27. Sage
SAGE
The meeting is with myself.
It’s a conference with my conscience.
Because what the hell did I just do?
I can’t even answer in my own head.
I’m still shocked. Still in a state of disbelief. Perhaps there are two versions of me.
I leave The Invitation and ask the valet to call a cab.
The uniformed man nods crisply, blows a whistle, and yanks open the door of the taxi when it pulls up. “Have a good evening, Ms. Carmichael.”
“Thank you,” I say, shutting it behind me, putting my phone on silent, sliding it into my purse, and clutching that to my lap.
“Where can I take you?”
I give the man an address. One I rarely go to.
But this evening, I feel compelled.
The sun dips toward the horizon as the cab speeds out of the portico, onto the Strip, then quickly away from it. Tugging me from the epicenter of my world as I stare out the window, a strange mix of doubt and self-loathing brewing in me.
The car cruises past familiar landmarks, along streets I know, past stores, libraries, shops. The cocktail of feelings in me grows stronger, the emotions whirring higher as we drive toward the suburbs.
My stomach churns.
My chest twists.
And my mind hurts.
When at last the driver reaches my destination, I hand him a fifty, thank him, and get out of the car.
I draw a deep breath, gulping for air. Setting a hand on my belly, I walk into the park. The one I know from my childhood. The place where I came when I was younger. There’s the bench where my father read to me, and where I read out loud back to him, proud to show off my skills.
I reach the green wooden bench, sink down onto it, and hold my head in my hands.
Is this who I’ve become?
Is this the brilliant for brilliant woman?
Did my parents want this for me?
Casting my eyes to the playground, I toss questions around in my head as nearby school children climb slides and totter on seesaws.
What kind of woman lets two men fuck her?
In. A. Row.
One after the other.
I tear my gaze away from the kids, close my eyes, and try to understand myself. Since I met Cole and Daniel, I’ve been on a wild ride, gaining reckless speed, picking up crazy momentum.
Not thinking.
Just feeling.
Doing.
Taking.
I’ve been fucking.
That’s what I’ve been doing.
Fucking and indulging.
And then justifying.
That’s why I left. Why I exited faster than I entered.
Because my actions slammed into me after my third orgasm cleared, after the haze of bliss drifted away.
I’m a woman who’s been acting on every impulse, indulging in every sexual whim.
I’ve had two men. Within mere minutes.
A shudder rushes through my body.
“Damn you,” I mutter, cursing my libido.
But the shudder doesn’t stop.
It turns into a tingle as images taunt me. Daniel’s cock pushing into my throat. Cole’s fingers traveling between my legs. My body aching for them both.
The orgasms we had. Daniel’s. Mine. Cole’s.
Then mine again.
And one more time as they took turns.
They. Took. Turns.
And I wanted them to.
My pulse surges, spiking in me, as the temperature rises.
And I want them again.
But the trouble is, I don’t know how to be this person.
If I even can. If this is who I was raised to be. Does a woman who everyone knows, who the town respects, who oversees boards, who signs checks, who gives, who cares, who loves . . . also get down on her knees for two men?
I raise my face, snap open my purse, and fish around for my phone.
When I grab it, I dial one person.
The one person I need to see right now.