Page 13 of Caught A Vibe

Everything is so sensitive, it doesn’t take many strokes before I’m reaching between my legs for one more release. He grips my knee and lifts it for me.

“That’s it. Get there, Penny. I want you to come with me.”

I frantically work my clit, desperate to give him what he wants.

“Good girl. That’s right. Fuck me, Penny.”

His words push me over the edge, and I give him everything. Every last ounce of energy, every breath, every pulse. This orgasm wrings me out. His grip around me tightens, and with a few furious pumps he comes with a shout and a laugh, before collapsing and holding me close.

He presses his lips to my neck and growls, and it’s just as sexy as I imagined. “My God, you’re incredible.”

My heart is beating out of my chest. Tears well in my eyes and I blink furiously, overwhelmed. I can’t let him see. I can’t let him think he made me cry.

Fun. This was supposed to be fun.

Thiswasfun. So why does his casual praise make me feel so intensely loved? Am I so out of practice a one-night stand breached my defenses?Stupid.

He slides his hand up the front of my body, startling me from my thoughts. I have no idea what he’s after, but I’m game for anything at this point. When he takes my hand in his and holds it against my chest, hope flutters wildly beneath it along with my heart. He kisses the back of my neck and settles sleepily behind me.

Fun and stupid, Nicola had said. Between the three superior orgasms and me catching feels, I certainly managed both tonight.

Chapter4

Dash

It is still dark outside when I wake. Well, as dark as Las Vegas gets at three a.m.

I slide out of the bed, careful not to wake Penny with my pre-dawn exodus, and begin gathering clothes. When I reach for my shirt draped across the foot of the bed, the spot on her neck that makes her shiver tempts me to kiss it and wake her for another round, but we both have busy days ahead. My brain is awake and flooded with dopamine, but that’s no reason for her to lose sleep. She needs every minute of rest she can get after the night we shared. My helpful memory serves up the mental image of her falling apart spectacularly, and my impulse to make her do it again flares high and hot. I stub my toe on the shoe I couldn’t find crossing back to her, and the pain is enough to shake me free of my fixation.

I grab my glasses from the table and refocus on reality.

I will see her later. Work now. Play later. Use my superpowers for good. Ride the dopamine wave to productivity.All of my therapist’s coaching is trying to speak loudly enough to be heard over Penny’s soft snores. Her strategy catchphrases are shouting in my head, and I am dressed and on my way before my baser instincts can get a word in.

I tiptoe out the door and make my way back to my own hotel room, where a hot shower and shitty coffee make me feel nearly human on two hours of sleep.

Noise-canceling headphones on, 8D music on loop, phone set to DND, I put my head down and get to work. For three hours, I crank out drafts of my assigned articles, ideas flowing like wine. Deadlines and dopamine always help me click into hyperfocus.

Last night was the first time I’ve felt such intense focus with a partner. I can’t wait to do it again. She was transcendent.

If I get ahead on some of these articles, I can afford to spend more time with Penny today. I shoot the other articles to Chad for preliminary approval. I work on her story last, barely fleshing out the details before saving it and closing my laptop. I can’t write about her invention without thinking about her. And thinking about her makes it hard to keep my laptop on my lap. I need to see her again.

Then again, what better reason to go see her than needing more information for the piece?

I glance at my watch. I’ve been working for five straight hours. Time for a reward.

As I throw my laptop into my shoulder bag along with the condom from my swag bag just in case I see her before I make it to the gift shop, I can’t help grinning like an idiot. I head back down to the conference floor with a bounce in my step.

The number one tool I have as a reporter is asking questions. So my plan is to track Penny down and ask her a few of the thousands I’ve thought of since I left her bed. Starting with, “What’s your phone number?” and “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

I weave through the packed conference floor, for once not distracted by the displays I pass. Nothing is tempting enough to divert me from my goal. But when I round the far corner, I realize the goal line has just moved. Instead of the sleek, polished display where I fondled her toy yesterday, there is only a partially disassembled rig and her colleague tossing literature into boxes.

“Hey, what’s going on? Why are you packing up?”

The woman glares at me. “We won’t stay where we’re not wanted.” She shoves more pamphlets into the packing box.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the judging panel is full of misogynist cowards with their heads so far up each other’s puritanical asses they might never see daylight again.”

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