Page 58 of The Thorne at My Side
He leans down and helps to lift my shoulders onto the bed and then turns to the bathroom. I look down at his release on my chest. The streaks of cum slide slowly down the slope of my tits. I run a finger through the still warm liquid and bring it to my lips. My tongue darts out just as Austin turnsthe corner from the bathroom.
"Are you tasting my jizz?" He asks as his feet stutter to a stop.
"Maybe," I reply before sliding the finger past my lips and sucking hard. He's salty, briny, and the taste makes my walls clench around emptiness.
His gaze is pure adoration and I panic when I realize I’m looking at him in the same way. Anxiety rises in my chest, and I dart my eyes away.
"If I had known you wanted to taste it I would have shot off in your mouth," he says as he hands me the washcloth. "Would have saved me some clean up. Do you wan-" he stops when I sit up quickly and say "So I'll just go now."
"Okay," he agrees quietly as I step into my body suit. "Want me to, oh, no, okay." He finishes as I slide the garment up my arms myself and reach down to step into my pants. I have to get out o here. Feelings are happening and I’m not supposed to have feelings with Austin.
He sounds disappointed. Did he want to go again? Should I ask him? Was he going to ask me to stay? I already decided that I wouldn’t. Right? Right. This is just sex.
Except, I can’t escape the crash. It's happening in slow motion and in real time and at hyper speed all at once.
The emotions of wanting to stay, of the experience we just shared, of still despising him because of the business he created. I'm also overwhelmed by the awkwardness of being the one to leave.
How does he do this? Just finish sex and walk out the door. Our sessions leave me in a foggy state for several hours afterwards and right now my body is screaming at me not to leave.
It's begging to cuddle up next to Austin. To spend the night.
Instead of indulging these desires, I fasten my wide leg pants,take one last look around his suite with regret because it’s really nice, and then I turn around and leave.
CHAPTER 17
Twelve Weeks Exactly
AUSTIN
The door clicks shut behind Maggie and the sounds of silence fill the room. I slowly lower myself to the bed and cradle my head in my hands to give it time to catch up to the rest of my body.
I almost fainted when I saw her drag her finger through my cum and bring it to her mouth. Stars appear in my eyes as I remember it now. That image will stay with me forever.
She is everything I could ask for in a sexual partner and it is killing me that it's just sex.
I would ghost TalkShopGirl in a heartbeat if Maggie asked me to because it hurts far too much to watch her walk away. I spot her hair clip on the nightstand and reach for it. I pinch it open and let it clip shut on my finger. The sharp pain is welcome. It distracts me from the pain of Maggie walking out.
It’s best that she did. Maggie loves her job, she’s good at it. She will never be able to look past the fact that I started AIM and made her work life incredibly more challenging.
I rub my hand down my face and feel the complexities of our situation close in on me. It feels like a fucked up version of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie. Everything rolls back to the fact that I created a product that she has to compete against.
AI Media did exactly what it was supposed to at the debate. I saw early numbers before Maggie came over and the response from the target demographics were better than we had expected. The language, the slight adjustments to Senator Quinn’s positions, and the additional factors we were able to sneak in resonated with voters.
The campaign lines and prepared speeches Maggie wrote did not perform as well. And it's not to say that the writing was bad, far from it, but it sounded rehearsed and prepared and people can smell planning a mile away.
It isn't Maggie's fault, it's just the current consumer landscape. People want what they want in an instant and they want it customized to them.
I was glad Maggie didn’t change before coming to my room. When I saw her before the debate in that body suit my reaction was visceral. It hugged every curve and then her pants hung off the globes of her ass and flowed down to black heels. I could only see half an inch of them, leaving the rest to my active imagination. I bit my lip to keep my tongue from rolling out like a dog.
I don't think she's dressing like that to get to me. I think this is how she always dresses. Always clean cut, muted colors that compliment her complexion and let her ideas shine.
People could only say that she dresses well. There's nothing flashy or controversial. It makes a statement by not making a statement.
I wonder if it's on purpose? She’s mentioned her boss getting attention for her clothing choices. Maggie strikes me as the type of person who would learn that lesson and apply it to herself.
I shake my head and toss the hair claw onto the nightstand again. Obsessing over Maggie is counterproductive.We won’t get together, and thinking otherwise is insane. I move across the suite and pick up the SMS Connect phone.
Whoever TalkShopGirl may be, she likes me as a person.
