I know he’ll be my undoing. Because he’s right.
There will be no man after him.
Hell, there never was.
People think sex is what binds you, that somehow spreading your legs for someone joins you together at the hip. And I guess that might help, if there were anything else there to begin with. But a real connection, the type that binds you to someone’s soul… it’s so much more than physical. So much more.
Santo and I played with each other, and maybe that’s what we’re doing now… playing. But we never went all the way. It was a line we couldn’t cross, though we defied every other boundary.
But it’s more than a physical connection. I feel I know him, and he knows me, like he—and then it hits me with such powerful honesty, tears spring to my eyes.
Santo’s the only one who’s ever loved me unconditionally.
Unconditionally.
And those are the ties that bind.
I close my eyes and will myself to think of something, anything, but putting my fingers where I throb and relieving the pressure that builds with every passing second. He could be gone for minutes or hours, depending on how much Tavi wants to cover tonight. My guess would be closer to a shorter visit this evening, after everything that’s happened, and they’ll reconvene tomorrow and start taking action.
I squeeze my legs together and recite the alphabet.
Lame.
It doesn’t work. I roll over and grab my phone from the bedside table, but nothing, no amount of scrolling or reading or playing mindless games distracts me from the pulsing need he ignited.
Oh, fuck it.
What’s he gonna do? Punish me? Oooh, I’m so scared.
I roll my eyes at no one.
Fuck it. He can punish me. He can give me that bullshit about my body belonging to him and all that, but he’s got a lot of work to do before I’ll just hand it over to him.
This body is still mine.
So I do what I’ve been doing for years, since Anthony was a dick and only cared about his own needs. I part my legs and gingerly touch myself.
I’m not breathing. I’m waiting for him to barge in that door any minute and catch me red-handed. Or maybe he’s got goddamn cameras set up in here or a spy. There’s nothing I wouldn’t put past Santo.
But I don’t care.
If I take care of my own needs, I won’t need to depend on anyone else.
That philosophy’s gotten me pretty far, anyway.
I close my eyes and conjure up a fantasy.
One stroke.
I whimper at the first touch. I’m so swollen and slick it should be illegal. My mouth is dry at the second swipe of my fingers. My hips convulse at the third, I’m that aroused. I casually conjure my favorite fantasy.
Santo walks in the room and catches me touching myself. His dark eyes go broody and angry, his lips pressed thin. Leaning against the doorway, he shakes his head from side to side.
“Bad, bad girl. What’d I tell you about touching yourself?”
I can almost hear him standing right there, lecturing me. I have no idea why someone like me, who hates being in trouble and hates even worse being scolded, gets so excited at that deep, dangerous tone of his. I can imagine him shaking his head and clucking his tongue as he reaches for his belt and touches the buckle.
“I told you I’d punish you if you touched yourself, didn’t I? Bad, bad girl. What’s a bad girl like you deserve?”
“Punishment,” imaginary me whispers.
I stroke harder, faster. One hand travels to my breasts and I graze a finger over first one nipple, then the other. My hips jerk with the intensity of my arousal.
“Get on your knees,” he barks, snapping the belt in his hand. I can hear the snap, leather on leather, as I scramble to my knees and give him my bare ass. He’s never spanked me with his belt before, but damn if I haven’t fantasized about it over, and over, and over again.
The first spasm of pleasure ripples through me, and I’m whimpering in earnest now. My fingers grasp my nipples, first one, then the other. I stroke and circle and stroke until I’m on the very edge, on the very cusp.
Crack! The leather snaps against my ass in my fantasy as another wave of bliss washes through me.
Whack! The deep, burning pain aches so deep I scream against the onslaught of lashes, as ripples of pleasure consume me.
Over and over, I stroke my pussy, so consumed by my orgasm I can’t think straight.
And then I’m sinking. Sinking. Falling back into bed. I open my eyes.
I’m alone. Alone, in the dark room, still floating on the throes of aftershocks. I keep stroking, my hips jerking from the too-sensitive feel of my body underneath my fingers, but I’m greedy. I’m so damn greedy, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like this, so good, that I can’t stop. I close my eyes and stroke again, on the cusp of a second orgasm.