Page 18 of The Lottery

A moan escapes my lips. I bite down, letting my mind continue to wander.

His fingers aren’t enough. I want his mouth between my legs. His tongue sliding up and down, circling the spot that sends shivers through my limbs. I want to shake under the skill of his mouth. And then…

Oh God.

I want to feel all of him inside me.

I want to lose myself in his cobalt eyes as he thrusts into me, hard and fast. So deep.

I ride the edge of that wave of bliss for as long as I can, my imagination conjuring up everything I can remember about Marek.

The way he smells like smoke and pine and midnight under the moon.

The way his eyes pierce me.

The way his body felt against mine when he carried me to safety.

My mind supplies the details I cannot conjure from memory.

The way his lips taste as I slide my tongue between them.

The way his hand feels cupping the mound between my legs.

The way he feels inside of me.

Oh yes.

I circle my finger, pressing my thighs together, my eyes squeezed closed as I grasp for the release my body craves.

I hold onto Marek, and it is his eyes I see when I finally find my release and my muscles contract, sending waves of pleasure through me.

I ride those waves, effortless, floating.

And in the height of that release I swear I hear a grunt in the shower next to me.

It could be anything, of course. The walls aren’t so thin that I can hear every word or sound.

All the same, I can’t help but hope he was stroking himself and thinking of me as well.

It’s a childish thought, born of whimsy and madness, but I’m allowed the privacy of my mind, the sanctity of my daydreams, if nothing else.

I imagine him, standing in the shower, head pressed against the wall, imagining me. The idea of us sharing these thoughts in this moment reignites the sensual burn in my loins.

I stand carefully, favoring my uninjured foot, and face the wall, then rest my forehead against it. I put my palms against the wet surface, my pain less jolting thanks to all the endorphins coursing through my body, and imagine the man on the other side. I wonder what he is thinking. What occupies the mind of someone such as him?

I wish I could ask him.

There are so many things I wish I could ask him, actually. That I wish I could tell him, even. Which is silly given we just met and we are nothing to each other.

Less than nothing. We are both paired with other people.

The heady rush of my orgasm fades with the cooling of the water and my melancholy musings.

I had hoped this would rid my mind of all thoughts of Marek Volkav. Joke’s on me. I’m pretty sure I’m more obsessed with him now than I was before.

I push myself away from the wall and find a towel to dry off, using only my good arm. I apply the cream the doctor gave me for both my ankle and shoulder--to help with pain and inflammation--then dress in my old flannel pajamas I brought from home. I slip my arm back into the tourniquet, and dig through the mirror box to find a toothbrush and toothpaste, floss, and even two tongue scrapers. I choose one as mine, then proceed to clean my mouth.

When I return to the room, Robert is set up on the cot on the opposite side of the suite, his back turned to me. The lights in the room are dim.

---