Page 17 of Mother Pucker

A lot of times–and God, it feels horrible even verbalizing it in my own head–that’s how I felt when I was with Ajay.

Unseen. Inconsequential. Frivolous.

The world revolved around him–his startup, his career, his travels. It revolved around his next marathon, or the next mountain climb with his friends. It revolved around placatory apologies for coming home too late and forgetting our anniversaries.

And while I loved my husband dearly, I often forgot about my own desires. There was simply no time between running my own practice and taking care of Kai almost solely on my own.

And the more time went on, the more Ajay seemed to forget that there was a second person in our marriage–or that he hadn’t seen her smile in months, perhaps years.

I lay in bed for another moment before releasing a resigned breath, knowing sleep is far beyond the horizon at this point. But therearetwo things within my reach that might help me relax . . .

And they’re both in the safety of my nightstand drawer.

Where they both ought to be.

I chew on my thumbnail for a moment, gathering my thoughts. Neither option is one I want to use. One has soured me from all other vibrators in my possession, and the other will give my nerves an hour or two of reprieve, but will have me feeling like a piece of hypocritical shit for days after.

Fuck it. Let’s start with option one.

I stretch my arm across the mattress and open the drawer, feeling for the smooth metal with my fingers. I keep it in my hand for a moment, feeling the weight of it, my core already prepping for the feel of it.

Rowan wasn’t wrong. I’d taken the thing on a ride multiple times at this point, and it lived up to every cent of that fifteen-thousand-dollar price tag.

I bring my new, ridiculously expensive toy to the middle of my thighs before turning it on, feeling the vibration against my skin. Rolling it further up, I feel my back start to arch and my toes curl against my mattress.

My eyes close and I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth, humming at the pulsing sensation now at the center of my thoughts. God, this feels so good. So fucking good.

I bring up the image of my go-to face–Henry Cavill as the Witcher–pretending it’s his cock between my legs. Pretending it’s his blue eyes piercing into mine as he fucks me like the monster slayer he is.

Except, his blue gaze keeps transforming into a golden-green one, and I have to shake off the image.

Ugh!

God, the irritating hockey player is even forcing himself into my fantasies!

I try again, pulling up another image of the white-haired, likely unshowered and unkempt, hunter.

“Keep the gods out of it,”Henry, in full Witcher costume, growls inside my head, his lips thinned with that restrained ire I love so much.

“Yes,” I agree in a whisper, placing the vibrator between my folds and feeling myself loosen up. “No gods, just . . . just us."

“I believe in the sword,”he growls again, but somehow, his voice sounds different, like it’s dripping with charm and honey. His lips look different, more plush. His skin, golden-toned.

To my utter dismay, Henry has completely turned into Rowan wearing the Witcher costume.

Whatever. It makes zero sense why the man keeps infiltrating my thoughts, but I’m going to go with it.

“Yes,” I hiss, feeling myself getting wetter, despite the irritating imaginary man hovering above me. “Give me your sword. I love your sword.”

“Whose sword do you love, Mom?”

My eyes fly open, my hand halting in place as I quickly gather my whereabouts and turn off the buzzing toy, shoving away Rowan’s smug face. Why is it that his aggravating smile haunts me even inside my head?

Quickly stuffing the vibrator under my pillow, I tilt my head up to look at my confused little boy standing inside the entrance to my room. “Kai-bear? Are you alright?”

Kai shuffles over the wooden floor before he crawls into bed with me, and I scoot to give him more room. “You were having a nightmare about swords.”

I nod, feeling my ears heat. “Yeah, it seems I was.”

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