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“Is it possible that you’re looking for reasons to hate Jason…because hating him is easier than telling him the truth?”
I button my lip. “It’s—”
“Complicated. I know.” He shrugs, then says, “Think about it.”
Then he steps forward and brushes his lips against my cheek. I feel the scrape of his stubble. The warmth of his breath.
“Good night, Kenzi,” he says, and his voice is a low murmur, a lion mountain’s purr.
“Night,” I say.
I lean against the doorway, hugging myself. The cold is sharp, and it slices through my clothes, but I stay outside until his car pulls out of the driveway and vanishes down the road.
I put Otto to bed, which takes no time at all since he’s already half-asleep. I quietly close his door behind him and go back downstairs.
The TV has gone into screensaver mode, slowly changing through you might like science fiction titles.
I click the remote, and it goes dark. I realize all at once that there’s nothing left to do. Normally, I’d use this time to do the dishes, but Donovan has already taken care of those. The dishwasher is humming quietly to itself. The counters are cleaned.
The house is taken care of. Otto is safe and sound. Pearl is asleep. And, for a minute, I’m all alone, with nothing to do.
The concept is foreign. I don’t know what to do with this stolen time I have. I’m too wired for bed just yet. I go into the kitchen and uncork the bottle of red Donovan left. There’s enough for a glass, so I help myself to it.
That’s when I remember—Donovan’s gift. It sits on the counter inconspicuously.
After all, Donovan did specify alone. The box is about the length of a pencil and neatly wrapped with silver wrapping paper. On the front of the box, he’s cut out a square of wrapping paper, folded it, and tapped it into the shape of a note which reads, For the woman who treasures her alone time.
A delicious sliver of childlike excitement runs through me.
My nails make quick work of the wrapping. It’s a small black box, and when I open it up, what’s inside makes me smile.
That bastard. What was I expecting? Jewelry? Something sweet?
No. Donovan gets me what he knows I’ll want.
It’s a small, silver vibrator.
I pick it out of the velvet-cased box. I’ve become something of a connoisseur of vibrators—rabbit vibrators, bullet vibrators, butterfly vibrators—and this one seems simple enough. The surface is metallic, smooth, and I know from experience that it’ll slide well once it’s wet.
The top screws off, so I untwist it and check—yep, he’s already installed batteries. Bless him. According to the instructions, it’s also waterproof. Doubly blessed.
There’s a discreet black button on the top of it, and I turn it on.
Immediately, my nipples go tight underneath my shirt.
Holy cow, the vibrations are powerful. I press it to the tip of my finger, and it makes my whole hand tremble.
Already, I feel my panties grow damp at the prospect of playing with this.
It has been a long time since I’ve indulged in some me time…
And I do have the night to myself…so what’s stopping me?
Fuck it.
I throw out the wrapping and tuck the vibrator into my pocket. I take my glass of wine and go upstairs into my room and into the bathroom.
I lock the door and draw a bath.
