98. Ruinous
RUINOUS
LIVY
I roll over and grab my phone.
Me: Today was … everything.
Me: I should say nice. Or wonderful or whatever, but I’d rather be honest. Especially if it’s not something we can repeat. Besides, I don’t lie.
Me: You being here. Protecting me and keeping me safe. That nap. The orgasms. The connection. The conversation. Watching your playfulness overwhelm your seriousness. Today was everything. Thank you.
Me: And not in the way I just thanked you for sex, because that’s weird. But in the thank you for today—for everything type of way.
No reply.
It’s been hours, and there’s been zero reply. Not even a thumbs-up. That’s the very least he could do.
He says he wants to know, but radio silence is a cold slap in the face. At least the sex was good.
Good.
Good Lord. Good doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Phenomenal.
Glorious.
Ruinous.
He’s long and thick, and I can still feel where he stretched me. That soreness is evidence he enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed him.
He was a great way to get back on the horse since it’s been a while for me.
His growls, intensity, raw desire, and pure sexuality.
On second thought, maybe he was the worst way to get back on the horse. The clear ownership of my body, that visceral desire for me, his possession … he wasn’t lying when he said he’d embarrass other men after him.
How anyone else will compare is beyond me.
I flip the phone face down and roll onto my belly. Sleep is close, and after last night, I really need to catch up. I hitch up a leg and burrow under the covers.
But thinking of Layton Ranger creates more of an ache where one already exists.
I try to ignore it, but the desire only gets stronger. I reach between my legs, finding myself wet, and strum my clit.
I picture his grin when he finished eating me.
I see his eyes as he watched our connection.
I remember his face when he entered me. I hear his whispered words when he slid home when we were spooning and the deliberate pull as we had lazy, slow, pulsing sex.
I feel his heat stretch me and envelop me.
My body explodes as I come from my own fingers. That’s a distant second for sure. Layton is the best I’ll ever have, and now I freaking know what I can never have.
Layton
Confusion.
Flashing reds.
Shouts.
Whirring sirens.
Wetness oozing.
Metal crunching on metal.
Cold air.
Hot lights.
Voices.
Darkness clawing.
Numbness.
Screaming pain.
Life slipping.
… Blackness wins.