Not after what I’d done. What we’d done.
Tell that to my body. Because there was an ache sitting low inside of me that left me restless and hurting. With my other hand, I slid down over my nightshirt to the hem and lifted it. I coasted over my thighs, then the curve of my mound to my stomach. With both hands under my shirt, I plucked at my nipples.
Each pass was pain and pleasure. Something I’d never associated with the other. Yes, I liked a more abrupt touch sometimes—what woman didn’t when she was in the moment? Truly in the moment.
But this... This was different.
Max had drawn on my skin until my nipples were an angry raspberry color, and he’d tasted my pussy as if it was something akin to champagne. If I looked in a mirror, I was fairly sure I’d find faint bruises from his touch.
That was a tattoo I’d live with for as long as it lasted.
God, yes. Especially if it resulted in this feeling.
My right hand strayed lower, over my ribs, and down the curve of my belly to the swollen lips that still hadn’t quite recovered from him.
I dipped two fingers through my folds to the silky wetness that was already readying me for Max. He wasn’t there. He probably wouldn’t ever be inside me again, but the memory was etched in my mind.
Hell, I’d have to get a bigger toy to remind myself of the perfect fullness he’d provided. My eyes fluttered closed and I remembered his flicking tongue over my clit. I couldn’t mimic that, but the memory was bright enough that my body took any contact and gave only pleasure in return.
I tugged at my nipple as my hand moved faster, my fingers raced to give me the friction I needed. My hips lifted off the bed and the cry in the night was hoarse with pleasure and a plaintive groan that still left me wanting.
I curled around my hand and closed my legs, lifting my knees up to my chest...anything to get that final tightness and friction. As the orgasm crashed into me, consciousness lost and sleep took me under.
When I came around again, daylight infused my room. I groaned because I definitely hadn’t moved in the night. My entire body was stiff and I felt hungover. I fumbled around my bedside and groaned. No phone.
I pushed my hair out of my eyes. No clock in my bedroom because everything—and I do mean everything—was in my purse. Even the watch I rarely wore.
I pulled a pillow over my face. Maybe I’d just call in pathetic. It was a thing. I certainly felt like I’d gone twelve rounds with Holyfield. Pathetic had to be enough to warrant a day off.
The TV remote had to be somewhere in my bed. I fell asleep with it almost every night. Eventually, I was going to have the buttons permanently indented in my hip.
I made a wide arc with my arm and found it halfway down. I hit the power button and winced when I heard the talk show host that was on.
Not good.
I sat up and pressed info and sure enough, it was almost two in the afternoon.
Dammit. No time to find someone to cover for me.
I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and into the bathroom. Twinges from my sprawl on cement and...other things made my usual quick morning rituals a little lengthier.
And because the idea of one of my form-fi
tting dresses made me whine—out loud, because I was pitiful—I went for a soft sundress and cardigan sweater.
Screw primping.
I had to make time for makeup because I looked like an extra on the Walking Dead even with ten hours of sleep under my belt. A little bronzer hid a multitude of sins.
I didn’t have anything to put in a purse, but I grabbed a small Vera Bradley that could hold my checkbook for a visit to the bank. I’d need cash to get a new cell.
Just kill me. I so didn’t want to deal with that circle of hell today.
I definitely should’ve called in.
After an uneventful drive into the city and a frustrating trip into the bank, I came out with a few hundred dollars and a shiny new debit card. Lucky for me that the mugger had gone for my tips and hadn’t gotten to use my plastic.
With my brain buzzing from the business manager’s list of things to watch for, I didn’t have time to stop for a phone. I made it to the parking garage with ten minutes to spare.