Home at last…
I’ve never been so happy to see my house. I park my car in the driveway—because waiting for the garage door to open is beyond me at this point—and I slowly walk to my front door.
I’m past exhausted after having had to work from opening to closing seven days a week for six weeks straight because the bitch who’s the manager on paper decided to fire the two design students who worked with me then go on a two-month cruise with her toy boy, leaving me to pick up the pieces in the middle of peak wedding season.
Thank fuck tomorrow is a statutory holiday and I can sleep. Supposed to meet up with the girls for lunch to catch up on the goss I’ve missed but I’ve warned them I might not make it.
God I hope I don’t lie in bed staring at the ceiling for two hours again tonight. Donovan got himself a girlfriend, some skinny blonde thing so no more late night booty calls for me, which means no more orgasm-induced blissful sleep.
No, it’s back to ceiling-staring and sheep-counting though I did remember to buy batteries on my lunch break so tonight might prove more successful on the sleep front.
I don’t bother turning any lights on once I’m inside, I had takeaways on the way home so it’s straight to bed for me. But first a shower to wash away my hellish day. I turn the water on before walking to my room to get my bathrobe and rid myself of my clothes.
I must have taken longer than I thought because the bathroom is filled with steam when I get back.
I get under the scalding spray and hum happily as the water cascades over me. I quickly wash my hair so I don’t forget later then I just lean with my hands on the wall, letting the hot water work its magic on my tired body. I hear a car outside and my mind wanders to the last time I heard a car outside my house late at night.
Must have been a whole month ago now.
That night Donovan arrived right after I got home from the wedding expo, a bag from my favourite deli in hand. I told him I needed a shower before we ate and he said he’d pour us both a drink while I did that.
I was lost in thoughts about the work I had to do the next day when he came up behind me in the shower in all his naked glory.
I shudder as my body remembers the feel of him pressing his strong body against mine, his arms wrapping around me as he held me tight. I leaned into him and he kissed the side of my neck. I hummed happily before turning around in his arms to wrap mine around his neck and went on my tiptoes to meet him halfway for a kiss that quickly turned heated.
I moaned when he tugged on my bottom lip with his teeth then moaned louder when his hands found my ass. He deepened the kiss and one of his hands snaked around my waist. I realised he’d moved his other hand away a split second before it landed on my ass with a loud smack.
I cried out, my clit starting to throb, my nails digging into the back of his neck as he did it again. And again.
The pleasure outweighed the pain, like it did every time he spanked me, and I couldn’t wait for that moment when my writhing around became too much for him.
He turned me around, pressing me against the wall then using one hand to hold me, the other to guide his cock to my hole, he slammed inside me from behind.
My whimper resonates loudly in the empty shower stall as my brain bombards me with sensory memories of his cock pounding my A-spot and my hand moves down to my clit.
It’s swollen and throbbing and I know it’s time to get out of the shower.
I turn the water off and put my bathrobe on, brushing my teeth before backtracking to the lounge to locate my bag and those batteries. I check my phone even though there’s little point, it’s late and the one person I’d want to hear from is likely snuggled up to his girlfriend.
Sooooo not thinking about that!
Alarm on so I don’t miss lunch with the girls, check.
New batteries in favourite vibrator, check.
Lights off, check.
I spread out in my king size bed; my hair is still a bit wet but I don’t care. I roll onto my stomach, hand reaching for my phone and opening the browser. My horny levels have gone down and the surefire way to bring them back to life is a little light reading. By ‘light reading’ I mean smut, of course.
I open my favourite flash fiction bookmark, Late Night Self-Loving by Bree Guildford, and start reading. I skip the opening five or six paragraphs because nobody needs exposition at this time of night and get straight to the good stuff, a bit like Lanie, the main character does in the story.
One line describing the porn scene Lanie is watching and my clit is tingling already, my hips moving against the bed. I don’t know why reading about anal sex always gets me extremely horny in two seconds flat but it does.
While it is a sex act I have enjoyed on occasion with certain people (ok, fine, one guy), it is not something I’d want to do every day of the week. But reading about it? Oh boy…
When Logan moves on top of Lanie in the story and tells her to keep watching the video as he goes to reenact what she’s watching I grab my vibrator and turn it on. I move it between my legs and press the vibrating tip against my clit then move my hand away.
I keep reading, my hips moving to a rhythm of their own, my clit throbbing like crazy. My breath is coming in pants as I read about fictional characters getting their naughty on and my brain comes to the party, changing the names in front of my eyes.
Suddenly it’s not Logan running a lubed finger between Lanie’s butt cheeks.
No, suddenly it’s Donovan slowly pressing his finger in my ass, making me gasp.
It’s Donovan, inching his cock inside me as I claw at the sheets and push back against him with moans of delight.
Donovan, grunting from the effort of keeping his thrusts nice and slow as an enormous orgasm builds quickly low in my belly.
The pleasure, when it hits, is blinding and I scream as the waves of my orgasm crash over me and the world disappears.
I come to some time later, the vibrator still buzzing between my thighs, my throat feeling raw. I turn off the toy and drop it on the floor beside the bed, to be dealt with in the morning, then reach blindly for my drink bottle on the bedside table.
The cold water soothes my parched throat and after a quick trip to the toilet I go back to sleep quickly, wondering when my body will stop craving Donovan’s.
My alarm pulls me out of yet another sex dream and it takes me a minute to remember why my alarm is waking me up from my slumber on a day I don’t have work. How I remember that particular fact, I haven’t a clue.
When I see how crazy my hair looks in the mirror—perks of going to sleep with wet hair—I decide another shower is in order.
Half an hour later I message Lacey & London to let them know I’m on my way. I can’t wait to see them, it’s been way too long. They did suggest a few times I meet them after work but I was just too exhausted to consider it.
Ten minutes later I park in front of our usual haunt, the Rolling Maul, and I spot my girls sitting in the sun on the terrace with a drink already.
“Hello stranger!” London starts with a grin.
“Long time no see,” Lacey adds, standing up to give me a hug.
“Shut up,” I reply, moving towards London to get my hug. It has been longer than usual since we’ve seen each other and I’ve missed them. “I missed you two sluts,” I say sitting down, thanking the waitress when she puts down a mojito in front of me.
“Oh yeah,” London says, sipping her cider. “We ordered you a drink.”
“We figured you’d be dying for one after all that work bullshit,” Lacey pipes up, taking a sip of her whisky & dry.
“You’re the best!” I take one sip and lean back in my chair with a smile. The day just got a whole lot better. “Have you ordered food yet?” I ask them as we lazily sip our drinks, enjoying the sunshine.
Lacey laughs. “Nah, that one we thought you could pay for yourself!”
I shake my head and ask them what they want before heading inside to order at the bar.
I place the order and ask the barman, Chris, for another round of the same drinks as I know we won’t be going anywhere for a few hours. We can switch to non-alcoholic beverages for the next round.
I tell Chris I’ll wait for the drinks since he’s not too busy and can do them now. He asks about Lacey and I wonder, not for the first time, when these two will finally ask each other out. I’m about to tell him he could ask her himself (and watch him blush — for a fierce looking guy, covered in tattoos, he seems unusually shy when it comes to Lacey) when I hear voices coming from the mezzanine. Voices I recognise.
“Your man friend is upstairs with his mates,” Chris says, confirming what I already know. I don’t feel like waiting for our drinks anymore and it must show in my face because Chris tells me he’ll send our drinks out when they’re ready.
“Thanks,” I mouth before walking towards the door as fast as I can without actually running.
If Donovan is here, and his mates are here, chances are his girlfriend is too and I could do without seeing her. I’ve only met her once but she seems to hate my guts so the less I see her, the better. For everyone.
I sit back in my chair outside and scull my drink, earning myself amused looks from Lacey and London.
“What happened in there?”
“Did you see a ghost?”
I look at Lacey. “I saw your boyfriend. He asked about you. When are you gonna ask him out?”
“Fuck you.” Lacey is blushing and I smirk.
“Chris asking about Lacey can’t be the reason you look spooked,” London says with a suspicious glare. “Spill.”
I sigh. “Donovan is upstairs with his mates, which means she is probably there and that’s just asking for trouble.”
“Ugh,” Lacey and London say at the same time. Thankfully that’s the end of that particular conversation. It’s one we’ve had a few times on Whatsapp over the past weeks.
The waitress arrives with our drinks and comes back with our food a few minutes later. I finally get to catch up on all the gossip I’ve missed as we devour our chicken burgers, salad and chips.
A few more (non-alcoholic) drinks and yummy desserts later we head inside to pay at the bar, Chris watching Lacey’s every move as usual. I exchange a look with London and she nods. It is on.
“So, Chris,” London asks, leaning on the bar, “when’s your next day off?”
Chris looks a bit surprised at her question but doesn’t miss a beat. “Monday.”
“What a coincidence,” I say with a grin, not looking at Lacey. “That’s Lacey’s day off too.” It’s really not but I don’t let Lacey tell him that, instead I continue even though she’s squeezing my hand in warning. “You two should do coffee, or lunch.”
“Or each other,” London adds under her breath, but we all heard her.
Lacey is glaring daggers at both of us and we’re trying not to laugh.
“Hitting on bartenders now? That’s a new level of pathetic…” says a voice behind us.
*Part 3, Epiphany and Regrets, is right here*
*Part 1, Drunk dialling isn’t always unwelcome, if you missed it, can be found here*
* If you want to read the story Selina was reading, click here *