Page 111 of Champagne Fizz

Take all that pent up heat you feel, and now imagine you can’t release it. You’re hot. You’re burning. You’re ready to overflow. You feel crazy.

Geez, when you put it that way … suddenly, that ocean looks pretty dang enticing. Gosh, what if I was pushed to the brink and I couldn’t let it out. That would be—

Torture.

Lada bristles like she’s spent most of her existence in that position. Which frankly, she has.

Why the heck do you think Simon lost his cool?

I frown. Lada has a point.

And you have a mouth!Maybe you ought to return the favor.

What?! You mean—?

Pina needs your a-mouth-a!

I get up and wade into the water, letting the icy surf cool all the fizzing under my skin. Simon needs release. That’s the point Lada is making. If he comes, he won’t be out of control. Abacus has been our safe word, and I’ve yet to use it. But maybe we need a word for him, one that means he needs my mouth around his—

Cooooock,Lada sings like we’ve finally reached a light-bulb moment.

I wade up to my waist, dousing Lada in the ocean’s chill, even though I’m still wearing my leggings. She needs to cool off. Big time!

You’ve felt that cock!Lada gargles.The big time is going to be happening in your mouth.

I let the water splash my hips and stomach, and I feel wild and unanchored. Am I even contemplating Lada’s suggestion? It could work. Or it could be a lesson in rejection. Simon said he couldn’t control himself. It seemed like he’d made up his mind. Permanently. Plus, I don’t even know how I would make that kind of offer.

You get down on your knees.

Seriously, Lada! You need some tact, and I need some space—from him, from you, and from all of this sex-talk that clearly even an ocean can’t diffuse. There’s a wedding to plan, and I need to focus! Enough indulging in this fantasy. It’s time for discipline.

You two could try some dominant-subordinate action!

Or you could knock it off and help me get through this wedding. The last thing I need is my libido sabotaging my career.

Nope. It’s the other way around. You’re using your career to sabotage your love life.

I stalk out of the ocean, dripping wet and angry. Aren’t orgasms supposed to release stress, especially ones I actually wanted?

Yes!

Well Lada, you orgasmed more times than ever today, and somehow you are still not sated. Which just goes to show that following your advice is an exercise in disaster!

That’s because sex and love are complicated.

I didn’t ask for love.

Well it’s not the sex that’s got you pissed off. It’s the feelings. It’s the trust part.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I stomp up the sidewalk toward my building, my flipflops covered in gritty, wet sand, and my leggings sticking to my skin like a spandex swamp. I wait for Lada to answer, but she’s suddenly gone silent, letting me sit with the uncomfortable notion that this isn’t about sex and my body, but something else I want from Simon.

Of course, sex and emotions get tangled up. That’s normal. Even when hormones and chemicals cause would-be-delusions that my lady bits actually have a personality and can speak to me.

It’s been an intense day—physically and emotionally—I just need to sleep.

The second I’m inside my apartment, I peel off all of my clothes and throw myself on my bed. I bury myself under the fluffy covers and vow to start tomorrow differently.

What I mean by differently, I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out somehow.

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