I smiled as I pulled out my phone, just about to text him, when I stopped myself. No more contact than necessary, I told myself. Uncomplicated sex with no strings attached didn’t include a bunch of cute texts or even a phone call just to chat because I missed his voice and wanted to hear him laugh . . .
Wait, what?
I missed his voice?
What the fuck was that about? I didn’t miss his voice. Or his laugh. Or his blue eyes, or pink lips, or . . .
Fucking hell.
He was just sex. That’s all, no more, no less. There was absolutely nothing special about him or our arrangement. I could have gone home with anyone that night we first met and rigged up some kind of sex-only deal with anyone. It didn’t have to be him.
Hell, I could do that right now. I had Grindr on my phone.
I told Michael I wasn’t seeing anyone. And that was true. Seeing someone implied regular dating or some kind of commitment. And Grindr hook-ups weren’t seeing anyone. Just pure sex, no strings, no complications. So I could absolutely check out Grindr and swipe any guy who looked like fun.
It wasn’t cheating. It wasn’t wrong. I was not in any kind of committed relationship with Michael. We had both expressly said it was just sex, no commitment.
So, to prove to myself that I could, I hit the app and scrolled. And scrolled, and scrolled some more. I looked twice at a few guys but kept scrolling. They were even kinda close by. I could be dicking some guy within thirty minutes. Hell, I could dick three guys before sun-up.
But none of them were right. They weren’t what I was looking for, and my dick didn’t even care that I could be dicking random strangers all night. There was no interest. At all. Not a twitch, not an inkling.
Nothing.
Hell, I could even hit a club and fuck some random guy in a bathroom stall.
I looked down at my crotch from where I lay on the couch, eyeing my very-not-interested dick. It just lay there, all snug and flaccid in my jeans, not one iota of interest.
But when I thought of Michael and those lips and his tight little arse, his hands, his laugh, and the line of his throat and how he moans . . . and my cock pulsed at that.
“Fucking traitor.”
Great. Now I’m talking to my dick.
I could just get up and go out to some gay bar. I could do that right now. But it wasn’t just my dick that wasn’t interested in that idea. My heart and head weren’t into it either.
I held my phone, reconsidering sending Michael a text, just to say hi or to tell him it was his fault that my dick was no longer interested in some random hook-up with some stranger. And then I had a thought . . .
What if he was meeting some random stranger for a random dicking?
My heart did some weird squeezing thing and I felt hot and cold all over at the thought.
Oh, fuck this.
So I threw my phone onto the couch across the room, found some other mindless shit on Netflix to watch, turned the volume up loud to drown out my internal monologue, and spent the rest of my night not thinking about Michael.
Much.
My appointments to view some prospective site locations were scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday, which suited me fine because I spent all day Monday going over the store design specs.
We were just gathering ideas and finalising general concepts, so when the location was chosen, these concepts could be adapted to suit. I’d spent a lot of time in kopi houses in Singapore and took many photos to use as a portfolio of ideas and themes. The design company was a young Sydney based team whom I entrusted with my plan to be eco-friendly and forward-thinking, and after spending the day with them, I was invigorated and energised.
I spent Monday night looking over their concepts and crunching some numbers on sustainable bamboo flooring and fixtures, water- and energy-saving kitchen appliances, and they gave me a lot of information on government rebates for going green.
I spent all day Tuesday with the digital marketing team. Which was, admittedly, led by Noah who was very good at what he did. We laid the groundwork for a website and phone app for ordering, digitalised receipts and reward programs. I was no fool, but this was way out of my area of expertise and Noah could do it with his eyes closed.
Tuesday night I got home late and ordered dinner in. Dad’s apartment was dark and quiet, not to mention big and very empty. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the me-time and probably wouldn’t have coped too well with Dad asking me fifty questions and grilling me on all aspects of my imminent failure. I was very used to being alone. I had no issue with being alone.
But my mind began to wander back to a familiar smile and deep blue eyes. And now I had a reason to text him . . .
Hey Bossy, still on for tomorrow night?
It was only polite of me to ask and confirm beforehand, right? He wouldn’t think it was weird or clingy if I texted to confirm. And what if he said no? What if something came up and the new Wednesday arrangement no longer worked for him?
Well, if he did, I’d make myself swipe right on Grindr or go to a bar to find some rand-o, just because I could. That’s what I’d do.
Then the text bubble appeared. He was typing, and my heart was in my throat.
Please say yes. Please say yes. I didn’t really want to have sex with anyone else—
Hey SAF. Wednesday is a ‘yes please’ from me.
I damned well laughed at my phone. Thank God. And that whole sense of relief, that heart-thumping relief was way more than I was ready to unpack just yet.
Then he sent another message. What will you want for dinner?
I thumbed out a quick reply. It’s my turn to buy. Do you like Italian food?
Love it.
Are you allergic to anything?
Tardiness.
I laughed. I did notice the adverse reaction to my being late before.
Yep. The antidote is a body massage and two rounds of sex.
I laughed again. I would be deliberately late to receive that punishment. Try again. I knew it was wrong as soon as I hit Send but his reply didn’t disappoint.
How about this: If you want my body to do with whatever you please tomorrow night, you won’t be late.
I was grinning like an idiot. Message received and understood.
Is eight o’clock still okay?
Perfect.
Good. Looking forward to it.
God, Michael. Me too. Same.
Don’t be late.
Oh, I’ll be early. And his body will be mine to do with whatever I please. And fuck, my dick was very interested in this development. Wouldn’t dream of it.
You’re thinking about what you want to do to my body right now, aren’t you?
I barked out a laugh despite the way my dick was now getting hard. Hell yes I am. Any requests?
You already know how I like it.
Yes, I do. Fuck. He loved every inch of me buried to the hilt, he loved being face down, arse up, and he loved it when I banged him into the mattress . . . And now I was hard. Christ now I need to jerk off.
Or you could leave it for tonight and do me twice tomorrow night.
Or I could go jerk off now AND do you twice tomorrow night. You know I’m capable of doing both.
Bastard. Now I need a cold shower.
I chuckled. My shower will be hot and soapy, and I’ll be thinking of you.
I hate you. Make it 7:30 tomorrow night. And don’t be fucking late.
I laughed at that. You’re so Bossy.
I am, and you like it.
I really fucking do.
I hit Send before I really thought about my reply. ‘I really fucking do.’ What did that even mean? That I really liked his bossiness? Or that I really liked him?