keep from crying out as the orgasm shakes my body. My hips lift into the air, and I work every last swell and release from my body until I collapse and, panting, finally go still.
Satiated, my muscles melt like jelly and all the anxious tension I’ve been walking around with seeps from my body. The sensation is temporary, but I’ll take it.
I’ll be embarrassed soon enough, but for now, this will do.
At long last, I think I can sleep.
I adjust my nightgown, covering my breasts and shielding my body from the elements. I manage to climb off the oversized lounger, which suddenly wants to suck me down in to its plushness.
I have to hurry, before I lose this feeling and sleep eludes me. Lids heavy, I pick up my phone and open the doors to my bedroom, where I can crawl into bed.
My eyes drift closed.
My phone dings.
My heartbeat kicks up, beating fast and furious, sleep washing away like I’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water.
I look at the screen, see his name.
My whole body goes into overdrive.
I slowly slide my finger across the screen, opening his text.
Sleep well, Cat.
Caden
In the morning, I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have sent the text. No, I definitely shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t help myself. I watched her from the shadows the entire time, aching to go to her and deliver what she was craving.
In the moonlight, she was so beautiful, stretched out in white, breasts bared. I hadn’t been able to see her cunt, but the memory of how wet she’d been that night was still fresh in my mind, vivid enough to know how slick she must’ve been at that moment.
Maybe I’d have been able to resist texting her if she hadn’t looked in my direction the entire time she’d been touching herself. She’d wanted me to be there, and I was.
Of course, she couldn’t have known, but it felt like we were locked together, intimate and hot, full of lust and desire. In the hidden shadows, we could be free.
Watching her, I experienced the full force of her longing, and I was somehow surprised to find it matched my own.
So, yeah, I shouldn’t have sent the text.
But that twisted part of me wanted her to wonder, to have her mind race with was-he-or-wasn’t-he questions, to be full of thoughts of me.
Another stupid move on a long list of stupid moves where she’s concerned.
Now here I am, searching out the consequences of my actions. I walk past her office and find it empty.
I have no reason to seek her out. She has her responsibilities, and I have mine. They don’t have to intersect this morning, but I want to see her. I need to see her reaction to me, need to see her flustered.
Obviously, I’ve got issues.
I rationalize it because I don’t intend on bluntly telling her I watched every second of her fucking herself with her fingers. But I’m compelled to confront her, to put her on edge, waiting and wondering, unable to ask me directly.
It’s why I sent the text the way I did. Ambiguous.
I’m toying with her. I shouldn’t be, but I am.
It’s a dangerous game I’m playing.
And despite the logic, the rationality and my conviction to stay away from her, I cannot resist. In my head, I’m just testing, insisting I won’t do anything. I’m giving myself a taste of what it would be like to fuck with her, to fill her head with lustful thoughts that tease and torment her.
I believe it…kinda.
Underneath though, I know the truth. I’m lighting the match, wanting to get burned. It’s my fatal flaw. I can’t resist the flame.
If I let it consume me, I’ll implode. But I keep telling myself I won’t let it get that far, that I’ll pull back and do the right thing.
But we’ll see.
I’m good at lying, to myself and others.
I wander through the distillery, the hum of machines a soft whine in the background, and I finally locate her in the reserve tasting room, busy and focused behind the counter.
When I open the glass door, she turns around, a smile on her face that fades from her lips the second she sees me, a hot flush climbing up her cheeks.
She smooths a hand over her stomach. “Oh.”
She’s wearing a dress.
I’ve never seen her in a dress.
It’s a flowy, floaty fabric that caresses her body—a white background and yellow buttercups decorating the material. It’s demure, innocent, and unassuming. There’s not one thing sexy about her