Reasonable Doubt: Volume 3 (Reasonable Doubt 3)

You once said that you missed when we were Thoreau and Alyssa because I supposedly treated you better. I don’t think I treated you any differently. I just really wanted to f**k you. But when we did meet in person, I unfortunately wanted to f**k you even more.

I personally prefer us as “Andrew & Aubrey” because on a night like tonight, when there’s nothing I would rather do than f**k you against my balcony until you cum, at least I can actually picture what your pu**y feels like and no longer have to imagine.

Pick up the phone…

—Andrew

I shook my head and set the phone down, mentally erasing that message and stepping into the tub.

I lay back and let the hot water rise to my chest, exhaling as it warmed my skin.

It was becoming easier to avoid thinking about Andrew now that I was talking to Brian, but it was harder trying to force myself to forget. I still thought about him late at night when I was in my bed, often wishing he was inside of me.

Nonetheless, I wasn't running back to him and his ass**le-ish ways, and I would never allow him to come back to me.

Never.

I scrubbed myself clean with a soft loofah, trying my best to ignore the intense throbbing between my legs that always came when thinking about Andrew. I filled a ladle with water and poured it over my head—unable to push away the thought of Andrew washing my hair in the tub, of him telling me to stand underneath the streams and hold the wall as he grabbed my waist and f**ked me from behind.

My fingers found their way to my clit as I remembered him bending me over the vanity in his bathroom, saying “I need you to f**king take it…All of it…” as he palmed my br**sts and kissed his way down my spine.

I rubbed my clit in circles—shutting my eyes as I pictured his lips on mine, moaning as it swelled with every caress.

“Ahhhh….” I felt my ni**les hardening as the water cooled, and I was close—so close, to coming, but my phone rang.

Andrew?

I immediately stood up and wrapped myself in a robe, rushing to answer it—telling myself that I could pick up his call “just this once.”

“Hello?” I held the phone up to my ear without looking at the screen.

“Aubrey?” It was Brian.

“Hi…” I sighed, trying to mask my discontent. “How are you?”

“Is this a bad time? You sound kind of upset.”

“I’m not upset. I was just getting out of the bath.”

“Oh, well good,” he said. “Did you use the relaxation kit I bought you?”

“I did.”

“Did you also think about me?”

“Yes…” I lied, feeling slightly guilty. “How was rehearsal?”

I walked to my dresser and slipped into a T-shirt, listening to him recount the many ways that Mr. Ashcroft was the devil reincarnate.

“He’s worse than Mr. Petrova.” I pulled my hair into a ponytail.

“Worse than Paul Petrova?” He laughed. “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen that man’s documentary, seen him make grown men cry.”

“Well, maybe years ago. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still rude and overbearing, but he has a layer of softness that Mr. Ashcroft lacks.”

“I’ll take your word for it…” He cleared his throat. “How tired are you right now?”

>I rolled my eyes and stood up, wiping the part of my desk where her ass had been.