Page 32 of Toy Shop

“You’re not an idiot for having a kind, trusting heart.” His hand stops, wraps around my shoulder, and squeezes. “He’s the stupid one for letting you go.”

My head lifts as though pulled by a thread. “How did you know?”

“I might’ve listened to a song or two from her.” His coy voice is so unlike him.

Despite everything I’m experiencing, I chuckle.

His whole face is the sun after the storm, his palm is a ray of sunshine. “Go on.”

“We said we’d try whatever was interesting.” No longer amused, I can sense my face burning.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “We watched porn together. And I might’ve suggested a thing or two from Sex and the City. It was fun, but after a few months, he got bored, done with me. Ended it with a text saying he’s dating Lorraine and Bye, bye, great hooking up. He never gave me the feeling we were a hookup. Ever.”

I sigh, ending my story. “After that, sex never felt safe again. The whole concept reminded me of the boy who promised the world, used me, and moved on like I never mattered.”

Alistair swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in anger. The vein in his throat pulses.

“Until you arrived.”

Sorrow mars the sharp edges of his face, softening them. “I’m not promising you anything, either.”

“Exactly.” I put on a brave face, though the little paper cuts in my heart tell another story. “We’re not dating, no sweet words, no forever vows. I know where we stand,”—and boy, how I wish we weren’t in that position—“so I can’t be disappointed.”

He winces for a second, wiping it off his face the next.

But I catch it, that hint of regret.

Could he…?

No. Hope has no room for what’s between us.

I’m grounded, changed, empowered, far more than I was over five years ago.

Not to mention, Alistair is a grown-ass man.

You want me? I taunt him with my glare. Come get me.

That’s all I say on the matter.

I lean forward, kissing his cheek, and rise up on my feet. Rhodes will receive the I’m okay phone call soon when I’m on my way home. “D’you think I’ll have to pay an extra forest fare for the Uber?”

Alistair, for all his muscles, is agile, quick to mirror my standing position. He’s about to say something, his fists clenching at his sides.

I’m here! My internal screams have to reach him. I’m right fucking here!

Eventually, he lets out a loud breath from his nose, placing a hand on my shoulder. “No need for Uber. I’ll call Jeremiah and he’ll be here in five.”

It’s been two days. And I miss him. I’ve been single for many long years, never needing or missing anyone other than maybe my parents.

I shouldn’t miss him, shouldn’t long for more than the Good morning and Goodnight messages he sends me. I’d be in the wrong to do so. He’s polite, he’s gracious, doesn’t give me the icky feeling of being used, and never promised me a damn thing.

But there’s no denying my body along with a teeny, tiny piece of my soul, long for the smoldering voice rumbling in my ear, those large palms grazing my thighs. And waist. And chest. His long, pulsating cock thrusting into any hole Alistair desires to tear open and pummel into.

The ache transforms from a slight itch to be scratched into a waterfall of lust. My past anxieties are nowhere to be found, replaced by the brazenness the hot businessman has instilled in me. I turn to the nightstand on my left where I stored the vibrator he made me take home.

I pull it out, run it along my fingers. The pink shaft quakes as I press the On button. My thighs do, too.

Too impatient to wait for the second it’ll take me to remove my panties, I push them to the side. Sweet, torturous heat whirls in my belly when the device pushes inside, and I close my eyes.

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