Page 43 of Am I the Only One

My breath tangles in my throat, and my hands grip the edge of the dresser even tighter. I shouldn’t be this turned on, but I am. I miss the connection we used to have. The raw passion that made me irresistible to him. The way he would talk dirty for me. I can’t remember the last time he spoke to me that way. Crude and intimate and loving. Words would slip from his lips, and I would completely lose myself to him.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice flitters through the thoughts that cast a cloud over my sanity. “I’m sorry, I’m just ...” I shift in my stance, but I feel uneasy on my feet. “I’m fine...go on.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want to know how it happened—the details.” I tell her this with a bashfulness I hope she can’t hear. It would make this so much worse if she knew how eager I was to feel even a shred of closeness to Tripp.

“It started out with him taking me from behind. He then laid on the bed, and I got on top of him. He used his hands to maneuver my hips, and I could sense he wanted to take control, so I went with it when he flipped us over and got on top of me. He spread me wide, pushing my knees down into the mattress. I could feel him growing inside me,” she says, and as the two of us lock eyes, she adds, “As soon as I orgasmed, he pulled out of me, ripped the condom off, and started jerking himself off. I must’ve gotten carried away because I pushed his hand aside and finished him off with my mouth.”

“Did ... did he ...” I mutter, finding it hard to spit out the question.

“Did he come in my mouth?”

I nod.

“Yes.”

I hang my head, trying my best to temper my arousal when aroused should be the last thing I feel. I should be heartbroken or furious, but those emotions are so far away. Instead, I’m hung up on desire and need, wanting to know even more, wishing for my senses to be consumed with their sounds, their smell, their taste. As twisted as it is, I feel a connection with Tripp that I haven’t felt in a while. It’s disturbing, but also thrilling.

What’s wrong with me?

Clearing my throat again, I glance back to the bed, wondering what the sheets would feel like against my bare skin. I’m ripe with lust. With my skin tingling in erotic delight, my head sways for a moment before I right myself. Pushing off the dresser, I walk over to the credenza and grab a bottle of water that’s sitting out. It’s nothing more than a distraction, and when I screw the lid back on and turn to face Emma, she apologizes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, but you said you wanted—”

“No. It’s fine. You didn’t upset me, it’s just not that easy to hear.”

That isn’t exactly the truth. Surprisingly, it was easy to hear, and even more to my surprise, I want more, and I’m not exactly sure why. One thing I do know is that I have to get out of here because there’s no chance of me collecting my thoughts while I’m swimming in the wake of their sex.

Going back to the dresser where my purse sits, I pull out the envelope that holds the promise I made to her when she agreed to do this. The forty thousand dollars that my mother left me when she died is now hers. I never spent the money because I know how hard she worked for every penny she earned, and for some reason, I just couldn’t touch it, so I hesitate to hand it over.

But it isn’t the only reason I hesitate.

It’s a sadistic feeling of wanting more—needing more. I want to keep this connection to my husband alive just a little longer before he’s gone from my life for good. So, when I hold out the envelope, I ask, “Do you think he’ll want to see you again?”

“He asked for my number.”

“You gave it to him?”

“I didn’t want to. I mean, it didn’t seem right, but I felt it would’ve looked suspicious if I didn’t,” she admits. “Why?”

“Maybe ...” I second-guess myself, but I need this. I don’t even know why, but maybe the why isn’t what’s important. I throw all attempts at rationalization out the window and continue, “Maybe it would be best to really cover our bases.”

There’s confusion within her gaze. “Are you asking me to sleep with him again?”

“I’ll pay you,” I offer quickly.

“How much?”

She’s too quick to ask the question, and it hints at her willingness to agree. Knowing that she’s already established a connection with him, it’ll be an easy feat this time around. “Ten thousand.”

Emma

I shove the envelope Carly gave me under my mattress and then sit on the edge of my bed. After she left the hotel room this afternoon, I was soaring above cloud nine. I got dressed, threw on some makeup, and packed my bag. When I got into my car, I blasted the stereo and drove. There was no plan, no destination, and no time limit—I simply drove. For a moment, my shoulders were free from the weight that had been pressing down on them.

I smiled.

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