“Goodnight,” I tell him and then shut the door behind him. I turn and shine my phone’s flashlight around the room to get my bearings. Like this whole house, it’s big, with a large bed, a desk, a chair and a coffee table.
I set my purse on the nightstand and turn down the sheets, which are cool and smooth to the touch. After taking off my dress and draping it over the end of the bed, I climb under the covers.
The bed is infinitely more comfortable than my own. There’s a fluffy duvet, and the mattress is firm but soft. It’s like I’m sleeping on a cloud in the night sky.
For a bunch of men, these four really have their shit together. Most guys’ places I go to have empty beer cans lying around, sometimes stacks of old pizza boxes, and there are always piles of dirty clothes. Hell, I have dirty clothes on my own bedroom floor, but based on what I’ve seen so far, I’ll bet their rooms are neat and tidy.
Ugh, thinking about their rooms was not a good idea, because now I’m picturing the men in their rooms, and I’m imagining them taking off their clothes and getting into their beds.
If I let myself be with them, which man would I choose?
My hand slides over my hip to the edge of my panties.
There’s Shane, a proven good thing, who gave it to me just the way I like it.
My fingers slip under the lace.
But then there’s Khalil, a missed opportunity, a frustration. It’s like I’ve been given a taste of something sweet, but then the candy was taken away from me, held just out of reach.
Past my curls, I find my wetness and dip in.
The other two men are tantalizing as well. Devin is gorgeous. Imagining how his naked body might look has me stroking over my clit with my slick finger, wishing it was his tongue that was there.
Marcos … I don’t know. He’s undeniably handsome, but he’s cold. It’s hard to say what he’d be like in bed, but it doesn’t matter. He’s part of the crew with Shane, and they’re all off limits now, so this is just a fantasy.
Just a way to release my pent-up frustration.
I stroke faster over my clit after returning to the well to collect more of my juices. As the sensations build, I remind myself to keep quiet, since I have no idea how near or far the men’s bedrooms are from mine.
To reach my peak, I twist one of my nipples, imagining that it’s Khalil’s mouth there, licking, sucking, biting. I picture Shane between my legs, his close-shaven head bobbing as he feasts on me. When I get close, I imagine grabbing his head, lifting my hips, and pressing my pussy into his face as he presses his tongue inside me —
“Mmmph —” At first there was a nearly inaudible whimper, but when I come, I turn my head to muffle the sound with my shoulder.
It’s satisfyingly strong for a self-induced orgasm. Pleasure ripples through me for a nice, long time, and when it subsides, I’m left loose, relaxed, and able to drift off to sleep, the sound of rain pattering on the roof.
12
A more immediate need
I’m disoriented when I wake up, but quickly remember where I am when I feel the luxurious bedding that surrounds me. I’m still on my back, which is unusual. Most mornings, I wake up to find myself in a variety of positions with the blankets twisted around me, so I must have slept solidly for a change.
The sky is just starting to brighten. I scan the room and find a clock on the nightstand with its green numbers flashing; the power’s back on.
A shower would be nice, but since I don’t have clean clothes to change into, I decide to wait until I get home. Plus, it would be ideal if I can slip out quietly and avoid running into the men, especially Shane. I’ll thank them for their hospitality when I see them at Rusty’s.
After putting on my wrinkled dress and collecting my purse, I step silently into the hallway. There are several closed doors further down the hall, and the sound of water running in a shower somewhere nearby. I use the bathroom and hope the noise of the toilet flushing will be muffled by other sounds in the house.
Downstairs, I have to pass by the kitchen to get to the front door, and unfortunately, Devin spots me. He’s already dressed in work clothes — faded green pants and a white t-shirt that shows off huge biceps — and making coffee.
“Good morning,” he says in a quiet voice. “How did you sleep?”
“Really well,” I admit, realizing I probably need to start saving money for a new mattress.
“That’s good. I checked the roads. The map shows some flooding, but you should be able to make it back to the island safely.” He pulls out his phone and shows me a route. “Take Byler Road instead of Trumont, because it looks like Trumont will be closed for a while.”