Page 26 of Unfaithfully Yours
I couldn't get enough of this smell, of Ryan's phantom presence. I imagined it on him, of my face pressed to his skin, of his hand instead of mine.
My mouth opened on a groan, I bit down on the fabric, hips lifting into his fist.
“Fuck,” I gasped and gripped the base of my cock, feeling the intense spasms as my balls clenched, emptying.
The shirt was over my eyes now, covering my entire face while I gasped for air, blocking out the rest of the world so that I didn't yet have to face what I had just done and what exactly it meant.
My phone started to ring but, still catching my breath, I let it go to voicemail until it started again.
Sighing, I reached into my pocket and pulled it out, seeing Melissa's name and picture light the screen. Her smiling face looked like it knew something... like it was judging me.
Hiding from it, I swiped to answer.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she said, sounding chipper. “How's your day going?”
“Shit,” I said. “I came home. Wasn't feeling great.”
She paused.
“Oh... Maybe I should come home and take care of you?”
She didn't sound like she wanted to and understanding made me squeeze my eyes shut.
“Why? Are you planning on working late again?”
“My boss wants some stuff done,” she agreed, guilt practically dripping from her voice. “I was going to stay pretty late.”
My jaw grit, post orgasmic relaxation evaporating.
“I don't have to,” she went on. “I'll let them know?—”
“Don't bother,” I interrupted. “Ryan's going to take care of me.”
The words just flew right out, and I knew right then that I was going to make it happen.
I didn’t know if it was because I wanted to stick it to her, to get on even ground, or if that was just an excuse, but a rebellious shiver traveled through me.
“Are you sure?” she asked slowly.
“Yeah,” I breathed, anticipation rushing through my veins. “I'm sure he won’t mind. I'll head over to his place later.”
She was silent.
“Okay, well... if that's really what you want...”
How did she always make it sound likeIwas the one disappointingher?
“You know, you've been really busylately,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I really can come home. They can't makemestay late.”
“But do you want to?” I demanded. “It doesn't seem like you ever actuallywantto see me.”
“That's not true,” she argued.
“You barely even want to talk,” I found myself arguing right back, pushing to sit up in bed, ignoring the come still sticky on my hand. “We have things that we shouldbe discussing but you never want to spend any time with me.”
