Page 122 of Cinderella Is Faking It

Tried to be all casual, get drunk and laid, and it was going to be yet another night alone in my room - with the added bonus of major alcohol-induced anxiety spirals tomorrow.

Well, that was tomorrow-Delilah’s problem.

I tossed the lid of the blue box aside and tested the weight of the vibrator in my hand. Its handle was a smooth curve, with the little air nozzle at the top jutting out at the perfect angle. Between the minimalist design and the metallic sheen, it almost looked like a fancy skincare tool rather than a sex toy.

The floor swayed a little as I climbed into bed, but I somehow made it out of my clothes and under the soft covers without toppling over. At least the buzz of the wine behind my temples quieted my anxieties when the first air blast hit my clit.

I let the warmth between my legs carry me, let my eyes drift close as I feathered my fingertips over my chest. But the second I shut the room out, I saw Beck’s head between my legs, the flicks of his tongue so close to the vibrator’s bursts of pressure. My back arched, and my eyes flew open.

Okay. No.

This was about me, not him.

I shook my head, as if that could clear out any thoughts of him, and I thought back to how I’d come really closeon my ownat Clandestine. I could imagine that. I could put myself back there. Readjusting the vibrator against my clit, and dialing up the speed, I let my eyes fall shut again. The memory of the island room was still vibrant in my mind: the dark space, dotted with beds covered in sheer curtains that allowed glances at the writhing bodies on them. I imagined myself on one of those beds, exposed but still safe, imagined the weight of people’s eyes sliding over my skin like ghost touches. And I imagined Beck sinking into me, stretching me, claiming me for all to see. I let out a startled gasp, toes curling into my sheets.

No.

Hell no.

I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him back in my life, didn’t want to give my body to someone who had so little regard for the lives of others. Why on earth did my brain conjure up images of someone who, for all intents and purposes, would have been an accessory to murder just to get his hands on a company? How could I even think about sleeping with someone, about being vulnerable with someone, who valued money more than people?

I couldn’t rationalize my way out of this, and before I knew it, I had my phone in hand and was dialing Beck’s number. Shit. I should probably- I fumbled with the buttons of the vibrator to switch off the buzzing. My phone tumbled somewhere into my pillows, just as I heard Beck pick up on the other end.

“Oops, hi,” I gasped once I had my phone in hand again, vibrator switched off successfully, “hello you. I have a queue – I have a – a question for you.”

“What the fuck? Del, you sound drunk. Where are you?”

“I’m slightly tipsy. Slightly. And I’m at home, and I just think that all the guys on Tinder suck.”

“You don’t drink.”

My heckles raised, because maybe I didn’t usually drink but maybe I also wasn’t super boring and predictable and easily exploitable. “You don’t know my life, okay?”

On the other end of the line, Beck heaved a deep sigh. “You called to ask a question.”

“Yes! I wanted to know you. Know from you.” Wow. Words were hard after half a bottle of wine. “Why do I think about you when I masturbate?” I shifted and accidentally pressed the button on the vibrator again, squealing at the sudden blow against my center. “Shit, sorry. I. Yes. Question.”

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” His voice dropped low, and the rumble mixed with the soft pressure against my clit, sent a shiver down my spine. I should have just switched the vibrator off again, but I wanted to be bold. I wanted to show him that I wasn’t just a red ribbon girl.

“I need to know, please. I tried to rationalize, but I can’t. It’s not rational for me to think about you, but my brain just keeps doing it. Is that okay?”

“Alright sweetheart, are you asking for my consent or are you asking me on an intellectual level?”

“I don’t know. Both?” I pressed my lips together, as the heat in my abdomen started welling up.

“Yes, it’s okay. Consensually and intellectually. Your fantasies don’t have to be rational. They don’t even have to be something you want to happen in real life.”

“They don’t?”

“No, because in your head, you’re safe. Even if you think about me, it’s a fantasy version of me. The scenarios you fantasize about would likely still play out differently if we were to actually have sex. In your head, you’re the director. You’re in full control.”

“Oh, I rarely am.” I laughed.

“Well, you know, keep practicing.”

“Okay, alright - oh god, oh - I am going to go now.”

“Have fun.”

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