If you're not going 2 call me, @ least do something 2 ease your tension.
Take bullet U got @ Jenny's party out for a test drive. Report back
2 me 2morrow ~ Liz, The Bullet Bitch
I rolled my eyes and deleted her text without responding. Why am I not surprised that Liz just sent me a text ordering me to masturbate? I turned the light off in the kitchen and made my way down the hall to peak in on Gavin. He was sound asleep so I quietly shut his bedroom door and walked across the hall to my own room. After throwing on a tank top to wear to sleep and brushing my teeth, I was curled up in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about Carter.
And his hands.
And fingers.
And lips.
Fuck!
Shouldn't I be thinking about how I was going to deal with this situation? My one-night-stand shows up after almost five years and he was just as gorgeous as ever and he was making me feel things I had no business feeling. I should be making plans. Driving over to his house so I could apologize for the way this huge bomb was dropped on him. I had nine months to prepare myself for this. He had no time and no one there he trusted or really knew to help him get a grip.
My heart threatened to melt as my brain quickly switched gears and I thought about the look on his face when he finally recognized me. Had he really been looking for me all this time? It just seemed so impossible and far-fetched. But Jesus, the look in his eyes when he realized it was me…it was almost too much. He looked like a dying man that had just been given the reprieve of life. His face lit up and his smile made me weak in the knees.
No, that was his tongue and the hard-on you felt poking you in the hip.
God he smelled amazing. He still smelled like cinnamon and boy. Well, that would be man now wouldn't it? And my-oh-my, what a man. I rubbed my thighs together when I felt that familiar tingle between my legs. Shit, I was never going to fall asleep at this rate. Or make any important decisions. I felt like a live wire about ready to burst into flames. I ran my fingertips over my bottom lip as I remembered the feel of his lips gently brushing back and forth over them. God I wanted him to kiss me so badly right then. I wanted to feel his tongue against mine, and I wanted to see if he still tasted the same as he did all those years ago. I was agitated and now, horny as hell. I knew I needed to take care of this or I’d never get to sleep. I wanted to take care of this with thoughts of Carter fresh on my mind, but suddenly, the thought of my own hand bringing me the release I needed didn't sound very thrilling. I wanted it to be his hands touching me, his fingers sliding through me and pushing me over the edge. My hand just wasn't going to do it for me at this point. I reluctantly glanced over at the black suitcase leaning against my wall and gave it a dirty look.
"God dammit, Liz," I muttered to myself as I angrily flung the covers off of me and stormed over to the suitcase. I pulled open the zipper, reached in and closed my hand around one of the clear plastic, factory sealed bags containing what I needed. As soon as it was in hand, I paused and looked around the room to make sure no one had seen me. You know, just in case I suddenly lived with ten people who might be standing in my room watching me without my knowledge. I huffed in frustration, crawled back into bed and leaned against the headboard. I was an independent, twenty-four-year-old grown-ass woman. Why the hell was I so freaked out about using a vibrator? This was the twenty-first century for Christ sakes. My grandma probably owned one of these things.
Uuuughhh, *gag*. I just threw up in my mouth a little. Note to self: thinking about masturbating grandmas is not, I repeat NOT on the list of approved spank bank material.
Determined to do this thing before I had any more disgusting thoughts about relatives that may or may not own a battery operated boyfriend, I tore open the plastic with my teeth and dumped the contents of the package onto my lap. I picked up the blue, oval, plastic remote, letting the twelve inches or so of thin cord that was attached to the remote unfold until a small, silver cylinder was dangling from the end in front of my eyes like a pendulum, slowly swaying back and forth.
You’re getting very horny. I’m going to count backwards and when I get to one, you will be a satisfied woman.
I rolled my eyes and scooted my body down until I was lying flat on my back. Setting the remote down by my hip, I stared at the little silver peanut of pleasure. I had a moment of panic trying to figure out if I really believed in ghosts and if I did, were they watching me right now? Was Mr. Phillips, the dirty old man who lived across the street when I was little and died of a heart-attack when I was twelve, standing in the corner waiting for me to diddle myself? Was my great-grandma Rebecca standing there waiting to yell at me and tell me I was going in time out if I couldn’t keep it down?
Son of a bitch!
"You better be worth all this self-doubt, my little friend," I threatened the battery operated toy.
I shook my head at my stupidity for talking out loud to a vibrator, closed my eyes and flicked the damn thing on with my free hand that was still resting on the remote before I lost my nerve.
That thing may be little, but it had a kick. It jerked alive in my hand and if there weren't any ghosts in my room before, the whirring sound of this thing was sure to wake those f**kers up from the dead and bring them right to the source of the noise to see what the ruckus was.
I flew under the covers, dragging the bullet with me and hugging it tight against my stomach in an effort to muffle the noise. When you were little and you were afraid of the boogey man, getting under the covers meant he couldn't see you or grab your foot while you were sleeping. True story. I figured the same rules applied with dead people watching you masturbate. Under the covers means it wasn't really happening. You can't see me! My sheets are magic and they make my vagina disappear!
