Page 23 of King of Jokers

My emotional infatuation with Jack was a no brainer, he was intelligent, empathetic, thoughtful and he understood me on a level no one else ever could.

I always knew he was my soul mate.

What was new though, was the level of physical attraction I felt. At every waking moment I wanted to taste him, have his face between my legs and ride his mouth until I came. Although frustratingly, for the past two weeks since the night on the beach, he’d kept our time together purely platonic.

I would head off to bed each night, hungry for a meal only he could provide. I would bring myself to release with memories of his touch, the explosion of cells when he pushed his fingers inside me and the rough glide of his tongue on flesh.

My writing stats had never been better andYour Assistant,as I’d recently coined my manuscript, was spicier than a jalapeno popper. Scenes I could never have imagined, practically wrote themselves to visions of Jack.

Yet, away from the typewriter, I felt flat. Petulant. Irrationally angry. And hiding the reason behind this irritability was getting more difficult. I was a stroppy, horny teenager who wasn’t getting her way although doing nothing to even try to rectify that because I couldn’t even fathom where to begin.

Banging my hands against the keys, I sighed in frustration at the current scene I was writing — the standard third-act break up which was usually ironically loaded with unspoken declarations of love.

I needed a snack or a night-cap, something to distract me from my ever-hammering libido. Even my monthly visit from the dreaded Aunt Flo last week wasn’t enough to dull my need. If anything, it increased my desire as if it were annoyed that I hadn’t utilised the delectable human staying with me to bring forth an embryo. And now it had finished, I was acutely aware of what that meant — there were no reasons why we couldn’t continue what we started.

What was I going to do when he went back home again? I brushed the thought aside as I ninja style snuck past my beaded door curtain, refusing to wallow in a pain which would be here soon enough. Pausing at Jack’s closed door, I contemplated knocking and asking him to join me.

Instead quietly leaning my forehead against the closed door – metaphoric of how our entire lives played out. Always a partition, a boundary between us separating me from what I wanted most but was too afraid to reach. And now I’d tasted the forbidden fruit, it was the only thing I craved.

The soft mumblings of his voice cause my head to jolt, my ear pressed to the door quicker than I’d ever moved. Was he on the phone? Who was he talking to this late at night? Was there someone else? The thoughts sent heated waves of jealousy through my body, dissolving all the blood from my face, my palms growing clammy against the woodgrain.

Suddenly I was eavesdropping and breaching all forms of guest etiquette. My mother would be horrified.

I would judge myself for the grotesque invasion of privacy later when I wasn’t trying my hardest to decipher his murmurings as I held my breath, as if that would somehow enhance my hearing.

The sound was low, guttural almost and my ear flung from the door when I realised he wasn’t murmuring on the phone.

He wasmoaning.

I squeezed my thighs together as my brain conjured exactly what he was doing to incur those sounds, my body responding instantly.

Before I’d thought better of it, I knocked lightly and opened the door without awaiting a response.

Apparently I lacked any respect for boundaries now too. My lascivious heart was going to Hell with the rest of the world who interrupted people in the act of self-pleasure. He shot upright in bed, the sheet covering his lower half in a suspiciously tented manner. The small amounts of moonlight peeking through the open curtain was enough to showcase he wasn’t wearing a shirt. My eyes greedily charted his torso, over his tattoo I wanted to lick and the chest I wanted to trace.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. His initial response, like always, for my wellbeing.

I walked towards the bed and he gripped the sheet with both hands, probably terrified I would discover what he was so obviously doing – as if it wasn’t the reason I was standing in front of him, with incredibly wet panties and a throbbing sex which begged for satisfaction.

“Can I…” Oh my god. I couldn’t say the words.

What was I thinking? What was I actually thinking?

“Can you what?” He prompted, his voice deep, the sheet still struggling to conceal the evidence of his arousal and I used that as the courage I needed.

“Can I?” I gestured towards the sheet, unable to articulate exactly what I meant and his eyes widened briefly in understanding.

When he didn’t respond I knew this was my last chance. He left in a week and while I knew he would walk away, back to the life he created for himself, I would remain stagnant in Willow Bay. I needed to take my chance or I would live with the constant what if.

With forced confidence, I reached for the bottom of my tank top with both hands, pausing only long enough for him to tell me to stop, before pulling it over my head and pushing my sleep shorts down to my ankles.

The blanket of darkness gave me the conviction to stand before him, entirely naked as his sharp intake of breath pierced the air. He still didn’t speak and I wasn’t sure what that meant until he pulled the sheet back in an invitation I was never going to refuse.

Slipping under the cool sheets next to him, I rolled onto my side mirroring the position he was now laying.

The cicadas split the night air, the open window allowing a cool breeze to enter making sleep achievable despite the sweltering days.

“Win, I have no control with you,” he whispered, his body frozen.

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