Kicking Reality

“I can get you off in less than a minute,” I remind her, gazing longingly at her chest. “And your nipples are hard.”

“Yeah, they’re sensitive.”

“You’re hiding something.”

She’s quick to open her mouth. “No I’m not.”

I knew her too well—she was hiding something. But what? Then, it dawns on me.

The day of the week. Monday night . . . the deadliest night of the week.

“Wow, you think you’re gonna get off so easy?”

“C’mon, you do this every Monday night and then I have to deal with sour and jealous Logan.”

&n

bsp; “Funny, you weren’t complaining when you came three times in a row.”

“No . . .” she trails off. “But still, why the hell do you watch? Who cares! It’s over with him now. I want no part in this.”

We had this argument every Monday night. I knew she had already watched the episodes when her producer couriered them over. I don’t know why I couldn’t stop. It drove me fucking insane having to watch her fool around with Wesley onscreen.

I don’t want to talk myself out of it, ignoring my raging dick and her half-naked body. With just one press of the remote, the TV comes on and I stare at the screen waiting.

Emmy lets out a loud groan, falling back onto the bed and covering her face with a muffled scream. I ignore her overdramatic behavior and spend the next forty minutes with my stomach in knots, bile rising in my throat and my blood pumping so fucking hard that I was on the verge of a migraine.

It was the episode where they went to London. I should have sought solace in the fact that she had been fucking me behind his back yet that didn’t make it any easier seeing them with each other and the way the episodes were edited to make them so united.

I switch off the TV and stare blankly at the black screen.

“You’re your own worst enemy,” she says stubbornly. “You can either sit there, sulk like you always do and not talk to me for the rest of the night until you crack because, again, you’re your own worst enemy. Or . . . you can turn around and keep perfectly still, quiet if you want to brood. And I’ll just give you a show.”

It piques my attention yet I maintain my broody persona because I didn’t want to jump the gun so quickly and look like a pussy.

And speaking of pussies . . . there’s one staring at me when I turn around.

She’s lying back on the bed, two pillows propped up behind her so her body is angled perfectly. Her long, lean legs appear even longer in that position. Smooth and irresistible. Her knees are resting against each other but when she notices that she has my attention, she spreads them enough for me to see the full view.

“I realized when we began our steamy affair, you enjoyed when I tried new things.”

My lips remain still, desperately trying to hide my smirk. “Well, you didn’t like anal play.”

“I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I think we can both agree that I do now.”

“You certainly do.” I lick my lips, crawling towards her until I’m close enough to smell her arousal. “So, what’s left?”

“What did you tell me last week was a fantasy of yours?”

This is a trick question. My male instinct tells me not to answer yet I still do because I have some sort of death wish.

“A threesome?”

She snorts. “Two guys and me?”

“Is that a joke?”

“Much like your answer.”