Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
As if I could forget.
But he’s moving faster, harder again, and I buck against him, thrusting in time with him, until the whole bed is slamming into the wall, over and over, and the orgasm rushes toward me again, my clit already throbbing from his earlier ministrations. His cock seems to hit just the right angle every time, my G-spot thrilling with sensation. I let out a strangled cry, as the orgasm sweeps through my body, a rush of pleasure all the way from my scalp down to my toes.
It seems to go on and on. I can feel myself tightening around him, convulsive, feel the deep ache of his cock as he continues to fuck me, close to his own finish. His breath speeds up, his heart races against mine, and—
Buzz.
I inhale sharply, my eyes snapping open.
I’m alone in my bed, the sheets tangled around my naked body, soaked in sweat. At least some of the dream was right. I groan and sit up, rubbing at my temple where it throbs.
Oh, right. Hangover. Because I spent last night with Becky drinking wine in my living room. Because I’d been refusing to hang out with her for weeks, because at first I was busy all the time with work, and then, for the last week…
I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, as reality hits me. The same way it’s been doing every morning for the last seven days. Every time I wake up, all I want to do is plunge back into sleep. At least when I’m sleeping, I don’t have to face reality. I don’t have to deal with the fact that Lark—my Lark, the first man I’ve connected with in years, the first man I’ve ever had chemistry like this with…
Is a married man. He’s taken. And whatever messy split or makeup he’s in the middle of, I cannot get involved.
No matter how much it makes my heart hurt to walk away. I did it because it was the right thing to do.
Another buzz sounds through the apartment, and I groan again, louder. Dammit. Who’s here? I roll out of bed and fish around under my bed for a night shirt. I must have taken it off myself in the throes of my stupid sex dream.
I’ve been having them more and more. Every night since I called things off with Lark. I’d been too chickenshit to do it in person, especially since he nearly caught me in the hallway of the therapists’ offices. I’d gone to visit a therapist in order to take better care of myself, to figure out my own relationship issues, and why I have such low self-esteem.
Instead, ironically, I found a fresh reminder of exactly why, when I stumbled across Lark and his supposedly ex-wife Sheryl leaving couples’ counseling, answering to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.
That same night, I texted him. I can’t do this anymore.
Since then, he’s called and texted dozens of times. I hit ignore every time, deleted the texts unread. Better not to even slightly tempt myself.
Eventually, I know, I’ll have to see him again for work. Anderson Investments, which Lark and Sheryl co-own, remains my little makeup startup company’s biggest—and only—investor. But thankfully, for the last week, it’s been Sheryl who’s sent me emails asking for updates; Sheryl who’s written to let me know about upcoming events and orders that I’ll need to work on; Sheryl who’s become my main point of contact.
I don’t know if that’s because she told Lark she wanted to take over, or because Lark asked her to after taking the hint that I don’t want to see him. Either way, at least it’s giving me time to get over him. To get over the stupid fantasies I’d started to have, the dreams that maybe this time, this relationship, might be different…
Another buzz at the front door. “I’m coming,” I grumble, and pad out into the living room to hit the button that will open the downstairs door. The speaker is broken, so I have no idea who I just let in. Not until the doorbell rings, and my headache starts to throb again, double-time.
“Good morning!” exclaims Becky, looking far too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a girl who spent last night drinking even more than I did, while I moped on my couch.
My new, beautiful designer couch, which Lark bought for me a few weeks ago, after the first night we spent together. He spilled makeup all over my old, ragged one.
When Becky complimented me on the new sofa last night, I almost burst into tears all over again.
Now, she shoves something at me. Pastries, I realize belatedly, taking in the scent of sugar and yeast coming from the box. “Figured you could use a pick-me-up before your big thing today.”
“My what?” I ask through the buzz in my ears, the throb between my temples. All I can think about is how embarrassed I am about the mess I was last night. Well. About that, and about the sex dream that woke me this morning.