I let her.
“Get off the internet and start writing,” she came into my office and told me for the twentieth time that day.
I hadn’t even been focused on my computer screen, internet or no. I’d been spaced out and thinking about her. She’d turned me down twice and no meant no, so I didn’t need to tell her what had really been plaguing me.
Instead I played along. “This is important,” I told her, just to rile her. “It’s research.”
“You said you’d say that.”
“That does sound like something I’d say about me.”
She bit her lips, trying not to smile, and I gripped the edge of my desk.
She wasn’t done, the pint-sized hellion. “If you don’t give me five hundred words in the next hour, you’re going to have to run naked along the fence of your entire property.
I stared at her. “You’re telling me to go streaking? As a deterrent?”
She nodded, eyes glinting. “Chop chop, cupcake.”
She walked away, and it took a lot not to go after her.
I met the word count goal, even brought my laptop into her office to rub it in.
She was bent over her desk, ass facing me. She was wearing a skirt, and thanks to me it wasn’t a tent that went down to the floor. I even caught a glimpse of the back of her thighs. And the shape of her ass… I could barely look at it, the way the fitted skirt hugged her curves.
She moved, wiggling a bit as she wrote something on a notepad.
My mind went wild, picturing those plump, ripe, fuckable breasts in my hands while I took her from behind.
Well, shit.
I set my laptop down on a side table quietly. I snuck up on her because I wanted to see what was making her wiggle like that.
She was drawing. Already formed was a precise depiction of Mayhem the Unicorn.
I couldn’t tell what he was doing so I moved closer and leaned over her to look.
I shifted forward a bit more, my hips straining at her in spite of my brain telling them to stop, but they had a mind of their own. If she’d just back into me so I could feel her, just a little.
The rest of the picture took shape as I moved close. The blue unicorn was back, holding a handful of balloons and floating high in the sky. He looked extremely stressed out, eyes popping out of his head.
Below were the little pink unicorn and Mayhem, pointing and laughing. It was all very expressive and just precious. I loved it.
“You know,” I mused into her ear, “it seems like Mayhem does more bullying himself than actually preventing it. You have a confused message for your unicorn.”
She turned her head to look at me and pursed her mouth, another tell that she was trying not to smile.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you wanted to look at it, she also moved her ass just far enough back to brush against my aching cock.
I put my hands on her hips, to push them away, probably, eventually, maybe, but she straightened just then and actually leaned against me, looking back and up, up, up at me.
“The thing you call love,” I said. I just couldn’t shut up. “What it really is is intimacy combined with sex, and we can have that without making it fiction.”
“You know what the most amazing thing about you is?” she asked idly.
I started to preen. Oh how I loved hard-earned compliments. “My abs? My biceps?”
She scoffed. “No. You’re not even warm.”
“My dreamy, bright blue eyes?”
“It’s that you actually believe the ridiculous nonsense that comes out of your mouth.”
She did have a point.
“Not all of it, but most of it,” I corrected.
She turned suddenly and reached up to my face.
I held very still, caught, fascinated, enthralled by the idea of what she’d do next.
She ran her thumb slowly over my bottom lip, once, twice. My eyelids drifted shut, but I forced them open to watch the way she was looking at me.
It was insane, with the amount of hedonistic delights I’d buried myself in over the years, but I’d swear it was the most sensual thing I’d ever experienced.
I was trembling. I’d never wanted anyone like this. Her thumb on my lips was more intense than full on penetration with another woman. It was bedlam.
I told myself, in some twisted attempt at comfort, that I only felt this newfound level of desperation due to the simple fact that I’d been depriving myself, but even I had a hard time buying it.
Deprivation alone could not account for this.
My hand moved, I watched it, though I didn’t control it at this point, to caress her breast.
I took a deep breath, then another, my need rising up to the surface until I was choking on it.
“Not to be overdramatic,” I told her gruffly, rubbing her nipple through her thin white blouse, “but if I can’t get my dick inside of you soon, I think I might die.”
She laughed, the sadist.
She moved away, but she was as affected, as unsteady, as I was. She went behind her desk and sat down heavily, like her legs couldn’t hold her weight anymore.
I put my hands up in the air, backing toward the door. “I get the hint. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”
She just watched me, her eyes eating me alive, and I wondered how a virgin had perfected a soul-sucking stare like that. It was out of fucking line.
She stopped me when she spoke.
“You’re overwhelming, Thorn,” she said quietly and with no expression. “Too much of everything.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Not even close.”
I squinted at her. “Are you sure?” It was worth a shot. I could spin anything. When she didn’t respond, I changed tactics. “You know, you’re pretty overwhelming yourself.”
When she squinted back like I’d made her curious, it felt like a small but pointed victory. “Is that a compliment?”
I smirked. “Absolutely.” I walked away.
I was still receiving my usual texts from women. Somehow I wasn’t even a little bit tempted, in fact I’d taken to categorically discouraging them.
For some reason none of them took me seriously.
A name I vaguely recognized sent me a particularly close up, detailed picture of her vagina.
Me: No ty. I’m a vegan now.
Her: Lol. Want me to come over tonight?
Me: No, I’m out of town indefinitely.
And I meant it about the vegan thing.
Look elsewhere for your fix.
Another of my old regulars sent me a nude of her using a particularly hardcore toy on herself.
I sent her a gif of a bible whacking someone over the head with blinking text across it that read, ‘Begone, Satan.’
That didn’t seem to faze her at all going by the fact that she sent me a video immediately following that. I didn’t even look at it.
The two girls from the counter incident were sending a steady chain of filth my way, as well. I ignored them for quite a while before finally responding.
Me: I’m taking my priest vows.
Repent and stop texting me those.
They are the devil’s work.
It didn’t even slow them down. I stopped so much as opening most of my texts, and I wondered what was wrong with me for multiple reasons: Why had I indulged so many meaningless flings with such vigor? Followed shortly by: Why was I so unmoved, so wholly un-tempted by them now?