“I’m going to miss you.”
I could ask her to stay. I could do a lot of things. They all push me to a place I swore I would never go again.
Twelve
Sasha
Mybodyhasmeltedinto Tank. I don’t understand how we can have something this intense, and it can feel so perfect, and yet, our relationship is over as quickly as it started.
Love at first sight. That can’t be real. Not between four people, can it?
Right. It’s not.
For all the times I’ve been grumpy about those analogies that women imprint on the first men they have sex with, I have to question if it’s true. I can’t imagine a life without these three.
But I know women move on. Women move on all the time, and they move on happily and strongly. I’ve seen it many times. So if this imprint theory is a complete crock of shit, why am I almost in tears?
I’ll be strong. I’ll put on a brave face and act like leaving isn’t a big deal.
I roll my head to the side and kiss Tank’s neck. “I’m going to miss you.”
He tenses. His breaths deepen. He’s probably worried I’m fishing for an invitation to stay. I mean, I could stay till lunch. I don’t think anyone would complain, but stay in their lives… That gets complicated real fast.
I honestly don’t know how I can ever date again.
He saves me from the spiral of despair my mind is ready to embark on and says, “You can come over forbreakfastany time.”
There’s a distance, a coolness to his words. He nods toward my coffee and biscotti but I catch his drift. A breakfast call instead of a booty call? Or could I show up the night before and make sure I’m there in time for breakfast?
If my heart wasn’t hurting, it would be a funny thought.
I keep up the role-play, lean back, and rub my wrist, noting the telltale red ring. Muscle memory takes me back to the sensation of my arms stretched overhead, handcuffed around the closet rod while each of them took me from behind.
I loved it all—the chase, the rush of adrenaline, of not knowing exactly what was going to happen, the pleasure-pain, the way they adored me, and the safe space they gave me to completely surrender. Everything.
“Guess I’ll go back to my boring cold cereal and coffee for breakfast when you guys aren’t around.” I start to lift, and lament at the slow drag of Tank’s still-hard cock out of my sex.
He grabs a napkin from the table and tucks it between my legs. I wish he was doing it to keep what he calls the baby sauce inside. He probably just doesn’t want to have to clean up the mess if I drip all over the kitchen floor.
Then he surprises me by saying, “Well, unless you’re ready to quit taking birth control I’ve done all I can do.”
His words sting. My chest tightens. I’m pretty sure it misses a few beats. I didn’t tell him I was on birth control. Confusion blurs my world.
My stomach knots. The chocolate-dipped almond biscotti and coffee have no appeal. I think I’m going to throw up.
Did they really think I was on birth control? Did they think there was no way I would go through with this if I wasn’t? Did I say something to confuse them? Oh my God, what if I got pregnant and they don’t want me?
I barely eke out, “I’m not on birth control.”
He huffs, and I feel insanely stupid with the napkin tucked between my legs.
Rushing to the closest bathroom, I try to figure out what to do. A few deep breaths help me decide it will be much easier to process whatever just happened in the comfort of my own home. I clean myself and head out of the current bathroom, to a different one where my dress was left.
Passing Winger on the way, I say, “I need to go home. Want me to drive you back to your bike?”
“You don’t have to leave. You can hang out all day. I don’t have anything else to do.”
“I should go. I think the mystique of the role play has worn off. Even if I got four hours with each of you, time’s up, right?” I don’t wait for him to answer.