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There’s one good way to take the edge off.Two beers in, the idea is sounding better and better, even if I’m going to have troublenotthinking of Dante. I’ve gotten far too good at taking care of my own needs, but lately, it’s felt like too much trouble to try to find someone to do it for me. I’m as likely to find a man who’s selfish in bed as one who’s not, and the entire process has started to feel exhausting. I used to like going out to bars, flirting, going home with someone new—but I haven’t been able to muster the energy necessary in what feels like a long time now.
It might also be that it doesn’t entirely feel like this house is mine yet—like it’s my private space, instead of my childhood home. I haven’t been able to feel comfortable bringing anyone back to it.
Well, tonight, I don’t have to.I finish the last of my beer, toss it in the recycling, and slip into the small bathroom in the hall. The condo is tiny—one larger bedroom and one smaller, with one bathroom. That bathroom has just enough space for a shower, toilet, and sink—no bathtub—and growing up, I always wanted the luxury of soaking in a hot bath. On the few occasions when I’ve dated someone with a tub in their apartment long enough to ask to use it, I don’t hesitate.
I turn on the hot water, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor and stepping inside. It feels good after the day I’ve had, washing away the grimy feel from sitting in the city traffic and the aches in my muscles from the hours of tattooing. I wash my hair, taking my time scrubbing my scalp until I feel sure I won’t wake up with a headache in the morning. Then, I simply stand there for a little while, enjoying the heated pounding of the water against my shoulders.
There are a lot of issues with the little condo I now own, but at least water pressure has never been one of them.
I dry off, tossing my clothes into the hamper as I walk naked to the bedroom. I slip into bed under the covers, leaving my windows cracked for the breeze, and reach into the drawer next to my bed. I only own two toys—one a simple vibrator and the other a fancier one that I got at a friend’s bachelorette party once—and I hesitate as I reach into the drawer. A part of me just wants to go for simple and quick—get off and go to sleep. But I don’t think that’s going to be enough to satisfy the ache I feel tonight.
What I really want is someone else with me—the feeling of hands and lips on my body, skin brushing against mine. It’s been a while since I’ve really wanted that. But for tonight, this will have to do.
I slip the dildo out of my drawer, setting it and a bottle of lube next to me as I reach for my phone. It’s been long enough that I have a couple of go-to videos that always seem to get the job done—that, or a few spicy stories that I have downloaded for just a time like this—but as I pull up the first video and slide my hand underneath the covers, I don’t feel the usual rush of arousal as I start to watch. I feel very aware of how fake it all seems—the practiced moans, the just-right poses for the camera, the way even the man seems more concerned with his performance than whether anyone is actually enjoying what’s happening. He’s tall and muscled and blond—the surfer type I’ve typically gone for when dating—but I just feel bored. I bite my lip, switching to another video—one of two guys enjoying averyenthusiastic girl pinned between them.
But it’s just not working. I rub my finger over my clit, increasing the pressure, sliding my fingers downwards to slide against my entrance, but I’m barely even wet. That frustrated ache only intensifies, but the porn isn’t doing it for me.
I don’t want to admit that it’s because I’m not just horny.Dantegot me all worked up, and my usual means of taking the edge off aren’t working because what I want is something different.
Something I shouldn’t—and can’t—have.
Still lazily teasing myself with my fingertips, I pull up a spicy story instead. I scan through it quickly, looking for the good parts—but my thoughts keep drifting back to Dante. His dark hair that I’d love to run my hands through, that chiseled, stubbled jaw that would feel intensely good rubbing along my inner thighs, those muscular arms that would flex above me as he pins me down and—
That heat in my belly uncoils, spreading through me, making me gasp softly with the pulse of arousal that jolts between my thighs. “Oh,fine,” I growl under my breath, swiping frustratedly at my phone to close the window I had open before tossing it next to me on the bed and lying back against my pillows.
Once I let the fantasy take over, the arousal is instant and overwhelming. Instead of looking at my art on the leather couch in his apartment, Dante is setting the folio aside and turning to me instead, capturing my face in his long-fingered hand as he draws my mouth to his. He reaches for my other hand, tugging it into his lap, pressing it against the thick outline of his erection as he kisses me hard, spilling me back onto the couch with the urgency of how much he wants me.
“Fuck—” I breathe aloud, spreading my thighs a little as I reach for the dildo. It’s hard to pull my fingers away from my now-swollen clit, the pleasure jolting through me in bursts of sensation that I want to keep chasing. But I want to imagine how it would feel to be filled up by him more.
My hand swipes against my phone, knocking it aside as I fumble for the toy and the bottle of lube. A brush of my fingers against my entrance tells me I don’t need the latter—I’m soaking wet, more so than I can ever remember having been before. I feel myself clench in anticipation as I slide the dildo down between my thighs, imagining Dante tugging down my jeans, his fingers seeking out that slick heat as he spreads me for his thick cock.
“Oh—ohgod—” I moan as I press the tip against myself, feeling my hips arch upwards, desperate for more. In my fantasy, we’re both naked now, clothes stripped off and scattered across the gleaming wooden floor, Dante murmuring filthy things into my ear as the tip of his cock pushes into me. He’s big, so big that the stretch is almost too much, but I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper as I pant and beg for more of him inside of me.
“More, Dante,please—” I whimper, pushing the toy deeper, feeling the pleasure spread through my muscles until I’m almost trembling with the need to come. I can’t remember the last time touching myself felt this good, and I spread my legs wider, the lewd, wet sounds filling the room as I start to fuck myself in earnest. “God, yes, just like that—”
I can imagine him slamming into me just like this, as I thrust the toy hard again and again, pinning me to his couch as he mercilessly fills me with his cock. I pretend that my fingers on my swollen clit are his, finding the perfect rhythm, rubbing in firm circles as I clench around his cock and gasp that I’m going to come.
My back arches as the pleasure bursts over me in a wave, seizing the muscles in my thighs as I push the dildo deeply inside of me, holding it there as if it’s Dante coming too, breathing in my ear how good I feel as he throbs inside of me, the two of us coming together. “Yes, fill me up—fuck, Dante—”
I spasm around the toy, clit pulsing beneath my fingertips, breathless with pleasure as I draw the orgasm out as long as I can. It’s been so long since it felt this good, and I slowly thrust the toy, imagining that it’s Dante prolonging his own pleasure, too—getting those last few strokes in, my arousal and his cum mingling.
“Fuck.” I slide the toy out, slowly, shivering with the aftershocks as I set it aside. I give my oversensitive clit one last stroke, moaning at the lingering sensation, and then lie there for a long minute as I try to catch my breath.
I haven’t come that hard in such a long time.
Slowly, I sit up—and then I look at my phone, next to me on the bed.
There’s an ongoing call. I stare at the screen in dawning horror, frozen for a moment before I snatch it, ending the call abruptly.
I look at the number, praying that I didn’t accidentally call my boss while I masturbated—only to realize that it’ssomehow worse. As if that could be possible.
I dialed the number most recently added to my phone.
Dante’snumber.
The man whose name I was just moaning a moment ago while I made myself come, imagining that he was fucking me.
I forgot to delete his fucking number.
