“Ah, yeah, she’s in the living room. What’s this all about?” I asked, a little bit suspicious at the man’s uniform and his lack of protocol. I mean, aren’t they supposed to flash their badge first?
“Good, please take me to her,” he demanded, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. He reminded me a bit of Sean, but with the body of a God wrapped in a tight policeman’s uniform.
I held my hand out, pointing in the general direction of the living room. “Right through here.”
The moment he walked through the doorway, some terrible p**n star music started blasting from the surround sound unit, and without warning the police man was throwing his hat across the room and gyrating his hips in time with the beat.
After his performance where he subjected Sophie to an intense ‘interrogation’ and insisted she conduct a hands on body search of him, he hung out with us for the rest of the hour, chilling back and having a beer.
I’d gone outside to get some fresh air, and was contemplating calling Sean for a hook up, when I felt a warm hard body come up against my back. “I wondered when I’d get a chance to talk to you,” he whispered into my ear, moving down to kiss the sensitive spot of my neck that makes me shiver every time.
“And why’s that?” I replied, thinking that he probably tried this line on at least one woman a night.
“Because while it was Sophie’s hands on my body back there, I was imagining it was your hands, your body, your mouth on my…”
That was me done for!
I’ve always been a sucker for a sweet talker, and Zander...well, he’s a master of flirtation and seduction.
“And where would I do that?” I asked brazenly. By that stage, I’d had a few drinks under my belt and was definitely feeling sassy and brave. Oh, and horny as hell.
“Follow me,” he said, taking my hand and leading me down the alleyway to the side of Sophie’s two story house.
That night, Zander and I had sex up against the wall of Sophie’s house. It was quick, it was dirty, and God damn that man could do things with his hands and mouth that most women dream about. We exchanged numbers, then he left to go to another job, and I went back inside for another tequila shot. It was a fantastic night all round, one that has been repeated at least once every few weeks since then.
Aside from our physical relationships, I’m friends with all three of them. Each man provides me with a different physical need that I crave and desire; that sometimes I just want. But I’m not a slut, and I’m not easy. I don’t have the emotional connection to sex that a lot of other women do. I have three men that I have mutually beneficial, no strings attached, physical relationships with. We’re all safe, and we all know the exact nature of our relationship.
So with all these attractive, eligible, and physically compatible men in my life, how come I’m at home, lying in bed on a Saturday night, not wanting Sean, Noah, or Zander?
For the first time in four years, a man has my heart beating faster, my eyes shining brighter, and my brain turning to mush. The touch and taste I’m craving is Daniel Winters, and I want to time travel forward a week so that I don’t have to wait to see him again.
I’ve worked five night shifts in a row this week, and my body is feeling the confusion of night and day, sunshine and dark. I’ve hardly seen Kate, let alone anyone else. Zander called me Wednesday night before my shift started wanting to catch up for a drink, but I was so zombie-fied from night shift that I had to decline. I did promise to text him when I was off nights and feeling more human, though.
Delicious Daniel has been as irresistible and as flirtatious as ever. He’s sent me a random text message every day this week. Last night he sent me a text around midnight, telling me how he had driven past the lake and it made him think of me. This man is seriously swoon worthy, but I’m not supposed to swoon, I’m not a swooner. Me and emotional connections do not go together.
Daniel seems to affect me on a different level to other men, though. He seems to want to reach inside and turn me upside down; finding out about me, and what makes me tick. It makes me want him in a way that is unknown to me and scary as hell.
I’m having a break in the on call room, and my mind is doing what it does best; not shutting off and letting me sleep. Instead, I’m remembering back to last week when I was in here with Noah, before my chance meeting with Daniel on the train.
He had seen me in the cafeteria grabbing a midnight snack from the vending machine and sent me a text outlining exactly what he wanted for his meal break. Five minutes later, I was pinned against the wall of one of the surgical floor’s on call rooms, being pounced by a very hard and horny walking dildo. Too far gone for foreplay, he had shoved my scrub pants down, desperate to get inside me.
About halfway through, I hit a road block and started thinking too much.
This feels good, but not great like it normally does.
What the hell, Mac? Get it together. He’s the walking dildo, he always makes you come and fast, usually multiple times. So why does this feel like a long distance run rather than a short hundred meter dash? To be honest, it’s getting rather uncomfortable.
Shit, he’s getting harder, and I can feel him tensing up; his grunts are getting louder, his thrusts faster and more sporadic. I make a moaning sound, knowing he likes to hear me, and it works, seemingly spurring him on.
Right now I feel as if I’m a ride on pony outside the grocery store. Put a quarter in and hop on board! I’ve never had a problem getting off before. Hell, I pride myself on it. What is wrong with me?
Oh God. What if I’ve broken my clitoris from overuse? Misuse? Self-abuse?
I moan again.
“Fuck, Mac. Come with me. I’m close, babe. Really...”
Thrust!
“Fucking...”
Thrust!
“Close...”
Thrust!
I have to do something. Shit, I’m going to have to fake it.
“Oh, yes. Fuck me, Noah. Harder. Oooh, yes, that’s it. Right there. Fuck! Argh!” I cry out, tightening my kegels and totally bullshitting my way through a fake orgasm. Noah stiffens and growls my name through his gritted teeth as he climaxes.
Thank God for THAT!
After the countless number of orgasms I’ve had at the hands, mouth, and c**k of Noah, I’ve never had to fake it. Ever. Maybe it is my body’s way of telling me that I want, no need more than just sex. Maybe I do need more. It has been four years since the Beau disaster. Is it time that I open my eyes and mind to more than sex alone?