I drag air into my lungs and hook my leg backwards over his thigh.
He plays between my legs for a minute and then feels around my hip in the dark. Directly after that, his right hand leaves my boob to go to behind my other hip where he finds the elastic gathers and hauls it down with both hands. The trap door of my onesie.
I wore this specifically because it was unsexy and more complicated than the average thing to remove. The trap door was a feature I liked when I got it because everyone knows that one-piece clothing is not fun for having to go to the bathroom, but a trap door makes that easy. Evidently, it also makes for easy sex access for jerk-face dick alphaholes.
But instead of moving away, instead of breaking the silent treatment to say no, I just kind of go with it. Because I’m weak. And because… might as well.
This could be the last time for this.
His cock slides right in and the noise he makes causes more goosebumps to erupt on my skin.
He’s gone back to the boob and the crotch with his hands as he slides in and out with even, deep strokes.
My body arches with the delightful sensations and I let out an involuntary whimper sound that has the magical effect of making him go faster with the cock strokes and faster with the finger circles on my clit. The left hand then moves from my boob up to my throat and stays there while he goes harder, faster, making me cry out hard as a climax rips through me.
I’m still whimpering when I’m flipped to my belly and fucked into the mattress hard until he groans out his release.
He then leaves the bed.
By the time I’ve caught my breath, he’s beside me, pulling my onesie down off me. He wipes between my legs with a warm, wet cloth and then dabs with a dry one before disappearing again into the closet slash bathroom.
I haven’t moved. I’m like a ragdoll. A naked, sleepy one.
The blankets are pulled over me and his lips touch my shoulder before he pulls me back into the spoon position.
Neither of us say a word before I fall asleep.
36
Jude
I wake up to music. Loud music. Too loud. Cypress Hill’s How I Could Just Kill a Man.
Ally is holding her phone, the thing making the noise, in front of my face. She’s fully dressed for work, but today all in black, and has her purse on crossbody, sunglasses on her face, a scowl on sparkly pink lips.
“The fuck,” I growl.
I sit up, grab the phone off her and press on the thing to make the noise stop. I toss the phone and hear it land somewhere on the floor with a thunk.
“Let. Me. Out,” she demands.
“Thought you weren’t talkin’ to me.”
She throws her arm out, pointing. “My cab is outside, and I don’t know how to get out of your fucking house.”
She throws my phone at me. After it bounces off my shoulder, I grab it and can see she’s tried to figure out my security settings. While I gave her the code to get into the phone last night, she can’t get into the security settings without that additional password so won’t be able to get the garage door unlocked. If she heads into the front of the building, it’s a bit of a labyrinth.
“Go ahead out the back. I’ll close it when you go. I’ll pick you up.” I disable the alarm and flop back, throwing my forearm over my eyes.
“I’m working late.”
“Text me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up,” I say.
She doesn’t answer, so I lift my arm.
“Ally?”
She gives me the finger, walks across the room and grabs her phone before storming to the stairs.
“Alyssa!”
She stops at the top of the stairs but doesn’t turn around.
“You go nowhere today other than your office. Even for lunch. Order in.”
She flips the bird again and goes down the stairs.
“I mean it, Vixen,” I call out.
Guess I’m not getting a goodbye kiss.
37
Ally
I don’t know why I was such a bitch to him this morning.
And I kinda hate myself for it. But the bitchiness keeps up because then Carly comes to my cubicle with a coffee cup big enough to fit a whole pot of java into. And a little paper bag. My guess? A cranberry orange scone, because that’s my favorite and the coffee cart downstairs only has them on Tuesdays. She knows I get pouty if they sell out before I get one.
“Hi,” she says softly, timidly setting them down.
“Hey,” I say, then my eyes bounce back to my screen. I’m on my own with no more Wade to help me and I’m having a fuckuva time with the typesetting software I’m using.
“I’m sorry you’re mad at me,” Carly whispers.