Page 8 of Used By the Unicorn

Behind me, my friend reaches forward. He cups my breasts, leaning closer. “Fucking gorgeous. I’m glad they could see it.”

I can’t reply, though. He speeds up his motions again and I’m caught in the tide, dragged under into yet another earth-shaking, knee-wobbling orgasm.

I cling on for dear life as he finishes deep in my pussy with a long, low groan.

We’re both panting by the time he’s recovered enough to withdraw.

My pussy feels a little empty at first, taking a moment to adjust to the loss.

I hardly know what to do after such an unusual encounter. I usually hook up with guys I meet online or out. This feels more intimate and at the same time less. I’m staff, for fuck’s sake. But he made me feel like a porn star in front of all the eyes in the room.

Before I can debate how to react, he spins me and leans in for a kiss I wasn’t prepared for.

He cups my face as he pulls back, looking deep into my eyes. “Thank you. You’re incredible.”

“Thanks.” Suddenly, I feel awkward. What am I supposed to say here?

“I mean it. I’d like to see you again.”

“Huh?” My mind is darting around like a fish in a stream. He wants to see me again? That’s not what this is. That’s why I agreed to this job. It was supposed to be the perfect chance for a no-strings hookup. After all, who wants to see the sex worker again?

“Can I have your number?” He hasn’t even removed the condom yet. His thick cock hangs between muscular thighs, semi-soft and heavy with the load of white milky liquid inside the latex. Why do I have the urge to do it for him. To play with it?

I shake my head and pull back, adjusting my underwear so I’m covered again. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

I catch a look of confusion on his handsome face as I dart out from under his arm and dash away, scrambling to find the room where I left my things.

This has all started to feel all too real. Like something I’m avoiding.

Snatching my dress and purse, I struggle with my shoes.

I’m too slow, though, because the unicorn catches up with me as I’m racing for the front door.

“Hey, did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I just don’t do numbers and I don’t do second fucks. One is all you get.”

His brow furrows. “You’re leaving? Because of me?”

I groan. “I’m leaving because of me. Because it’s time to go. Now, kindly step out of my way.”

He steps aside and I watch him as I walk around him. He doesn’t try to stop me, though.

“Wait. Can I call you a cab? Walk you somewhere?”

“No. I’m good.” Pussy still throbbing with the aftermath of his fucking, I lift my chin and walk determinedly down the drive. It’s only when I make it to the street and remember how far the nearest bus stop is that I begin to regret not taking him up on his offer.

It’s a long damn walk. I’ll have all that time to think about whether or not I overreacted.

When I finally take a seat at the bus stop and feel the tenderness in my pussy and think of him, I decide I made the right call.

The last thing I need is any risk of attachment. Any hint of catching feelings again.

Lord knows it doesn’t go well when I do.

A roll of nausea hits and my hand strays to my belly. These days, things are even more complicated, and it’s a good reminder why I have to be more careful.

When I finally trudge up the stairs to my apartment and drop my bag in the hall, all the lovely feelings of euphoria from my orgasms have disappeared. They’re replaced with the nagging sense of dread I can’t seem to shake these days. The sense that no matter what I choose, I’ll regret it.

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