N I N E T E E N
- Avery -
I felt like an addict, poised on the brink of forgetting my hard-won sobriety for one night of reckless abandon with Oliver Harrington. So what if I had to start back at square one tomorrow. It would be worth it just to hear the filth he longed to whisper in my ear. Don’t even get me started on how good it would feel to let him manhandle me.
Not that I was in a hurry to be degraded, but… being wanted by him made me feel more alive than I had in a long time. It was surreal. Normally I’d be turned off by a man being so forward, especially on a first date, but my whole body felt like it was under a spell.
Fortunately, he’d shown Herculean restraint and cut the night short, which was a relief. As much as I longed to be his plaything for the night, there’s no question my judgment felt cloudy. Another five minutes with his pheromones and I was liable to invite him upstairs and suggest he offer me a place to sit.
I poured myself a glass of wine when I got in, and stood at the counter, imagining how it would feel if he stepped up behind me and wrapped his strong body around mine. My heart raced at the thought of his hard-on swelling against my ass, my hips teasing towards him with anticipation. I let my eyes fall shut and slid a hand in my panties, my fingers stretching towards my silky slit, which was so slippery and ready for him it seemed a terrible waste.
God how I wanted his thick fingers to spread me open until my body concentrated around him. I groaned as I coated my aching bud with my need, imagining his hands on my hips and breasts, imagining his infamous tongue between my legs.
I paused my fantasy just long enough to take my drink to the bedroom. As I lay down, I imagined what it would be like to have his large frame hovering over me, his strong hands pushing my dress up and forcing my knees apart.
Then I pulled my vibrator from my bedside drawer and imagined what it would be like to peel his expensive clothes off and drag my fingertips down his chest, what it would feel like to have his eyes on me as he stroked himself.
My need for release made my mouth water, and I touched myself like I was his plaything, my orgasm like a delicate mouse dangling over the jaws of a lion. And when I finally gave in to the wave of pleasure I’d built inside me, it crashed through me hard and fast, driving the air from my lungs like a sucker punch. Afterwards, I lay gasping for breath in a puddle of my own want, his handsome face on the back of my eyelids as I wished he were there, drinking me down like an oyster…
I was still in my dress when I woke up, curled in bed with my vibrator within reach. Guess the evening wiped me out more than I thought. A goofy just-got-laid grin spread across my face, which seemed odd seeing as how I hadn’t actually gotten laid.
It was a remarkable feeling. On one hand, I was proud of myself for not jumping into bed with him even though he’d seduced me on every level. Equally, I was baffled that imaginary sex with Oliver had been so much more fulfilling than the literal sex I’d had with other men.
Was it him? Was it me? Was it them?
I sighed and sat up, feeling smitten down to my toes and happy I’d agreed to go out with him. Not that Grace’s concerns weren’t warranted, but she was wrong. He was a great guy. Charming company. Easy on the eyes. Best of all, he made me feel pretty and smart the entire night. So what if he only did it because he was determined to get in my pants? At least he had the decency and class to try and charm me out of them with riveting conversation instead of plying me with liquor and hoping for the best.
I shuddered at the memory of my old standards and wondered how they got so low. But it didn’t bear thinking about. What mattered was that, thanks to last night, I’d turned a corner.
My phone pinged in my purse and my smitten heart took flight as my bare feet bounded across my apartment to see who it was. Naturally, I hoped it was Oliver, but I should’ve known better. He was too cool to text this soon after a first date. Or maybe he had his hands full, touching himself to thoughts of me. The suggestion made me smile, and I wondered how long I’d be able to keep my cool when my whole body was aching to know if he could deliver on the promise behind that loaded kiss.
As it turned out, the notification was just Grace asking me how the date was, and I was halfway through responding when my mom called.
“Hi Mom.”
“Hi, honey. How you holding up?”
“Good.” Great.
“You captained the ship alright this week?”
I nodded. “I did, much to Grace’s relief.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t come in to try the prize-winning pie yet,” she said. “Putting in the new decking was a… more complicated job than we thought.”
“I can only imagine.” My parents had wildly different project management styles, and I was well accustomed to watching the hanging of a single picture frame become a full DIY adventure. Usually, the trouble stemmed from the fact that my mom was a measure twice, cut once kind of girl and my dad was a measure once, watch six YouTube videos, measure again for good measure, and then cut twice sort of builder. “But don’t worry. Something tells me that pie will be on the menu for the foreseeable.”
“Oh good. That will be a nice way to celebrate getting this job done.”
“How close are you guys?”
Silence filled the phone line, and I pictured my mom staring out the back window at the mess. “We’re choosing staining.”
“I thought you already did that.”
“Me, too, but your father got a bunch of samples so we could be doubly sure.”
“How many samples?”
“Let’s put it this way,” she said. “I could’ve died happy not knowing how many choices there were.”
“Why does he overcomplicate things like that?”
She sighed. “I like to pretend it’s because he enjoys spending time with me.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Though I read an article recently that made me question if he’s neurodivergent in some way.”
I bit back a smile, forever amused by their fascination with each other’s quirks. My dad was the same, endlessly tolerant of my mom’s Christmas decorating disease and inability to resist those machines that press pennies into souvenir coins. They were weirdos on their own, no doubt, but together, they were wonderful.
“Anyway, I’m calling because I met someone I think you should go out with.”
My chest seized.
“You remember my friend, Meg? The one with the freckles whose son is a chiropractor?”
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurted.
“Oh?”
It wasn’t really a lie. If I only met Oliver once, it would be “saw.” But we’d met three times. That counts as seeing, right?
“Is it serious?”
“Yes and no.”
Her wide eyes were audible.
“I wouldn’t say it’s serious, but if he went out with someone else, I’d be disappointed.” I didn’t realize it was true until I said it. But it was. I liked Oliver Harrington, and I didn’t want to share him. On the contrary, I wanted to investigate his every appetite and satisfy every last one of them.
Hell, maybe that leash would come in handy.