Page 60 of Playing Pretend

It seems Rome isn’t the powder keg in this situation.Iam.

I keep my eyes closed when the bathroom door clicks open. I remain statuesque as his padded footsteps approach. And I bite my bottom lip like a goddamn shark as the opposite side of the mattress dips from his weight.

The proximity only makes things worse.

The darkness gives my mind a backdrop to project memories in stunning technicolor.

Think about work. Think about the drive home. Think about homelessness and starvation.

Nothing works. I can’t quit my fixation on him, palming himself. On what happened in the pool. On the pleasure. The ecstasy. The bliss.

The faint peppermint scent of his shampoo hovers on the edge of my senses as the minutes tick by. His relaxed breathing grows deeper, his easy slumber taunting my insomnia.

I lay there for an eternity, his words running rings through my mind.

You’re my good little girl, Pip. Always have been.

My pulse increases, throbbing through my chest, down my thighs.

You turn me to flame.

I smother a groan, wishing I had the strength of will to smother myself.

I love hearing you say my name.

I need relief. Just a little bit. The slightest indulgence.

I raise onto one elbow and peer over the pillow fort. All I see are shadows. All I hear is his lazy breathing.

My lust for him is crazy. I’m in a death spiral toward madness, far worse than those kiddie daydreams I used to have. The realization should be enough to vanquish the throb between my legs.

Itshould…yet the aching pulse grows.

I roll onto my back and slowly scoot my arm under the covers. Quiet. Cautious not to ruffle the bedding. I won’t take long. I only need the slightest hint of friction. The lightest touch.

I need to do what he attempted this morning. A release of tension. To indulge in a simple fantasy.

I slide my palm to my hip, my abdomen, then lower, across my thigh to inch up the night shirt that’s drenched in the scent of him. The brush of fabric against my skin is electric.

Adrenaline washes over me, each wave growing bigger, more adamant as I sink my fingers beneath the waistband of my panties.

He’s right there. Not just beside me. But in my mind. Staring back at me with hunger and that silent, sinful encouragement I can’t get enough of.

My good little girl.

My fingertips brush my clit, sparking pleasure. A delicious ache.

I bite the inside of my cheek and focus on making sure the sheets don’t rustle as I gently sweep my touch back and forth, my underwear growing damp.

He’s all I see. All I feel.

There’s nothing but Rome.

His wicked ways.

His erotic ideas.

I clench my thighs and imagine what he’d do if I removed the pillows between us. How he’d hold me. How he’d feast with finesse.

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