I have to. I’ll die if I don’t.
My hand slips under the waistband of my shorts and inside my panties. I find my clit and bite my lip against a groan of relief—but the relief doesn’t last long. My fingers move in a familiar, circular motion over the bundle of nerves, my breathing picking up, my body tensing. What if he grabbed me instead of walking away? What if he threw me on the bed and did what we couldn’t do back at home? I would be totally at his mercy. And I’d love it.
My body tenses, eyes squeezed tight. My free hand rubs my tits before I pinch my nipples, moving back and forth. But it’s not my fingers. It’s his lips, pulling and sucking, his tongue lapping at the very tip.
Filthy images flash across my mind. Fantasies. His body pinning me to the bed, his hands all over me. Moving inside me. Taking me. Fucking me until I scream his name—
“Zeke.” It’s a whisper, barely a breath. My head falls back, and my body goes rigid a heartbeat before the wave crashes, and I lean against the door, spasming until my legs shake. So good.
My eyes open, and the sight of my own reflection is the first thing I see. I’m flushed, trembling with a hand down my shorts and another cupping my tit. I don’t know if I should feel embarrassed or sorry for myself.
Is this what the entire year will be like?
Because this is the first day, and already, I don’t think I can take it anymore.
And I don’t know how much longer getting myself off will be enough to get by.