it under the covers with me. Hooking my lace thong with my thumbs, I slide the silk down my legs and lose the garment at the bottom of the bed.
How I wish in that first second before I spread my knees apart and lower my fingers to touch myself that Aiden was here with me, maybe watching me as I run the vibrating head up and down my clit, working myself up so that when I finally slide the vibrator inside of me, there is no resistance at all.
The device is small but powerful, and every long, drawn-out tremor pulls a contraction from deep within my core. Years of practice have me angling my wrist so that every smooth slide in and out hits my G spot, driving my urgency with every stroke.
I keep the short stimulator up against my clit for only the smallest moment on each stroke, drawing out the pleasure for as long as I can. Closing my eyes against the rising ache, I imagine Aiden’s eyes darkening as he watches me slowly insert and remove the toy. I imagine him groaning and, after enough teasing, nestling himself between my thighs and pinning the vibrator to the side so he could taste me.
He has the look of someone who’d savor a woman’s taste, I think, as my free hand moves to my breast, and I roll my nipple between my index finger and thumb.
The additional stimulation pushes my need higher. My body, overstimulated and enveloped in fantasy, starts moving faster even though my mind is fighting to slow down. My hips rock back and forth in small thrusting movements, trying to take more of the toy. My breath comes in shallow pants for air that I can’t quieten, and, finding that I can’t hold back any longer, I rest the rabbit against my clit for a long moment.
The orgasm tears free, ripping through me with one powerful wave that makes my toes curl under the covers and my back arch off the bed. For a few seconds, I lie breathless, still, the rabbit partially inserted as my body clenches tightly around it.
The endorphin flood leaves me floating for minutes, enveloped in warmth and the safety of my own bed. But, unlike every time before, this time, even when the rush begins to fade, I find that there is something strangehappening to me, something that has never happened to me before. I am satisfied. Satiated.
But still thinking about Aiden.
It’s new, this interest I have in him. Usually, masturbation is a sure way to return me to equilibrium after the sexual strain of work. I was expecting—although Aiden is not a client—that this would be no different.
But it didn’t quite have the same effect. If anything, as my body starts growing heavier with relaxation, I think the fantasy made me want him more than I did before.
