Chapter 9 Aurora #2
Mabel chuckles, but then the distance between our bodies shrinks.
Despite my thoughts from just moments earlier, this proximity brings no excitement.
It’s all wrong. She smells like orange blossom and something muskier.
Not the fun and flirty gardenia and fruit blend I’ve come to associate with her.
No. This is a sexy smell. Sensual. It clouds the thoughts in my head until I can feel my heartbeat in my temples.
“Look...I trust you, okay? I do. But Kat wants me to make absolute certain you aren’t going to tell anyone about this.”
“Kat?” I open my eyes and fix them on her face, but her smudged lipstick makes me wince, so I look away again. “Kat Hughes? Your girlfriend is Kat Hughes?”
As I say the name, my mind sharpens the blurry parts of the memory.
Slender and lithe. Sharp angles and elegance.
My shoulders fall. Of course. She’s a supermodel.
Mabel’s dating a supermodel, and for some reason, I find this news even more wrenching than the scene of them making out.
I reach for the pendant of my necklace and rub the worn metal disc with my thumb.
I can’t remember the last time I was this uncomfortable.
“Yeah. And like I said before, it’s important that it doesn’t make it to the press.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone, Mabel.” I make eye contact and hold it, careful not to look at the way her lipstick is smudged over her full lips. “I promise. It’s not my secret to share.”
Mabel’s eyes bounce between mine, searching for the truth in my words. When she finds what she’s looking for, she nods.
“Look, I’m really sorry. I know we had plans, but I wasn’t expecting Kat to show up. It was a surprise, so—”
“It’s fine. I understand.”
“Rain check?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She nods once, her expression tight, and I can tell she feels bad. She shouldn’t, though. That’s her girlfriend. Of course she should cancel on me. Of course she should be with her. I know this. I know, but I can’t fend off the disappointment.
Then she gives me a fake smile and nods in the direction of the dressing room. “Do you want to come back? I can introduce you. Kat’s nice when she’s not screaming get the fuck out. I promise.”
I choke out a laugh. Her suggestion sounds about as appealing as cuddling with a cactus.
“I’m actually going to go back to the hotel. I’m not feeling well.”
Her jaw ticks. “Is that the truth?”
I glance away. I don’t answer her, but I don’t walk back on my statement, either. Mabel sighs.
“Okay. I really am sorry, Aurora.”
“Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t say it if you weren’t.”
I wish I could read whatever emotion passes over her face. She pauses as if she’s considering saying something else, but then she changes her mind. She gives me another small, fake smile and shrugs.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
I jerk out one more nod, return her tight, forced smile, then head back the way I came. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground in front of me, despite the pull to stare at the closed door of the dressing room suite as I pass by.
I try to keep my cool the whole way back to the hotel, but the images keep circling. The gasps. The laughter. The smudged lipstick. The scent. I press my thighs together as my head swims. I don’t know what I’m feeling. Jealousy? Anger? Disappointment?
Something else?
I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts from my mind, but they don’t budge. They just circle faster.
“Are you all right, Ms. Sinclair?”
“Yes. Just a headache.”
My voice comes out weak, and he turns to look at me. “Do you need a medic?”
“No. No. Just sleep, thank you.”
We make the rest of the drive in silence, and by the time I get to my room, my entire body is flushed and hot. I lock the door and pace the room, running my fingers through my hair.
“Stop it. Stop it.”
But I can’t stop. I see their arms tangled. I see her hands grasping and tugging. I see their lips locked, and then my imagination goes rogue. I hear moans and gasps that never happened. I see roaming hands I never witnessed.
I see me.
Me in Kat’s place. Me wrapped up with Mabel. My lips. My gasps. My skin.
My breasts are heavy. My core aches. I’m buzzing with an energy I’ve never felt before.
My clit and nipples are so sensitive that even my cotton underwear feels tight.
My heart thuds rapidly. Each inhale shakes with need.
My body feels alive. I’m aroused, but it’s more than that. This pressing, insistent need.
Desire, I realize. This must be desire, and it’s completely foreign to me.
I can’t be feeling this now. Not with her. I have a husband. I should be feeling this with my husband. Why, why, why have I never felt this with him? With anyone?
I shake my head again. I try to force it away. But I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
And then I realize that I don’t want to.
Quickly, as if this moment is a forbidden, stolen thing, I pull off my strapless dress, then drop my bra to the floor beside it.
I cup my aching breasts with trembling hands and brush my thumbs over my nipples.
I whimper, the sound barely audible, but I swear it echoes in the darkness.
I slide one hand into my panties and gasp at the wetness I find there.
There’s a twinge of shame, of embarrassment, and then it’s gone.
Incinerated by this pressing, heady need.
Without a second thought, I climb into bed and crawl under the duvet.
Safely under the covers, I waste no time returning my hand between my legs, and the moment I brush my clit, my whole body shudders.
“Oh God,” I gasp out, then I do it again.
Tentative, soft touches, exploring myself in a way I haven’t in years. Only in my mind, it’s not my hand.
It’s Mabel’s.
I watch, eyes shut and mouth agape, as her delicate fingers rub my clit. Her short, glittery black-painted fingernails sparkle as she moves over me. As she glides lower and swipes through me. As she pulses at my entrance.
“Oh, God,” I cry again, my hips bucking, fingers slipping into my pussy just a little. “Oh my God.”
I squeeze my breast, pinch my nipple, then dip my right hand into my panties to rub my clit as my left sinks into my wet, aching pussy. I writhe on the bed. The duvet tangles around my legs, and I imagine it’s Mabel’s legs instead.
Her thighs and calves wrapped with mine. Her mouth on my skin. Her fingers thrusting into my pussy, rubbing at my clit, making my muscles shake with the impending release.
My body bows when I come, and I choke out a strangled, almost silent moan. I’m sweating and panting. The bedsheets beneath my ass are wet with my cum. My pussy throbs with the hot blood coursing through my veins. I’m floating, floating, floating.
And then I crash.
My muscles tighten, the shame returning with a vicious vengeance, and I want to be swallowed up by the mattress. I want to disappear.
I just masturbated to Mabel Rossi.
I’m married. I’m in love with Brady. I’m not into Mabel. I’m not. But I just masturbated with her face in my mind and her name on my breath, and my orgasm was so strong I saw white.
“Oh God.”
Once more, my whispered words echo in the darkness.
But this time, all I hear is dread.