Page 34 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
I can’t do this.
I’m the one who came up with the rule about us not pleasuring ourselves while we’re in the same room together.
But oh God, the flutters. The tension. I carefully slide my hand down into my panties. It’s so slippery and silky smooth down there.
This requiem I’m listening to now is so seductive.
And if I don’t release a little tension tonight, I mean, what’s it going to be like tomorrow?
My clitoris already feels like an alien egg pod, ready to burst.
I pull my earbuds out and quietly, slowly, peer over the edge of the bed. Eddie is lying down there with his wireless Bose headphones on and he’s staring at the iPad that’s propped up on his chest. Both arms are crossed behind his head, both biceps flexing.
I slowly slide back toward the wall, push my iPad aside and turn onto my stomach. If I barely move… If I bury my face into the Eddie-scented pillow… Surely, I can just relieve a little tension without him knowing.
I mean, that show is riveting. And he has noise-canceling headphones on. And I’ll barely have to move around at all at this point.
I’ll just try to make it sound like I’m snoring if I make a noise.
If he happens to hear me, he’ll think I’m asleep.
I slide my hand down between my legs, rubbing flat against my clit with as much pressure as possible. All the blood in my body and all eight thousand nerve endings are rushing up to the surface to thank me already. And I can’t help that I’m being rocked by the motion of the train. I can’t help that I can still feel Eddie’s arms around me. I can’t help that when I close my eyes, I see the way he stared into them when we were in the dining car. When he was kneeling on the floor beside me. When he was Romeo, and I was a silent, stunned Juliet, unable to do anything but watch and admire him.
My heart is already racing. My breaths are already coming fast and heavy as I inhale the intoxicating scent of fresh laundry, cocoa butter, sea salt, musk, and something cold, wet and metallic. He’s right, he is hot blooded. His skin is always warm to the touch. It’s why it always feels like I’m melting into him when he’s hugging me. I’m not all that curvy, but I feel so soft against the firm curves of his muscles.
“I got you,” he’d said. And he had. He’d caught me. As if he’d been there waiting for me to fall all along.
I slide two fingers inside myself, grind my pelvis into the mattress, rock my hips.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
I make a fist with one hand, gripping the thin mattress, and release a loud sigh into the pillow as my body contracts and releases. I shudder and then remember to make a snorting sound—so it sounds like a snore. I go completely still for a minute because I hear Eddie moving beneath me.
Oh God, oh God, please don’t hear me.
“Eddie?” I whisper.
More movement as he shifts around, but he doesn’t reply.
I make another slightly piggy snoring sound and then move my hand vigorously because I need to get this over with and I need to stop thinking about the man in the bed below me.
Sherlock.
I need to think of Sherlock. That brain. Those wide-set crystal blue eyes. That wavy brown hair. That slender torso. That accent.
The way Eddie looked at me tonight.
His big ol’ semi-erection against my thigh and his big warm hands on my waist when I was lying on top of him, accidentally flashing him.
The way he looked at me in that moment.
And if Layla hadn't burst into my room…
If I had just lowered myself down to him, lips parted, if our mouths had touched and our tongues had touched.
If his hands had squeezed my hips and I had rocked my hips just a little.
