Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I sobbed and sobbed. What was I thinking? This was fucking useless. Yes, Lance was dead. Taken from me too soon. I had to move on, but this wasn’t the way. Was there a way? I had to find one if I was to keep my sanity. But would my heart and mind would ever let me.
I sat up to take a hot shower and noticed the new toy Lance had purchased about a week before he was murdered. I smirked at it, thinking of how excited Lance had been when he showed it to me. He called it a “badass clit sucking g-spot monster.”
He’d gotten a massive hard on just describing how hot it would be to watch me use it on myself. He’d said it would be like having his own porn star in bed. And also teased me about the toy sucking my clit better than he did. We never got to try it out.
It arrived in discreet packaging the day he was killed. I clung to the memory of his excitement and removed the toy from its box. I inspected it, found the switch, and turned it on. Good, it had a charge. Interesting.
I stripped out of the negligee because I was tired of the fucking pretense. This wasn’t about love or romance; it was about the physical release I needed. Badly.
Propped up by two pillows, the ones that had been Lance’s, I sat back on my bent legs, and turned the clit sucking part on. Weird, but intriguing. I slid it between my lips, finding them slick with arousal and positioned the vibrator on my clit.
Damn. The clit sucking felt nice and then it felt really fucking nice. It wasn’t as nice as Lance, but my nipples beaded all the same. I hit the button to the part that vibrated my g-spot and slowly increased the pulsing vibe. Which felt amazing, until my whole body was slick with sweat and another image of Lance flashed, him smiling at me from between my legs.
“You taste like strawberries.” That’s what he’d told me the first time he went down on me, when I’d been too nervous to enjoy it.
Every memory of us, every flash of his face, seemed to set my orgasm back a little.
“Come the fuck on!” I pushed the button again, turning the setting to its highest and ground my hips against the vibrator as I shoved it deeper and harder into my body while I squirmed, and moaned, pretending it was Lance making me feel good.
Tears rolled down my cheeks and my muscles ached with the strain of reaching toward the orgasm that remained just out of reach. No matter how hard I panted, how much I relaxed and let the pleasure wash over me, I just couldn’t get there.
“Okay, goddammit, I can do this.” I sat up on the bed and bounced and ground my pussy onto the vibrator, my mind on Lance, thinking of how good it felt to be on top. With one hand gripping the toy, my hips moved up and down and in an ‘s’ formation just the way Lance loved it.
Nothing.
I increased the suction on my clit and a scream of pleasure escaped.
“That’s it,” I growled and moved in an up and down motion that was meant to please only me and slowly, pleasure began to take over completely. Gone were the images of Lance and they got further and further away as my body accepted the physical satisfaction the machine gave me.
The machine, not Lance.
I bounced up and down on the purple dildo while the suction pulled at my clit over and over, like there were two people down there working to bring my orgasm to the surface. Two people, one sucking my clit while the other fucked my pussy and neither of them were Lance. Not even the image of him, smiling or grunting, could get me there which forced more tears to the surface.
And then it happened. Ugly crying, butt-ass naked with my eyes slammed shut while I fucked a vibrator, finally my orgasm came.
It was stronger than any I’d ever felt, throwing me down on the bed in a fetal position. My body twitching as pleasure drowned my pussy and coated the toy along with my fingers.
My body pulsed and jerked as tears streamed from my eyes, and grief swamped me. The orgasm was long and drawn out, like months and months of physical release had finally broken free.
I felt limp.
And sad.
Guilty.
Lonely.
More than anything though, I felt angry. Angry that I couldn’t even have one last fucking moment of pleasure with my husband. That not even his face could help me come.
By the time the last aftershock rocked my body, a small smile crossed my lips. I felt different somehow, more than relieved. More than satisfied.