Page 8 of Choosing the right Man

I don’t sleep well. When I finally manage to drift into a dream world, my anxiety rises. I dream of Mason in the elevator... and this time the lights don’t come back on. This time, the doors don’t open. This time the elevator ride turns into a scene from a romance book. This time he peels my clothes away, lifts me up high, then plunges his thick, hard body into mine, and we both scream with pleasure... I jolt awake.

I’m sweating, my knees spread, and my hand placed between my thighs. I’m shocked to find myself wet and needy. I reach for my boyfriend. Ineedrelief. It was just a dream, a powerful one. But Paul isn’t here. I look at the clock. It’s four in the morning. He never stays up this late. I throw back the covers and stumble to the door, my eyes hurting from lack of sleep, my body aching from a desire needing to be quenched.

I find Paul in his office. The music is off and he’s sitting shirtless in front of his computer. I approach this truly beautiful man. His back muscles ripple, and my sex clenches. I’m sohungry, so needy. I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his narrow waist, my fingers resting on his hard abs. He doesn’t say a word. I lean into him and kiss his neck, letting my tongue slide over the smooth skin as I rub my hand lower, hoping to find him ready for me.

“I’m sorry, Chloe, I really need to get this done,” he tells me, his voice distracted and slightly annoyed.

What’s worse than his words is that he doesn’t even harden beneath my touch. There was a time it didn’t take anything to get him hard. He’d walk in the front door, see me, and be ready to haul me into the bedroom. For that matter, he took me on the kitchen counter many times, unwilling to wait even a few more seconds to sink inside of me. I’d worn a lot of dresses that first year in our new house so it was much easier for him to slide inside me.

My body aches, and my feelings are hurt at his rejection. But I won’t show him my emotions. Maybe I should talk to him. Maybe I should say something. I don’t, though. I turn and walk away. There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. I strip off my jammies and step into our oversized shower... the one he used to enjoy sharing with me. The hot water drifts over my body, and the strong spray hits my breasts, making the ache inside of me pulse.

I push the shower nozzle from the holder, turn it on the jet spray, and slide it over my breasts, a small moan escaping me. I close my eyes and lean against the shower wall, moving the nozzle lower. As it hits my skin, my stomach quivers. I don’t want the shower. I want a man’s hands on my body. But it seems my boyfriend doesn’t find me desirable anymore. I shake the thought away and can’t help it when Mason appears in my fantasy.

The nozzle goes lower, and the hot spray thrums against my clit. Pressure builds in my body. I ache. I shake. I imagineMason’s hands sweeping down my body, squeezing my nipples before trailing across my trembling stomach. Then he drops before me.

His mouth is now on my clit, his tongue sweeping along my sensitive flesh. I cry out when an orgasm rips through me. My knees shake, and my legs give out. The nozzle flops from my hand as I slink down the side of the slick shower wall.

I don’t know how long I’m here, hot water cascading over me as I catch my breath. I finally muster the energy to stand on weak legs. Then I rinse off and walk naked into the bedroom. Paul comes through the door and looks at me, circles beneath his eyes as he begins moving toward me. There’s still a raw hunger inside of me, a need to be filled. Maybe he’s changed his mind. I smile as he steps closer.

“I’m going to shower and get some sleep,” he tells me. He leans down, gives me a quick peck on the lips, and disappears into the bathroom. I stand shaking as a tear slips from my eye. I can’t remember the last time he saw me naked and simply walked on by. I move to the large mirror by my closet and critically examine my body.

My breasts are large, not so big they sag, but definitely big enough that I have to think twice about what shirts I wear, especially to work. My waist isn’t as tucked in as it was ten years earlier, but I don’t have rolls. My stomach can’t be called flat, but it isn’t sticking out. It has a natural curve to it.

I turn sideways and continue examining myself. I wouldn’t mind losing an inch or two from my thighs, and I have to be very careful working out because if I even think about doing a squat, my butt grows, making it impossible to fit into a normal pair of jeans.

I take care of myself, work out as much as possible, eat healthy ninety percent of the time, and wash my face regularly. I haven’t let myself go because I’m in a relationship. But none ofthis seem to matter because my boyfriend has stopped wanting me.

Is it my fault? I hope not. I should talk to him about it, tell him how I’m feeling. But I’m not sure how to do this. We don’t have intimate discussions. Maybe he’s having an affair. I don’t know when he’d have the time. He practically lives in his office, but then again, I’m gone all day. It would be easy for someone to join him, or for him to go out for a few hours. Something’s definitely wrong.

I can’t stare at myself any longer. I have to get out of this house. It’s only five in the morning. An hour can seem like an eternity when you’re feeling terrible. My body still aches. I don’t put my work clothes on. I carefully fold them into my gym bag, and instead, dress for the gym.

I apply a light amount of makeup, not willing to go out in public without it, feeling as down as I am. I leave the house within fifteen minutes, needing to run. It’s early enough that I have no problem getting to the office building in twenty minutes. This gives me a full two hours to work out if I want. Idefinitelywant.

I put on my headphones and climb onto the treadmill. I push myself hard for thirty minutes, not caring if I look like crap. I’m not one of those lucky women who look absolutely adorable after an intense workout. My skin flushes and I sweat... a lot.

I pull up an app on my iPhone and do a weight circuit. This gym has everything a fitness pro would drool over. I work out for an hour and a half straight, and when I step into the locker room I feel better. I’m too exhausted to care about the ache that still resides low in my belly. I shower, thinking about the one I had a couple of hours ago. The workout suddenly seems nil. My body instantly responds to my sexual thoughts, my breasts throbbing and my core tightening. I want to scream.

Instead, I leave the shower, wrap a towel around me, then dress. Like a robot, I fix my hair and do my makeup, taking my time. I still have about twenty minutes before I’m expected to clock-in for work.

I step out to get coffee, tired and needy, but I’ll make it through the day. Only time will tell if I make it through another night.

Chapter Eight

Chloe

I’m jumpy as my day begins. It’s only day two at the office, and if I’m this tense all morning, this job is never going to last. Even if I see Mr. Alexander, it doesn’t matter. He has no idea what I dreamt about last night. He knows nothing about me. I have no reason to be as fidgety as I am.

By lunchtime, I feel better. I enjoy the people I work with. Yes, the high exec women in the lobby are wearing their two-thousand-dollar shoes and holding expensive computer bags, but the other people are far more like me.

Another girl who’s been with the company for three months, shops at the same outlet mall I do. I’m beginning to feel like I actually fit in, like I can make this work. I’m sure I over-exaggerated what happened in the elevator. I was nervous. Who wouldn’t be around the boss? Not only is he the person responsible for my paycheck, but he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Even a nun would stand up and take notice. I need to give myself a break. To err is human, after all.

“The boss wants to see you, Chloe.” Slowly I turn and look at Jenny, who wears her usual smile. There doesn’t seem tobe anything off in her expression, but I take a big gulp of air anyway.

“Why?” I ask before realizing this might come across as disrespectful. I try again. “I thought he didn’t see us much.” I try sounding nonchalant, but it may not be coming across that way.

“He normally meets all of the new hires. Sometimes within a day, sometimes in a week. It’s no big deal,” Jenny tells me. I let out a breath of relief. This is something he typically does. I’m golden. If he brings up the elevator, I’ll calmly explain it was a fluke; I’m committed, and even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t be into an office romance with my boss. I know the way I’d be talked about. I don’t want to be the subject of the gossip mill. No way, no how.

I rise from my seat as Jenny turns and leaves.

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