circle my clit. I am so damn wet, so full of need, I'm going to explode.
Joshua.
Fuck me, please. Please, please, please … let me come. Make me come with your beautiful hands.
And I begin to, that lovely keen edge like a bomb about to go off. And just as quickly, it fizzles into nothing.
God damn it!
I slump against the door with a small sob.
What am I doing here? This is insane. I'm insane.
Joshua.
What is he thinking, left alone in the bar while I masturbate in the ladies' room?
I sit down and pee, get up and stand for a few moments in the stall while I catch my breath. Lust is a hard ache between my thighs still. Unsated. But it's not as if I expected anything more.
Finally, I go out to the lounge area, wash my hands, brush my hair, spray a little perfume on my neck, touch up my lipstick. I tip the dark-eyed attendant when she hands me a paper towel. But it's another minute or two before I can go back upstairs, face him.
He smiles at me when I get back to our table, sliding my drink across the smooth surface toward me. My body surgeswith lust, a powerful tide. I could drown in this. And I understand now how dangerous this is. How close I am to doing something I'll regret. And drinking more is not going to help. I'm barely hanging on to any sense of control as it is.
“Joshua, I'm not feeling very well. I should go.” I hate lying to him. I feel
too
damn good, need desperately to feel better. To come.
Oh, God.
“I'm sorry. What can I do? Do you need me to drive you home?”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you. It's … just a headache. I'll be fine.”
No you won't.
“Let me ask the waitress for some aspirin.”
“No. That's not necessary. I just need to go home.”
I don't mean to sound so cold, it just comes out that way.
“Of course.”
That easy sense of intimacy is gone, or at least diminished, and it's my fault. But I can't go there with him, can I? Better to cut it off now.
He is all gentlemanly manners, walking me out with a hand at my waist, which I have to grit my teeth against. He gives the parking valet my ticket, insists on tipping him, then hands me into my car. I am so relieved that he is no longer touching me. And empty. Yearning.
“Call me, Valentine. I want to see you again. Hell, I'd like to see you tomorrow.”
He is too gorgeous in the silvery moonlight, the amber glow coming through the windows of the restaurant. His eyes are dark and mysterious, his smile sincere, his lips unbelievably lush. My sex gives a sharp squeeze.
Just go, get home.
“I'll… I'll give you a call,” I say, having no intention of doing so. “Thank you for the drink.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He reaches into the car, caresses my shoulder lightly, his hand whispering over my skin. I shiver. I want to take him home with me, feel that touch all over my body, fuck him in my bed all night.
You know what you have to do.
It's my heart that gives a hard squeeze now. I really like him.
Fuck.
“Joshua, I have to go.”
“Yes, of course.” His hand slips over my shoulder, down my arm. If I turn my head he will kiss me. I don't do it. Instead, I nod, give him a quick, pale, sideways smile, and shift my car, pull away.
When I glance in the rearview mirror, he is standing there watching me.
I feel as though I've survived some sort of test, and I am exhausted. But is this really any sort of triumph? Or am I nothing more than a coward?
Chapter Four
AT HOME I GO immediately to my bedroom, kick my shoes off, tear my dress over my head. My bra comes next, and I fling it onto the bed. I'm angry. Horny. In need. And not all of it is physical, which is even worse. As if the lust ravaging my system isn't hard enough to deal with.
I glance at the clock. It's already after nine. But I grab my purse from where I threw it on the bed and pull out my cell phone, checking for messages, hoping for a client. I already checked at least three times on the way home. But I fucking
need
it tonight. And not being
Joshua.
Fuck me, please. Please, please, please … let me come. Make me come with your beautiful hands.
And I begin to, that lovely keen edge like a bomb about to go off. And just as quickly, it fizzles into nothing.
God damn it!
I slump against the door with a small sob.
What am I doing here? This is insane. I'm insane.
Joshua.
What is he thinking, left alone in the bar while I masturbate in the ladies' room?
I sit down and pee, get up and stand for a few moments in the stall while I catch my breath. Lust is a hard ache between my thighs still. Unsated. But it's not as if I expected anything more.
Finally, I go out to the lounge area, wash my hands, brush my hair, spray a little perfume on my neck, touch up my lipstick. I tip the dark-eyed attendant when she hands me a paper towel. But it's another minute or two before I can go back upstairs, face him.
He smiles at me when I get back to our table, sliding my drink across the smooth surface toward me. My body surgeswith lust, a powerful tide. I could drown in this. And I understand now how dangerous this is. How close I am to doing something I'll regret. And drinking more is not going to help. I'm barely hanging on to any sense of control as it is.
“Joshua, I'm not feeling very well. I should go.” I hate lying to him. I feel
too
damn good, need desperately to feel better. To come.
Oh, God.
“I'm sorry. What can I do? Do you need me to drive you home?”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you. It's … just a headache. I'll be fine.”
No you won't.
“Let me ask the waitress for some aspirin.”
“No. That's not necessary. I just need to go home.”
I don't mean to sound so cold, it just comes out that way.
“Of course.”
That easy sense of intimacy is gone, or at least diminished, and it's my fault. But I can't go there with him, can I? Better to cut it off now.
He is all gentlemanly manners, walking me out with a hand at my waist, which I have to grit my teeth against. He gives the parking valet my ticket, insists on tipping him, then hands me into my car. I am so relieved that he is no longer touching me. And empty. Yearning.
“Call me, Valentine. I want to see you again. Hell, I'd like to see you tomorrow.”
He is too gorgeous in the silvery moonlight, the amber glow coming through the windows of the restaurant. His eyes are dark and mysterious, his smile sincere, his lips unbelievably lush. My sex gives a sharp squeeze.
Just go, get home.
“I'll… I'll give you a call,” I say, having no intention of doing so. “Thank you for the drink.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He reaches into the car, caresses my shoulder lightly, his hand whispering over my skin. I shiver. I want to take him home with me, feel that touch all over my body, fuck him in my bed all night.
You know what you have to do.
It's my heart that gives a hard squeeze now. I really like him.
Fuck.
“Joshua, I have to go.”
“Yes, of course.” His hand slips over my shoulder, down my arm. If I turn my head he will kiss me. I don't do it. Instead, I nod, give him a quick, pale, sideways smile, and shift my car, pull away.
When I glance in the rearview mirror, he is standing there watching me.
I feel as though I've survived some sort of test, and I am exhausted. But is this really any sort of triumph? Or am I nothing more than a coward?
Chapter Four
AT HOME I GO immediately to my bedroom, kick my shoes off, tear my dress over my head. My bra comes next, and I fling it onto the bed. I'm angry. Horny. In need. And not all of it is physical, which is even worse. As if the lust ravaging my system isn't hard enough to deal with.
I glance at the clock. It's already after nine. But I grab my purse from where I threw it on the bed and pull out my cell phone, checking for messages, hoping for a client. I already checked at least three times on the way home. But I fucking
need
it tonight. And not being
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