Page 45 of Rejected By Dragons

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I'm full of shit, of course.

Later that night, after a delicious dinner and another round of arguing with Amy over whether or not I was allowed to help with the dishes--which I was, obviously--I end up in my room. Despite my ridiculously long night's sleep, I'm still exhausted to my bones. I've found some comfort here in my first full day in Unity. Some friends, even. Maybe the close kind of friends who will eventually feel like family.

But the idea that my breakup with Storm is 'ancient history'? That it still isn't tearing me apart?

Let's just say that Denial isn't a river in Egypt.

It's not that late, but I wash up anyway, and change into a fresh pair of pajamas Amy lent me. I hauled all my stuff out of my car, but I didn't have a chance to put it through the wash today. Tomorrow, I'll get around to it.

For now, I luxuriate in the silky soft T-shirt and shorts I'm wearing. They're so much nicer than anything I own, the fabric sensually draping over my skin.

I fall into bed, assuming I'll read for a bit, but I struggle to focus. The points of my breasts are sensitive where they drag against my shirt. Between my legs, I feel soft and warm and tender, and I'm reminded again that it's been weeks since I've been touched--even by my own hand.

A scattershot flash of pain dashes through my chest. The last time I was touched, it was by Storm. I can still feel the rasp of his stubble against my throat, the hard, calloused grasp of his hands on my body and the fullness of his huge cock thrusting into me.

I can feel the ripples of pleasure, see the twisted contours of his handsome face as his mouth dropped open and he filled me with his seed.

I can hear his father.

I can hear him.

She's nothing.

I toss my book aside and bury my face in the pillow. It's all I can do not to scream.

I can't think about sex without thinking about him, and about how badly he hurt me. He lied, and he betrayed me, and he left me to fend for myself when his father and his brother decided to kick me out of my home.

So why do I miss him so much?

Worse--why am I so fucking horny?

Fuck this. I get up long enough to turn out the lights and double-check I locked the door. I bury myself under the covers and grab my phone. In the past, when I've wanted to get myself off, I've just fantasized about Storm. With his hard body and skilled hands and filthy mouth, he gave me plenty of material to work with. I refuse to think about him ever again, though, so to block him out, I pull up an erotica site I've messed around on a time or two before.

I surf around until I find a story that gets my pulse racing. I read it one-handed, letting the other one finally drift to the needy place between my legs. I have to stifle a gasp at the first touch of my own fingers across my achy flesh. I'm slick already, my clit swollen. As I stroke my fingertip along that sensitive nub, lightning crackles up my spine. I dip a fingertip down to my opening and slip it inside, only it's not enough.

I squeeze down, trying to get the feeling of fullness that I've only ever received from a raw, thrusting cock, but it's no use. I think of Storm and grit my teeth.

I focus on the story. The girl in it is brazen in a way I would never dare to be, waltzing into a bar with sex on her mind. She sidles up to a dirty group of men and bets them she can beat them all in a game of pool, knowing full well she'll lose. They know it, too. When she can't pay up, she acts all innocent and offers them her body.

They descend on her.

Hot pleasure darts to the twin points of my breasts. I've only ever been with one man at a time before--hell, I've only ever been with one man, period. But the idea of taking on three or four has always elicited a dirty thrill inside of me.

As the first man rips off her clothes, I drill harder at my clit. I can feel my orgasm, off in the distance. It's going to be a good one. The man shoves her down and spreads her legs. He pushes into her wet pussy as another of his friends grabs her by the jaw and presses the tip of his cock to her lips. I rub faster and faster, my toes curling at the need in my blood. I chase my climax with determination, rushing hard to get there already so I can go to sleep.

But the moment I swear I'm about to crest, I see Storm's face again.

I swear out loud and squeeze my eyes shut tight.

It's a mistake. There he is again, imprinted on my thoughts. Every memory I have of sex is tied up with a memory of him, and how am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to survive losing him?

Having him cast me out and tell me that I'm worthless.

I force my eyes open and try again to read the story, and for a minute, I even get into it. The first man shoots his come into her unprotected womb, then steps aside. She's lifted onto hands and knees and entered again from behind, while the guy in her mouth starts fucking her throat. Someone starts playing with her ass, and my pussy ripples. I feel myself starting to rise again. But the emptiness inside me howls.

Again, my orgasm slips away, and I bite my lip to quiet my growl of frustration.

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