21. Anne
21
ANNE
I ’m drinking my coffee in the office break room, deep in my thoughts, when a deep male voice startles me. “Morning.”
“Shoot,” I respond, wiping the coffee I spilled on the small round table.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Matt chuckles.
“No, it’s OK. I just barely slept last night, so my focus isn’t great.”
“You good?” His green eyes watch me apprehensively while I do my best impression of a confident nod.
Last night was torture. Matt probably thinks I’m still moping around, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
No, the thoughts possessing me last night had nothing to do with my idiot of an ex and everything to do with the na?ve arrangement Lennox and I made. I thought we would make love, he’d show me a good time, we’d repeat that a couple of times, and voila—I’d be ready to continue my quest of finding the one .
Instead, I got homework.
I always dreaded homework, expecting the teacher thinking the worst of what I did, and this time isn’t any different.
What if I try and find out I’m bad at it? Can you even be bad at masturbating?
Well, I definitely am so far.
Subtly shaking my head, I turn my gaze on Matt, who is placing his and Natalie’s lunches in the fridge.
“What did you make for today?” I ask him.
“Peanut chicken protein bowls.” He smiles.
He learns new recipes, making them lunch every single day, and it’s sickeningly cute.
“Booo.” I wave him off, making him laugh.
“You’ll find that one day, too.”
I doubt it, but there’s no time to focus on that. Rather, I need to focus on freaking out about my homework.
And freak out I did. I enter my building, a brisk walk away from the office, still wound up. He said he’ll give me instructions, but he’s been MIA the whole day.
I thought about texting him, but what would I even say? Please let me know how to pleasure myself?
My ears start to burn, no matter the fact it was just my inner thought.
Is that what I’m supposed to do? Maybe that gets him off? I shouldn’t have spent the evening looking over the checklist of kinks he had at his place, imagining him doing every single one.
Knowing every single item on it came as a surprise, but maybe it shouldn’t, taking into consideration how many dark romance books I consume. Still, reading about it and doing it are two vastly different things.
Getting to my door, I almost smack my face straight into it, bumping into something on my doorstep.
It’s a box. A pretty big box. With zero markings on it.
My stomach twists, nerves getting the best of me as I bring the box into the apartment, pushing it next to my couch.
Sitting down, I carefully open the box as if I’m detonating a bomb.
This might as well be a bomb, and I’m a na?ve dumbass opening it.
Taking a huge breath, I pop the lid open, finding multiple boxes inside. On top of it, a note lays.
Instructions
I need you to try these out. On Sunday, I’ll call you and you’ll give me the reviews for every single one, along with the time it took you to come with it. All the ‘extra-curriculars’ are up to you. Have fun.
L
My heartbeat picks up, the knot in my stomach replaced by a flock of raging butterflies. Still detonating a bomb, I take out the smaller boxes.
They’re all… sex toys.
My mouth turns dry as I stare at the assortment of vibrators.
What the heck have I gotten myself into?
Sunday. He said I have until Sunday. It’s Thursday today, which means I have three days until my homework needs to be done.
Three days and there are… one, two, three, four sex toys in here.
I’m not one to curse, but, “Shit.”
I guess I could do a marathon on the weekend, but he wants me to orgasm with each one. Is it even possible to orgasm more than one time in a day?
I know in theory it is, but I don’t think my body is capable of it.
No, the safe bet would be to start today.
OK, Anne. You can do it. You’ll grab the biggest glass you have, fill it with gin and get to work. You won ’ t be a disappointment on the very first task you got.
I go through motions of showering, rushing to get this thing over with. I fill a huge wine glass with gin, down half of it for courage, and head to my bedroom.
Bedroom? I turn around, debating if the living room would be sexier? One glance at my couch makes me remember how the sheet barely covered Lennox’s groin when he slept here, and it’s an easy decision from there.
Getting comfortable on the couch, I grab the box with the toy I chose for today. It’s something called the clitoral stimulator and somehow, it looks the least threatening.
It’s pink and cute, but it still makes me nervous. I untie my fluffy bathrobe, tentatively pressing the toy to my clitoris. Taking a deep breath, I press the ‘on’ button.
“Shoot.”
My hips jump up, the toy falling from my hand. This was… uncomfortable. How does he expect me to orgasm with this?
Getting the box the toy came in, I start reading the instructions.
‘Add a liberal amount of personal lubricant for the smoothest experience.’
“Oh… oh.” I delve into the big box, noticing a penis shaped bottle of lube. This time, I read instructions to the end. Turns out, there are multiple settings and intensities.
I set the intensity to lowest, coating the toy with lube before trying again.
This time, as soon as I place it on my clit, tingles shoot up my spine, my nipples tightening to pebbles.
“Fuuuck,” I mutter out. So, this is how he plans for me to orgasm.