Page 58 of Love Like Lightning

I slap my hand over my mouth but still can’t seem to move my feet. Henry’s hand stops moving, and his eyes fly open and collide with mine.

That’s when my body finally cooperates. I spin in place and scurry away like a little field mouse caught in the sights of a predator.

I hear him scrambling in his room, and I make it to the front door, then freeze.

Do I leave? Just run away and hope that maybe he didn’t see me? Should I stay?

And what? Try to justify effectively breaking into his home and watching him jack off? That’ll go well.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Making my decision, I pull the door open and leave.

Back in my room at the bed and breakfast, I hop in the shower and turn it on as hot as I can handle it. With steam pluming all around me, I close my eyes and stand under the steady stream of water.

I don’t know if this will wash away what I just witnessed or what, but I need the shower.

Flashes of what I just witnessed play on the back of my eyelids, and my eyes fly open. What I did at Henry’s apartment is so wrong.

So fucking wrong that my nipples pebble and I my press thighs together. So wrong that my hand snakes its way down my body, and my fingers slide against my clit.

I move my fingers lightly against myself, moaning into the rush of the water around me. Closing my eyes against the languid pleasure spreading through me, I can’t stop thinking about Henry. It doesn’t take long before I’m hurtling toward an orgasm, and all I can think is that I wish Henry was here giving it to me himself.

Nope. Not doing this.

Ripping my hand away, I clench both hands in fists at my side. Teetering on the edge of an orgasm, I stop everything and move through my usual shower routine quickly. I get out of the shower as fast as possible, and once I’m dried off, I focus on the task of blow-drying my hair. With the noise right in my ear, I don’t have to think too hard about anything.

By the time my hair is smoothed out and dry, I conclude that the rest of my day will be dedicated to work.

Numbers don’t confuse me. Numbers definitely don’t moan my name.

I can trust myself when I’m dealing with numbers.

Grabbing my laptop, I bring it over to my bed and get settled under the covers. I prop my laptop onto a pillow and pull up a few documents I need to comb through. Before I can even think about zoning out, I hear my phone ping. I plan to ignore it and check it later, but then it goes off again.

Grumbling to myself, I lean over and snatch it up from the bedside table. When I see Henry’s name, my whole body tenses. He’s texted no less than five times.

Henry: Are you okay?

Henry: Were you just in my apartment?

Henry: Well, I certainly hope it was you and not Betty or Hank.

Henry: I promise I’m not mad or anything, but could you let me know? Because now I’m worried Betty saw all that…

Henry: Are you @ the B&B?

I start to type out a response, then delete it, then try again. Just as I come up with something that might not be completely embarrassing, I hear a knock at my door. Panic rips through me, and I throw my phone onto my bed like it’s burned my hand.

If that’s who I think it is at the door, there’s no way I can face him. Not right now. Not when it’s abundantly clear, he’s not going to just forget what happened.

Another knock sounds through the room, this time paired with a voice.

“Hey, Gia? You in there?” Henry’s muffled voice filters into the room.

I can’t reply. Even if I wanted to, my vocal cords seize up, and I slam my eyes shut. Embarrassment and a healthy dose of shame floods my body.

“Listen, if you are, I really do need to know if that was you or Betty.” He tries to joke, but I don’t laugh.

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