Page 34 of The Opposite of Romance
“I’m serious,” I continue. “It’s not like I had sex before. But it was different. I was married, meaning sworn to masturbation.” I glance around to check no one’s listening. “Now, there’s a bright new world ahead of me, and nothing’s going on. It’s killing me.”
Sandy’s still giggling, so I pin her with a stare. “Sorry. I’m currently in the ‘terrified of having sex ever again camp’, but I understand what you’re saying.” Sandy had a pretty tough birth, and she still hasn’t gotten the all clear from her doctor.
“Honestly, I’m terrified, too. My body looks nothing like it did the last time I got naked for a new person.” I sigh. “But currently, my hormones are overriding my insecurities.”
“Good for you.”
The pizza arrives and we dig in, too hungry to chat while chewing.
“I’m stuffed. I’ll probably take these two pieces home to Liam,” Sandy says, patting her mouth with a napkin.
“Good thing I don’t have anyone to bring it to,” I say, gesturing to my empty place. Sandy snorts.
“Thank you for this,” I tell her when she drops me off at home. “And tell Liam I’m sorry to have taken you away.”
She waves me off. “He knows you’re my number one.” She puts out her hand and we do our special handshake; one we had since we were kids.
Chapter Fourteen
I wakeup the next morning to find the disappointment from the night before gone, but the horniness is still here.
I try to read a book on the couch, but my core is tingling, begging for attention. Finally, I exhale a long breath, deciding. The house is empty, so I don’t have to hide inside my room.
From the coffee table, I grab my headphones. I switch my paperback for an audiobook, to free my hands and get comfortable on the couch. I’m wearing a silky bathrobe, with nothing underneath, so I untie it, letting it fall to my sides.
My nipples are two stiff peaks already, enjoying their freedom. My hands travel my neck, my collarbone, before landing on them, slowly rolling them between my fingers. A gasp escapes me while my back arches off the couch.
My right hand travels further down before hitting the jackpot. It makes its way to my slit, already drenched, and brings the wetness up.
“Fuckkkk,” I whisper as my fingers circle my clit.
The audiobook is just getting heated. A deep, gruff voice, with a Scottish accent, pleasures the female lead with his mouth and fingers. My own fingers work faster, setting fire to my clit. Myother hand pinches the pink, hard nub, my breasts heaving with desire.
It feels so good. And I’ve been aching for it so badly that I’m already on edge. The narrator slips his cock into the soaked pussy of the female character, and my climax starts to build. My fingers set an impossible rhythm, working me up even faster. In tandem with characters in the book, my orgasm crashes into me.
“Aahhh!” I moan, as my chest lifts from the couch, heat spreading through me.
And right there, in the midst of my peak, the house rattles. My eyes snap open, ready to flee the earthquake. But my gaze lands on Logan, gawking at me through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A large toolbox sits beside him, which is probably what caused the shake. Logan stares with a hooded gaze, his jaw set in stone, his hands balled into fists at his side.
Involuntarily, the hand on my clit moves again, sending another fluttering wave through me, prolonging my orgasm. It probably lasts a second, but it feels like eternity as he watches me pleasure myself.
As soon as the waves subside, shame kicks in. “Shit,” I mutter, frantically covering myself.
His hands move up in surrender motion, while he turns away. “Sorry. Fuck, sorry.” I hear him shout through the glass.
Tying the bathrobe tight around me, my feet find their way into the slippers, and I stomp outside, determined to give him a piece of my mind.
“What the hell was that? What are you doing here?” I spit out, my eyes trying to burn him on the spot, while my ears burn with humiliation.
His gaze picks up but stops on its way to my face, and he swallows. In the silky bathrobe, my breasts are as good as naked. My skin flushes all over before he catches himself and finally looks up.
“I just came.” He winces at his choice of words, and I pray for an actual earthquake so the ground can swallow me whole. “I-Icalled you.” I never heard him stutter before. “I even rang the doorbell.”
“Well, I haven’t heard any of that.” My noise canceling headphones made sure of it. “But foolishly, I thought I was allowed some privacy.”
“You are, of course. I’m so sorry for this.” His eyes are apologetic, but I’m still pissed off.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
