Collapsing, he gently kissed my neck over and over, staying inside of me for the longest time. When he eventually pulled out, I could feel his hot cum streaming slowly down my inner thighs. I’d never known what that felt like because I’d never let a man come inside of me before. I was no virgin, but somehow it felt like my first real time, far more intimate and intense than anything I had ever done with anyone. It felt like I should have wanted to run to the shower, but it was just the opposite. I wanted the remnants of him to stay inside of me.
He kissed me softly until I slowly fell back asleep, wondering if anything I could ever conjure up in my dreams would top the reality of what I’d just experienced.
***
THE NEXT DAY IN WORK, a complete and utter fog followed me around all day. Nothing Ida was saying was registering. My mind kept replaying the events of the night before. The few hours before I was set to see him again seemed like an eternity. It felt like a drug addiction for Christ’s sake.
I assumed he’d been quiet all day until I checked the Ask Ida email account.
Dear Ida,
This is the former Celibate in Manhattan. You might also remember me as Stuck-Up Suit. I thought it would be polite to provide you with an update to my situation, seeing as though you’ve been so helpful thus far. The good news: I’m happy to say that I’m no longer celibate. The bad news: Now that I’ve had her, I want to be inside of her every second of the day. I can’t stop thinking of fucking her in every which way. I’m worried that she may eventually tire of my insatiable appetite. So, my question to you is: Is there such a thing as too much sex?
–Fucked in Manhattan
Dear Fucked in Manhattan:
Congratulations on ending your celibacy. I guess the answer to your question would depend on how good you are in bed. Assuming that your performance is favorable (which I highly suspect it is), I don’t think you will have a problem. You may also be veering on the side of presumptuous in assuming that your lady friend would find an overabundance of sex unfavorable. Don’t underestimate a woman’s own voracious libido.
That evening, Graham was supposed to call to let me know what time his driver would be picking me up to take me to the condo. It was unlike him to be running so late without calling me. My paranoid side got the best of me as I picked up the phone and dialed him.
He answered. “Soraya…” The tone of his voice sounded sullen.
What the fuck?
“I’ve been waiting for your call. Is everything alright?”
He let out a deep breath into the phone. “No. I’m afraid it’s not.”
My heart started to palpitate. “What’s going on?”
“I just got some news a little while ago.”
“News?”
“It’s Liam.”
“Your ex-friend? Genevieve’s husband. What about him?”
There was a long moment of silence. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER 13
SORAYA
THE ANXIOUS FEELING I HAD after speaking to Graham last night had carried over into my sleep. I tossed and turned all night, unable to settle. By morning, I was downright antsy. Graham had said he was going into the office to work on some business last night—he had planned to take over Liam’s company through smart business maneuvers but had no intention of taking advantage of the man’s death to get what he wanted. Although that wouldn’t stop others. The vultures, he said, would be scavenging first thing this morning when news broke. Graham was going to somehow freeze out others from taking advantage and postpone his own planned takeover.
I was disappointed he wasn’t on our usual train, although I hadn’t really expected him to be.
Soraya: How are you this morning?
Graham: Tired. I’m still at the office.
Soraya: You mean you stayed there all night?
Graham: I did.
Soraya: I’m sorry. This must be difficult for you. Is there something I can do?
Graham: Just hang in there for me, please. I’m going to be swamped for a few days.
If I was unclear on just how affected Graham was by the news, his response solidified he was not himself. He hadn’t suggested I should crawl under his desk or spread my legs when I asked him if there was anything I could do.
Soraya: Of course.
Arriving at my stop, I exited the train and began my usual morning routine of stopping at Anil’s coffee truck. After I placed my order, a thought hit me.
“Can you make that two coffees and also two buttered bagels and two orange juices?” It wasn’t exactly gourmet, but it would make me feel better to do something for him. The man had followed me and sent Indian food because he thought I liked it; a bagel and coffee was the least I could do.