Chapter 13
LILY
TWO WEEKS AGO
“Good night, Lil,” Anderson murmurs, already half turning away, his breath already evening out with sleep.
“Night. Love you.”
His response comes in the form of soft snores.
And my frustration.
My body still aches, still wants, that orgasm. But instead it just simmers with sexual frustration and the need to sate it.
He did try tonight. I’ll give him credit.
Half-hearted touches were better than none at all.
His rhythm is simply too practiced, too .
. . scripted. I’d tried harder too. To find a spark somewhere in the dark.
To do something a bit more spontaneous only to be told his knees hurt when we do doggy style and can we just do it like normal?
Normal.
As in it’s normal for me not to come. Again.
I was close though. Closer than I have been in a while because I was so damn excited he’d tried. There was even a few kisses mixed in there that added fuel to my fire.
But then just as quickly as I felt it building, it was gone.
And before I could build it back up, he was finished.
He tried though, Lily. You talked about kissing and he kissed you. At least not all hope is lost. At least you know he heard you. At least he tried something.
I stare at the ceiling and debate whether to slide a hand between my thighs and finish myself off. Is it sad the thought exhausts me more than excites me?
Maybe the romance books are wrong. Maybe women don’t come every time. Maybe multiple orgasms in one night are a fantasy dreamed up to sell sizzle and excitement. Maybe it’s only fiction. Something to bring heat for a few exciting pages, luxuriating in never-experienced ecstasy.
Maybe Anderson is right—maybe I’ve let those stories skew my expectations beyond what’s possible.
Maybe it’s me who expects too much.
And yet . . . a part of me still hopes.
Italy will be different. Foreign skies. New experiences. No time constraints. Maybe we’ll find that passion again. Maybe he’ll throw me onto the bed and assert his dominance over me.
Keep hoping, Lily.