Page 48 of Plays Well With Others

Can he tell I’m faking it? Does he know I watched him get off? Is it obvious I’m still outrageously turned on?

I’m intensely aware that he’s in the living room, standing by the back of the couch.

A blanket lands softly on my shoulders, then my whole body. He’s covering me with a bigger comforter.

And…it smells like him.

I’m dead.

Just dead.

“Night, Sunshine,” he whispers into the darkness.

His footsteps retreat, the bedroom door creaks shut, and I’m alone in the moonlight on his couch.

I faked him out.

And now I’m surrounded by the clean, soapy scent of him, and the inescapable images.

Most of all by the raspy, throaty sound of his voice reverberating in my head.

Rachel.

I count to ten. To one hundred.

I hope he’s asleep.

I really hope so.

But I can’t wait anymore.

I shove my hand down my jeans, desperately seeking relief. I’m ludicrously wet.

My body sings itsthank you.

I need this so badly. Quickly, I stroke myself, my fingers rewarding my hungry clit. Sparks fly under my skin, and the relief is so palpable, I nearly cry.

I replay the shower over and over.

His hand flying. His hips pumping. His ass flexing.

But most of all, above everything else, I let the loop play of him muttering my name.Twice.

My orgasm slams into me without warning, shaking my whole body. Inside, I’m shouting and crying out, screaming his name. But in reality, I’m silently aching for him as I come.

It’s not till the orgasm subsides and the tingles slink away that I fully register what this means.

He wants me as much as I want him.

17

LEFT-HANDED NIGHT CREAM

Rachel

The friendly, freckled woman in the tortoise-shell glasses is asking me a question. She sticks out her hands, showing me two bangles. “Gold? Or rose gold?”

I remind myself I’m in my shop, and peer at the gold on the customer’s left wrist, then the rose gold on her right wrist.

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