Chapter 7
SEVEN
By the time we finished dinner, my feet were throbbing worse than if we’d been walking around Disneyland all day.
But our evening wasn’t finished yet. Tonight was the big party the con hosted for the guests.
The theme was to come dressed as your alter ego.
By trade I was a pediatric nurse. I wore teddy bear scrubs and earrings that correlated with whatever holiday season we were in.
Tonight, there wasn’t going to be a single wholesome thing about what I wore.
I laid my costume out on my bed and scrutinized every inch.
The sexy nurse outfit was perilously short. All my cellulite would be exposed and half my ass, too. But being here, with my friends, and among people who only judged you by the content in your book stack, I felt liberated.
No one was going to be looking at the dimples in my thighs anyway.
All eyes would be on my breasts, which would be shoved up to the heavens.
Yazmine always said they were one of my greatest assets so I might as well bless the world with them.
Alanzo would have turned red in the face like a baby getting his first shots if he saw me like this when we were married.
He would have told me I was an embarrassment of a wife and mother.
Even the way I dressed normally pissed him off.
He had loved my body in my tight jeans and low-cut shirts when we dated, but when we got married, everything changed.
He became possessive. Domineering. The body he loved became something he thought he owned.
He didn’t want me going out of our house unless my curves were hidden behind bulky sweaters.
What a loser. I couldn’t believe I stayed with him for so long.
I grabbed my costume and started for the bathroom but stopped when I caught my reflection in the standing mirror.
I’d always been thick naturally, always had more curves than I knew what to do with.
What a shame that I’d wasted years of my life not being able to fully explore my wants and needs, and how to make myself come, all because I thought my body belonged to my husband. Maybe now it was time I learned.
Gazing at myself, I unzipped my pants and slowly drew them downward. I pulled my t-shirt over my head and took off my sports bra. My breasts hung freely, full and round, not exactly like they were when I was younger, but still alluring. My nipples perked from the chill of the whirring AC.
Slowly, timidly, I slid my hands over my stomach and toward my breasts. I cupped their heaviness within my grasp and ran my thumbs around my nipples. The tiniest pulse of need flared between my thighs.
Desperate to fan the flames of that delicious sensation, I imagined the Mexica warrior bursting into my room. His strong, calloused hands groping and kneading my breasts. His hot tongue lapping over my rock-hard nipples.
“Yes,” I moaned to my imaginary lover.
One of my hands slid down the length of my body until I found the apex of my thighs. I was already slick with liquid heat at the thought of such a strong, lithe man desperate for me. I closed my eyes and groaned as I rubbed my clit, imagining his hot tongue doing the most devious things to me.
“Yes,” I whispered, grinding against my own hand. “Yes.”
Yes.
My eyes shot open. That third yes hadn’t come from me.
I whirled around, my breasts jiggling.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
But I was completely alone.
My stomach dipped to my toes when I noticed the warrior figurine standing on the desk. I sure as hell didn’t put him there. I’d left him in the book cart before rushing out to meet the girls for dinner.
Frowning, I gave him a second look. His body was positioned differently than I remembered.
When I first saw him, his fingers were wrapped around a spear and his other hand was flexed by his side.
Now, that flexed hand had moved, and it clutched his thick dick through his loincloth.
I blinked hard, willing my vision to find its way back to reality, yet his positioning remained.
“What in the actual hell?” I stepped closer to him. Maybe his arms were movable. Maybe one of the girls did this as a prank. My eyes slipped to the outline of his dick. It was huge for his size.
My phone buzzed on the bed. I yelped at the intrusion.
Book Sluts Group Chat
Katie
Meet you at the rooftop bar in 15.
Yazmine
It’s closed for refurbishments, but the lobby bar is open. I’m here now.
I winced. I was absolutely going to be late.
My attention snapped back to the warrior. To my . . . relief? Confusion? Gratitude? The figurine’s positioning had gone back to the way I remembered it.
Exhaling, I relaxed my shoulders. Apparently, my imagination was a bit too transportive. Katie always said I should try writing because of how good I was at making up scenarios in my head. Maybe she was onto something.
The clock on the bedside table blinked at me. Fourteen minutes until I needed to meet my girls. Maybe I could try to get myself off first? I didn’t think I could. Besides, I hadn’t had an orgasm in so damn long that I didn’t want my first time diving back into the climax pool to be rushed.
I found myself in the mirror and winked.
“Don’t worry, girl. You’ll get yours somehow, someway this weekend.”
I cleaned myself up and threw on a fresh coat of ruby red lipstick.
When I had dressed, I sat on the bed, facing the warrior.
His dark eyes watched me intently. God, I wished I had a life-size version of him in my room at that very moment.
I didn’t want a new man in my life. I wasn’t sure if I ever would.
But I did want real hands roaming over my body.
I wanted to feel the warmth of a real dick throbbing inside me, hitting spots that even a giant dildo would miss.
Sliding on fishnets that gave me a heathenish sort of confidence, I kept my eyes on the figurine. Had I not known better, I would have sworn his gaze darkened hungrily.
“You like what you see?” I spread my legs for him to get the full view of my lacy red thong. “I bet you want a taste.”
He said nothing, of course. But I felt like a damn vixen all the same.