Page 74 of Dirty Husband
Chapter Twenty
Jasmine
It's official. I'm an insane person.
No one in their right mind would do this. No one in their right mind would kneel on a balcony and beg their ex-boyfriend to fuck their mouth.
Only I did. And I'm standing here, in the shower, replaying it again and again.
Shep is in his room. We have separate rooms. He fucked my mouth, said a few things about our terms and tomorrow, a few things I didn't hear, then he sent me to my room. Went to his. To work or shower or fuck himself. I don't know.
I should care. Part of me does. Part of me is screamingwhat the hell is wrong with me?
The other part?
I slip my hand between my legs. The running water makes the friction strange. Too smooth.
It's not the same touching myself without him here. I want him here.
I want him watching. I want him ordering me onto my knees, or my back, or my stomach.
But he isn't here. I'm alone, in the shower, because he sent me away after he finished with me.
I'm alone, in the shower, washing off all the remains of today—the hair spray, the makeup, the tape that kept my dress in place—because he demanded I look the part.
I'm alone, in the shower, without all the rich girl accessories. And, sure, the shower is amazing by New York City standards. The size of my old bathroom, with shiny tile, ornate fixtures, and perfect water pressure.
Sure, the shampoo and soap are the best money can buy and the whole place smells like lilac.
But it's still a shower. Like any other shower. It's the most normal place I've been all day.
I should be thinking about my life and what's become of it, but instead, I'm closing my eyes and replaying the coat room and the balcony.
I'm picturing all those other dirty promises, stroking myself to orgasm.
I come fast. Too fast. The wave is so intense it makes my legs shake. I press my back against the wall to stay upright.
Even with all that intensity, it's not enough. I need him. I need him again and again and again.
When was the last time I wanted something this much? Something beyond food or safety or health? I can't remember.
I wash my hands. Soap my body.
Then shampoo, conditioner, a quick shave.
Even as I step out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel, move into my room—
I replay it again and again.
I should be more concerned about this recently redecorated room. It is, as Lock promised, much to my liking. Sleek furniture. Bedding in shades of red and purple. Scarlett. Violet. Eggplant. Crimson. White walls decked with black-and-white movie posters. Sheer curtains that let in the beautiful New York blue.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing tomorrow. I don't know what the hell I'm doing next week.
But, right now, I don't care.
I soak in the sensation of satisfaction. Hold on to it as closely as I can. For as long as I can.
Until I fall asleep and dream of all the other things I want Shep to do to me.
