After reciting my home address, I whisper to the dog, “You can stay for one night.”
I make the dog a makeshift bed in the kitchen with a throw pillow and blanket, but when I wake up the next morning, I smell him in my bedroom before I open my eyes and see him sitting beside my bed. He whines when he notices I’m awake and barks when I reclose my eyes, hoping to trick the thing into thinking I’m asleep. Or dead.
Like some men, he doesn’t take no for an answer and starts scratching my bed until I sit up and groan. “Are you kidding me, dog? What do you want?”
He runs in circles, chasing his tail.
Kicking the blankets off my body, I check the time and side-eye the little intruder. Do dogs always wake up this early? Or is this one just an asshole? The clear asshole follows me down the short hallway, through the living room to the front door. It opens with a crack and a rush of cool air smacks me in the face.
“Go.” I motion with my hand for him to go out. “Go back where you came from.”
The dog just stares, wagging his ratted tail and waiting.
“There’s no way I’m going out there with you.”
I go outside with the dog.
Our apartments don’t come with a yard, but there’s a large grass area where I see other tenants walking their animals when I’m coming and going. The sun isn’t up yet, but apparently a lot of dogs don’t give a shit about the untimely hour and I have company. The only difference is they’re prepared for their early morning call, and I’m barefoot with bed head.
“What’s your puppy’s name?” a lady holding a tumbler with a Dog Mom sticker on the front asks. The scent of her coffee is offensive compared to coffee from the shop I sat at with Talent the night before.
“Dog,” I answer, watching him run among his kind.
Maybe he’ll go home with one of them, I ponder.
She scoffs. “Your dog is named Dog?”
“He’s not my dog.” I turn and walk away, uninterested in small talk with neighbors. The last thing I need is for them to think I want to be friends like the stray.
Dog notices my retreat and follows me back to my apartment. I close the door in his face and hope he’ll get the point and find someone else to wake up an hour before their alarm goes off. My schedule doesn’t allow time to take care of something else. And the pet deposit on this place is astronomical. I’m not paying it.
I’m not a dog person.
I’ve never owned a pet, and I’m not about to take on that responsibility now.
A small pang pricks my chest when he scratches on the door. It could be guilt or shame. But I need to be downtown in two hours, so I head to my room to get ready for my appointment with an investment banker who likes it when I tell him his cock is small.
Wondering if I have time to swing by the coffee shop to grab one of those drinks I had last night, I run the bathwater and sit on the edge as the tub fills. I sprinkle in a handful of bath salts as my train of thought changes from caffeine to my personal accelerant, Talent.
Goose bumps sweep down my arms, and I sigh as I sink into the warm water and lean back against the cool porcelain. Steam dampens my face, and my skin immediately pinks, as hot as it was when Talent kissed me. Remembering how soft his lips are makes my nipples hard … makes breathing hard.
My chest rises and falls out of the water as I inhale through my nose and exhale out of my mouth. I rub my thighs together, sliding my hand down my stomach, lower, lower, and lower.
Imagining Talent’s smoky eyes watching me, I slip two fingers between my folds and spread myself open, exposing my clit to the hot water. A violent bolt of yearning devastates my nervous system, sparking an electric fire in my veins. I involuntarily arch my back from the tub and splash water over the side. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and moan, closing my eyes to find Talent waiting behind my lids.
It’s the night in his office and I pull his tie free from his neck like it’s happening all over again. His cock strains against his slacks, and my pussy calls him home.
The memory becomes more and more vivid as I press against my sex, recreating the urgency I felt when Talent laid me across his desk and fucked me until I forgot who I was. Regret is not watching as his length thrust inside of me that night, but bliss is remembering what it felt like.
Pleasure is using my fingers like Talent used his cock to make me come.
Desire’s the wave of exhilaration that’s slow at first but grows with every crash.
Ecstasy is when there’s nothing left to do but gladly drown.
Every muscle in my body tightens and releases tension in the greatest relief I’ve ever felt. Sensation sails through me, sweeping away every burden, worry, and strain, leaving only blinding delight behind. It carries me up, up, and away, spreading me out and open. I trap my hand between my legs and roll my hips as ticklish weightlessness fills me all the way up. Only sounds of pleasure depart through my parted lips until even my lungs are full of euphoria.
For a fraction of a second that feels like forever, it’s absolutely silent. I have no past, present, or future. No voice. No vision. Nothing but ease and contentment.
It’s just that good.
The dive back to my truth is a gentle journey.
My knees quiver, and my fingers and toes tingle. My lips are numb, and my back rests against the bathtub. Blinking slowly, snapshots of my surroundings come into focus. First, my body under the cooling water. Second, my hand clutching the side of the tub. Third, the blush that stains every inch of my skin.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
The act I put on for my clients is a sad performance compared to what it’s like when I do climax. Those fools don’t deserve the privilege to be between a woman’s legs if they can’t tell the difference between real pleasure and a show to stroke their egos. I don’t know who to feel sorrier for, them or their partners who put up with bad sex for free.
When I stand to my feet, my legs tremble but carry me to the door where my robe hangs. Plush cotton soaks up the water from my tender skin, still sensitive to the slightest touch. I lean against the sink with my back to the mirror to brush my teeth. Giddiness flutters in my stomach, and I’m nervous to see the look in my own eyes.
What twenty-six-year-old woman is nervous about getting herself off?
The one who fantasized about a particularly good-looking lawyer who has the softest lips you’ve ever kissed, I think to myself.
Spitting suds into the sink, I rinse my mouth out and stand straight to see my reflection. I study my mouth first, swollen from pressing my lips together and pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. My cheeks have almost returned to their normal hue. More green than blue, my eyes are bright and aware. My internal dialogue tells me that touching myself to a handsome guy is totally normal and nothing to dwell on, but the soul that shines through my eyes reveals a different story: deliverance.
My swollen lips curve into a smile so big, my back teeth show. And my almost-normal complexion burns twice as red.
I have a tiny crush on Talent Ridge.
Nothing more can come from it, but it’ll make taking a bath a lot more interesting from now on.
An hour later, Cara Smith looks back at me in my reflection. My eyes are flat, with a distant look that lacks passion. Instead of my lips, my heart is now numb, and the silly smile is gone from my face. I move around my bedroom on autopilot, gearing up for an appointment with a man who likes to be humiliated. Conjuring up the energy for it seems impossible today.