Page 46 of Our Sadie

That’s why I like to stay occupied with some endeavor or another. Too much time to just think is never a healthy activity for me.

“What was that?” Zach asks me, but I haven’t even been paying attention to him.

“Excuse me?”

“That look. Did someone call off Christmas or something?”

Christmas. There’s a topic that’s not my fave. Neither is the other date that occurs this month, one that’s fast approaching. Why does December have to suck so bad?

I deliberately separate from my date and travel toward the open cubbies where Maxine has provided freshly washed towels. I hang my dripping tankini on a nearby rack, then seize a folded towel to dry off with. It’s fluffy, white, and smells like the floral laundry detergent Max has always used, just like I knew it would.

Surreptitiously, I bury my nose in the Egyptian cotton and give it a strong whiff. I love that scent. The familiarity of it. The feelings of safety it elicits in me, and I find the strength to gather myself together again. Smoothing out my features, I hitch that mask of equilibrium over my face, then don my clothing again sans any undergarments.

Well, that was shortsighted of me. I should’ve brought a bra and panties to replace my suit.

Unwilling to let any additional weakness show, I think about how it felt to engage in those games earlier. Zach is a fun guy and remembering our antics makes the corners of my mouth lift without effort.

Also, he’s standing there in all his nude glory, one hand gripping his discarded jeans, scrutinizing me. An impish question pops into my mind, one I hope will remove that solicitous look from his eye.

“You getting dressed?” I challenge him. “Or are you planning to demonstrate to the others just how well-endowed you are?”

He is well-endowed. Zach’s length is above average, but it’s the thick and bulbous head of him, even now protruding outwards despite him already finding his pleasure, that stands out. He has so much girth that I felt every single inch of him as he entered me. Like Dom, he’s been circumcised, too, and I wonder if that head would be even bigger if he hadn’t been.

The overprotective air he’s been projecting disappears as a smirk extends across his face, one side of his mouth bunching up. He likes that compliment. Oh, yes.

He’s giving me a blatant up and down as if remembering the parts of me I’ve just covered, then blinks as if someone shined a spotlight into his eyes.

“You’re trying to distract me.”

Maybe. Not that I’ll admit it.

“If you want to traipse around here in nothing but your skin, that’s fine by me.” I pinpoint that substantial part of him, meaning it as a tease to get his goat, but I can’t help but caught up by his overall shape.

Seriously, this man is hung.

He makes a huffing noise that sounds equal parts of amused and annoyed but commences to don his attire. Point for me. Though, if I’m keeping up with how things are going so far, his score’s definitely higher than mine. Especially considering that orgasm he gave me.

Goddamn.

And then there’s the running tally for all the guys, one that’s become informal and too flawed to be accurate. Because as much as my analytical brain wants everything to be cut and dried, these men are human beings, so nothing’s that simple.

A lot of it is due to them being so different from one another yet wonderful in his own way. Dom and his dirty talk. Jerome with his blindfold and bindings. Zach with his lightheartedness and sense of play.

Each has been tender with me. Each has been tolerant of my appearance. And each has been fucking exceptional in the lovemaking department. Not that they’re likely to refer to our times together as lovemaking. I’m sure sex is just sex to them.

Especially considering that they’re providing it as a service to me as their client.

But now isn’t the time to take measurements and assessments because we’re about to enter the arcade. I brace myself, although I can’t determine why I need to. The Starlight Chalet is full to the brim with memories from my past.

Yet perhaps this room carries the most significance for me.

Because Mom didn’t care for video games, she left Dad and I alone in here. And without her, we could goof off with impunity. My dad and I would go head-to-head on the two-player consoles and plug our initials into the ones that were single-play. But while our competition was fierce, it wasn’t as cutthroat. He and I would actually enjoy ourselves while here.

Dad’s the one who taught me about having a good time with an opponent, even while smack-talking them in the next breath. Yet Mom... Well, she approached every minor rivalry with so much venom that it took all the fun out of it.

Not that she was some horrible person.

I don’t even think she meant to be cruel. She used to say she was hard on me because she wanted me to be at my best. There were lots of times I consumed her criticisms like fuel to improve myself. And she’s the one who openly bragged about me to anyone who’d listen, whether it be her colleagues or our family friends.

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