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I can’t sit still. I certainly can’t sleep. All I’ve done for hours is wait to hear even a whisper of noise on Ivan’s side of the door. Anything to let me know he is okay.
I’m considering calling the number Yasha programmed into my phone. Maybe he’ll answer and I can talk to him. But as the thought crosses my mind, I realize that Ivan could have called me at any point in the last couple hours. Or texted. Hell, he could have sent Niles up with a Xanax and a note to let me know everything is fine and that he had a nice time on our “date.”
But he didn’t.
Because it wasn’t a real date and this isn’t a real relationship.
I’m not his girlfriend and he isn’t anything to me. Why should I care what he’s doing right now? What difference does it make to me?
Then I remember the feel of him between my thighs. The way his hands gripped my ribs. The way he tasted on my tongue, like lemon curd and champagne.
It matters to me because I got a hit of Ivan Pushkin.
All I want now ismore.
“No,” I whisper, backing away from the door. “No, I don’t need him. I don’tneedhim. I can take care of myself.”
Unlike this morning when I tiptoed around the bag of sex toys like they might explode, tonight, I grab the bag and overturn it on my comforter. I spread the toys out, carefully selecting the wand I want, and march into the bathroom.
I need to relax, so I will.
This is what Ivan wanted, anyway. For me to learn to take care of myself. Right? Right.
The hot water does nothing to ease the fire in my blood, but the heat focuses between my thighs as I press the wand to my aching center.
There’s no need for a warmup. I’ve had hours of anticipation. Now, I just need release.
I slide the wand deep inside of me and roll my hips. The tiles are cold on my back, but this is the position I need to be in. The cold wall behind me, the heat of the water streaming down my front…almost as hot as the heat of Ivan’s body pressed to me.
I close my eyes and work the toy in and out, my pace growing feverish. I don’t have time to wait. All I’ve been doing for hours is waiting. Now, I need release. I need…
“Ivan,” I rasp.
Heat shudders through me as his name tumbles from my lips. It’s a tantalizing shame, acknowledging what I want, but knowing I can’t—shouldn’t—have it. But here, in this shower…I can have whatever I want.
WhoeverI want.
I smooth a line from my neck to my chest, kneading and stroking. I imagine calloused fingers over my skin, strong hands taking what they want. What we both want.
I don’t do anything I don’t want to, Cora.
Ivan has fucked me. Saved me. Kissed me. Dated me.
Does he want this, too? Is his desire a gnawing hunger low in his gut the way mine is? A sinkhole of need yawning open, consuming every other thought?
I arch off the tile wall as the pleasure builds. I imagine strong hands on my lower back, holding me up. Soft lips sucking in one nipple and then the other, lavishing my body with attention.
“Ivan.” I moan his name like a prayer, chanting in breathy gasps before the dam inside of me cracks under the pressure.
The orgasm almost takes me to the shower floor. I have to catch myself on the shelf. Shampoo and conditioner bottles go flying in the process.
Eyes still closed, I feel the desire pull out like the tide. Receding back into the place where I need to hide it, but where it will never fit. Not entirely.
Whatever I feel for him, it’s too big to stay tucked away.
But I have to try.
I start to lower the toy to the edge of the shower when the same calloused hand I just imagined slides over mine, holding the toy in place.
