Chapter 22
Fact or Fiction?
My vibrator is judging me.
Addison
“Luke,” I whisper-sigh into my pillow as I hover over top of my vibrator and thrust into it, wishing it was a dildo for the first
time in my life.
Normally, I’m a clitoral stimulation girlie through and through, so vibrators are my jam. But right now, all I want is to
feel Luke Fletcher inside of me, hard and punishing as he rocks into me over and over as he grips my neck and calls me a good
girl for taking his big, aching cock so deep.
“Luke, don’t stop,” I squeak quietly into the softness of my pillow as I feel another orgasm crest. It’s wild how just saying
his name out loud makes me even hornier. “Luke, I’m going to—”
I gasp when my vibrator cuts out and I ram it against my flesh in the hope it’ll somehow be revived by my impending orgasm.
Unfortunately, my climax isn’t some sort of mythical power source, so I pull it out from under me to confirm what I fear.
It’s completely dead.
With a frustrated growl, I toss it onto my nightstand and wince when it bounces against the lamp and drops to the floor, sending
an ear-piercing crack echoing through the room.
“Shit.” I lean over the bed, my hair dusting the floor as I scoop up the loose batteries. I attempt to slide them back in,
but notice the back is cracked and now the damn thing won’t stay closed.
“Motherfucker,” I growl again, chucking the whole damn thing at the wall in frustration, only for it to break into even more pieces all over the floor.
I flop back and cover my face in shame. “Breaking vibrators? You are embarrassing yourself, Addison May Monroe.” I roll over
onto my stomach, burying myself in my pillow.
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve used that godforsaken thing in the past eight hours. It was at least three times throughout
the night. And another three times this morning.
And the sun has barely risen.
I swear even Rufus was judging me because he crowed longer today than he usually does, and I think it’s because he knew what
I was doing in here like a wanton little hussy.
Ugh. I’m gross.
But no matter how many orgasms I have, I can’t scratch the itch. The ache. I can’t find the spot that gives me the release
I need to feel like I can breathe normally again.
If only I could stop replaying that kiss. Where the hell has that Luke Fletcher been hiding all these years? All this time
he could kiss like that and just . . . didn’t?
I suppose he did. He kissed other girls. Girls that were not me. Girls whose faces I want to fucking claw at just the notion
of him giving them what he just gave me. Looking at them the way he looked at me. Fuck those fucking bitches.
But this is nonsensical. I can’t be jealous of Luke’s past. I can’t lay claim to Luke any further than I already have. I’ve
already asked him to marry me and give up a year of his life for Chrissake.
Now I’m considering the idea of letting him kiss me anywhere he wants.
My thighs squeeze together as an image of Luke’s face between my legs plays for the twentieth time in the past eight hours.
I roll my hips into my mattress, thrusting my aching clit into the bed as I imagine my fingers slicing through Luke’s shaggy locks, squeezing at the roots.
Riding his face bareback like he’s my own personal stallion.
Jesus fucking Christ, I’m doomed.
And sleep? Forget about it. I’m used to rarely sleeping but last night was bad even for me. I maybe dozed for an hour?
I would have got up to make bread to do something more productive than overuse my broken-ass vibrator, but I was too terrified
of running into Luke. How am I going to look him in the eye after knowing I defiled myself all night long picturing him. My
friend.
My best friend.
But he’s also my husband, which is what I told myself over and over again when I came. And came. And came. There are worse
things to do than masturbate to your husband, right?
Only, I shouldn’t keep thinking of Luke as my husband. He’s my roommate. You can’t take advantage of your roommate just because
he makes you extremely horny, right? Not to mention he’s already giving me so much by guaranteeing my future with the lumberyard.
I have to get control of myself.
I groan into my pillow as my bladder screams for relief. I’m embarrassed to admit that I considered peeing in my trash can
just to avoid him. But that’s ridiculous. And disgusting. I have to be an adult about this.
I stare at myself in the mirror, swiping half-heartedly at my smeared makeup. “Go pee, Addison. You can handle yourself in
front of Luke. Just march out there and if you see him, act like nothing happened. Because obviously if Luke had feelings
for you, like real feelings, he would have told you years ago. That’s why he stopped the kiss last night. He doesn’t like
you like that.
“Not to mention you don’t like him like that either!
You aren’t a relationship girlie. You aren’t a marriage or babies girlie.
You are a lumberyard-owning badass who knows her emotional limits and you’re not about to ruin the relationship you have with your best friend just to get your fucking rocks off on his cute little mustache. ”
Steeling myself, I take a deep breath in and swing my door open, ready to seize the day. When I step out to a quiet cabin,
I can’t help but look around, wondering where he is.
Still sleeping maybe. He is a normal human who sleeps normal hours. Of course he’s asleep. It’s not even seven in the morning
on a Sunday. He’s getting some well-earned rest.
So, I pad across the hardwood floor, my heart racing until I close myself into my bathroom and drop down onto the toilet to
take care of business. I rake a hand through my hair and exhale heavily. “One week of marriage down, only fifty-one more to
go.”
How many new vibrators I’m going to need to get through that many weeks is TBD.