Lady Luck - Ashby Crime Family

It was something I did at least once a week and usually it made me feel better, to do something to help improve the lives of complete strangers. This week though, I simply went through the motions, offering words of strength and wisdom that I didn’t feel. Smiling at the sad faces of the children who only wanted life to go back to normal, because I shared their sadness. Wishing life could go back to the way it was.

But it couldn’t.

That wasn’t how life worked. It wasn’t how time worked. You could either become like a bug, stuck in amber with no way to move forward or you could plow forward until you finally reached the other side.

I wanted to get to the elusive other side, but last night with Emmett proved that I couldn’t. Or that I wasn’t ready. Yet.

But I wanted to be ready, dammit.

It was time.

With a renewed sense of determination, I put off the trip to the grocery store and went straight home from the shelter. I locked the doors and went upstairs to the bedroom I’d shared with my husband and slipped into a black negligee that made me feel like the most desirable woman in the world. It was a pointless gesture, of course, since it was just me, but the confidence it gave me helped.

Soft R&B streamed from the speakers where my phone was docked, and I tip-toed across the room and pulled open the drawer where I kept all the sex toys Lance had bought for us. Instantly, tears slipped down my cheeks at the evidence of one more thing we would never get to do together. He’d gone on a little shopping spree shortly before he died, buying up a few different toys he thought might be fun to try out. When he displayed them on the bed, I clapped my hands and laughed. I couldn’t wait.

And then we’d been robbed of that time to experiment and play. Robbed of the feelings people have when they do intimate things together.

I reached for the hot pink vibrator; it was curved at the end for g-spot stimulation. It was also the only one we’d gotten around to using. The first time we’d used it, I’d squirted so hard, Lance almost came just by watching me orgasm with it.

Memories of Lance danced through my head and I sprawled out on our bed thinking about that night with Lance, imagining us using the toys he’d picked out for us. He was showing me a new side of him, a devilish side.

I loved our sex life together, but he was telling me he wanted more. And I wanted to give him everything he wanted. Thinking of making him happy with his new playthings made me hot. Made my clit tingle, and slowly, I spread my legs.

This is for Lance, I told myself. I’ll pretend he’s here with me, enjoying me, enjoying myself. My heart beat faster remembering him in bed with me, his hands gliding over my skin as he got harder and whispered in my ear how much he wanted me, what he wanted to do to me.

I could almost feel Lance with me as I slid the silicone tip across my clit, turning it on ever so slightly to warm me up. Lance, oh, yes, my beloved Lance. Do you see what I feel?

The vibration felt good, really good. I was getting wet. A good sign. Maybe I could break through the guilt and have a proper orgasm. It had been too long. Lance would want that for me, wouldn’t he?

I turned up the speed of the vibrations and slid it inside my vagina. I tried to tell myself it was Lance who was moving inside me, rubbing against my clit and making me hot.

I turned up the vibrations to another level and gripped the toy with my fist, my other hand caressing my breasts. Ooh, that felt good. Was that the way Lance did it? I couldn’t remember now. It had been too long.

My legs trembled; I was almost there. But who was I kidding? It wasn’t Lance. I missed Lance. My body coiled up. Forget Lance, I told myself. Give yourself over to the sensations, your clit crying for release. The tension building and building. Yes, yes! I was going to finally have an orgasm and leave all the guilt behind.

I stabbed at my pussy, my hips moving faster and faster on the goddamn dildo, but why wasn’t I enjoying this? Why wasn’t I getting there, getting to the edge of pleasure where I could let go, where every nerve in my body would explode. Come on, I told myself. You can do it.

But I wasn’t turned on so much as I was angry now. Angry that life, guilt, my dead husband was denying me the simple fucking pleasure of an orgasm.