sweet, tempting. If we were alone I might dare to kiss her, to press my lips to hers. To open her up and taste. But I canât do it here, wedged in the car with the others. I squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache there, a beating pulse of desire. It doesnât help.
Finally we reach Vivianeâs house and spill out of the SUV, everyone wandering off to their rooms. Audrey gives my hand a fleeting squeeze, and I hold on a moment when she tries to pull away. She stays there for several seconds, long enough to smile at me, her smoky eyes watching me. I am burning for her, her hand hot in mine. But what can I do about it? I want to send her some mental message: Come with me.
Her brows draw together, as though she almost hears me. Then she says, âGood night, Bettina.â She squeezes my hand again and pulls away.
In my cottage I turn on all the lights. My heart is pounding, and I am far more awake than I should be. Itâs late, Iâm at least halfway drunk, and I should just put myself to bed. But if I do, I know Iâll only lie there and think of Audrey.
Instead, I plug in my laptop, open the manuscript Iâm currently working on. Itâs a sad story of abused children. My stories are always sad. Iâm okay with that. I think I use my writing to work out some of my own issues, even when the particular issues I write about are different from my own. The feelings are the same. Abandonment. Loss. Fear.
I manage to do some editing, write a few paragraphs, but I canât concentrate, and eventually I shut my computer down and get ready for bed. I take a little comfort in my bedtime ritual: brush teeth, floss, wash face, braid hair. I love ritual,love the familiar. It comforts me. I pull on my short cotton nightgown and get under the covers, turning out the light.
Outside, all other sound is obliterated by the surf crashing on the shore. There could be a stampede of elephants out there and I wouldnât hear it. It is almost as if the sound of the ocean insulates me from the world. I love this idea. I only wish it could insulate me from the thoughts inside my own head.
They are all of Audrey.
I have been in a mild state of arousal all evening, and itâs no different now. I force myself to do some yoga breathing, to calm my beating heart. I donât want to masturbate tonight. I donât want to give in. But when I turn over to lie on my stomach, even the mattress pressing into my mound is too much for me, and I canât help but grind my hips into the bed.
Audreyâ¦
Her lips are so damn soft. And tonight she would taste of citrus and tequila as my tongue slides insideâ¦
With a groan, I give up, flop over and pull my vibrator from the nightstand drawer. I coat it in lube. I want it fast and easy tonight. Lying back, I open my legs wide, slip the vibe into my pussy, gasping. No time for any complicated fantasies tonight, just her face, her mouth, as I thrust my hips, taking the vibrator in, then sliding it out, rubbing it against my G-spot while I pinch my clit between my fingers. And soon I am coming, my body shivering with waves of pleasure. Still trembling, I slip the vibe from my wet slit, my body still tense, needy. I press the vibrator to my swollen clit, harder and harder, desire building once more, cresting, my hips pumping. And I come again, more fiercely this time, crying out, challenging the roar of the ocean with my pleasure.
Itâs not enough. And even though I am panting, breathless, my muscles tense and aching, I do it again, holding the vibrator to my clit, shoving two fingers into my pussy, pumping,deeper and deeper. And once more Iâm coming, shaking, my body almost too weak now to ride it out. But I do.
After, I am exhausted, too tired to come again, even though I want to. I want to work this need out of my system. I want to work Audrey out. But I know damn well thatâs not going to happen.
Finally, sleep claims me, and I dream of Audrey,
Finally we reach Vivianeâs house and spill out of the SUV, everyone wandering off to their rooms. Audrey gives my hand a fleeting squeeze, and I hold on a moment when she tries to pull away. She stays there for several seconds, long enough to smile at me, her smoky eyes watching me. I am burning for her, her hand hot in mine. But what can I do about it? I want to send her some mental message: Come with me.
Her brows draw together, as though she almost hears me. Then she says, âGood night, Bettina.â She squeezes my hand again and pulls away.
In my cottage I turn on all the lights. My heart is pounding, and I am far more awake than I should be. Itâs late, Iâm at least halfway drunk, and I should just put myself to bed. But if I do, I know Iâll only lie there and think of Audrey.
Instead, I plug in my laptop, open the manuscript Iâm currently working on. Itâs a sad story of abused children. My stories are always sad. Iâm okay with that. I think I use my writing to work out some of my own issues, even when the particular issues I write about are different from my own. The feelings are the same. Abandonment. Loss. Fear.
I manage to do some editing, write a few paragraphs, but I canât concentrate, and eventually I shut my computer down and get ready for bed. I take a little comfort in my bedtime ritual: brush teeth, floss, wash face, braid hair. I love ritual,love the familiar. It comforts me. I pull on my short cotton nightgown and get under the covers, turning out the light.
Outside, all other sound is obliterated by the surf crashing on the shore. There could be a stampede of elephants out there and I wouldnât hear it. It is almost as if the sound of the ocean insulates me from the world. I love this idea. I only wish it could insulate me from the thoughts inside my own head.
They are all of Audrey.
I have been in a mild state of arousal all evening, and itâs no different now. I force myself to do some yoga breathing, to calm my beating heart. I donât want to masturbate tonight. I donât want to give in. But when I turn over to lie on my stomach, even the mattress pressing into my mound is too much for me, and I canât help but grind my hips into the bed.
Audreyâ¦
Her lips are so damn soft. And tonight she would taste of citrus and tequila as my tongue slides insideâ¦
With a groan, I give up, flop over and pull my vibrator from the nightstand drawer. I coat it in lube. I want it fast and easy tonight. Lying back, I open my legs wide, slip the vibe into my pussy, gasping. No time for any complicated fantasies tonight, just her face, her mouth, as I thrust my hips, taking the vibrator in, then sliding it out, rubbing it against my G-spot while I pinch my clit between my fingers. And soon I am coming, my body shivering with waves of pleasure. Still trembling, I slip the vibe from my wet slit, my body still tense, needy. I press the vibrator to my swollen clit, harder and harder, desire building once more, cresting, my hips pumping. And I come again, more fiercely this time, crying out, challenging the roar of the ocean with my pleasure.
Itâs not enough. And even though I am panting, breathless, my muscles tense and aching, I do it again, holding the vibrator to my clit, shoving two fingers into my pussy, pumping,deeper and deeper. And once more Iâm coming, shaking, my body almost too weak now to ride it out. But I do.
After, I am exhausted, too tired to come again, even though I want to. I want to work this need out of my system. I want to work Audrey out. But I know damn well thatâs not going to happen.
Finally, sleep claims me, and I dream of Audrey,
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