Page 57 of Wide-Eyed
“Huh?”
“I can’t orgasm. Not ever. There’s something wrong with me.”
After a long silence, Mike lowered his wallet. His expression was a cocky smirk I’d never seen before. “You need some Magic Mike to make it all better, baby?”
Mike had never called me baby. Princess or girl, yes. Never baby.
Swagger radiated from his every pore, evident in the way he leaned on the doorframe and in his shit-eating grin.
It would be so easy to say yes.
But it wouldn’t work. I’d have to fake it. And then he’d never do adorable things like use his wallet to stop from salivating over my tits. He wouldn’t be Mike anymore. He’d be this swaggy fuckboi, and I’d be no better off than I was now. It’d be the worst of both worlds. Maybe I should just give up and drown myself in the tub. A modern Lady of Shalott.
“No,” I answered finally. “Fuckbois can’t help me.”
A fraction of his swagger fell. He nodded and turned on his heel.
Be brave.
I added, “But you might be able to.”
The muscles in his back clenched and then slowly loosened, like a tide receding into the ocean.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” But he still didn’t move, didn’t turn around.
“Will you come closer?” I asked.
His shoulders rose with his inhale. Then he did. He sat on the floor beside the tub, leaning one arm on the lip. His brown eyes were intent as he said, “Tell me what’s upset you.”
I spilled my guts. I told him it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I’d never been able to orgasm and it made me feel bereft. My body was fine, it did all the things it should. My head, however, was a disaster. Eventually, I talked so long, I had to stretch up and twist the faucet for more hot water. Mike did something on his phone as I did.
“I just can’t focus.” I sank back into the perfectly temperate water. “That’s not unusual for me. But with this, I can’t tell when I should push through discomfort and when I shouldn’t. So many things in my life have felt unnatural, but everyone always says you should suck it up and do the thing—like studying for tests to pass subjects you hate. Or grocery shopping. Now I know that it’s just my ADHD making it hard to focus and lots of things aren’t set up for my brain. But what if sexual pleasure is one of those things that isn’t for me? That would suck so bad. I want it. Like, really want it. I crave it.”
Mike’s eyes were intent, so I kept talking.
“Like, for example, that time with you? With the passenger princess video and the licking and all that? I think about that all the time. But it doesn’t matter how hard I try. I can’t get there and it feels like I never will.”
“Tell me how you felt with me in the car. You said you felt close?”
I nodded. “I didn’t want to stop. I liked ….” I had to take a bravery breath. “I liked when you used the belt to hold me. It helped me shut off some of the worrying.”
Mike nodded slowly. “I’m no shrink. That’s probably obvious—I didn’t even finish high school. But it sounds to me like the problem is that you think too much, Lyssa, and you distract yourself.”
“Understatement, Michaelangelo. It’s like I have six trains of thought and about 40 percent of them are disaster forecasts, and the rest are the same line of the same song over and over again. And they all run at the same time. And sometimes crash into each other.”
“I noticed ….” He trailed off, choosing his words.
I settled back down against the enamel, tugging my dress up to make sure things were covered. It was a bit of a pointless effort—my tits were all over the show. Slip dresses were great for vibes and terrible for support. But it didn’t matter what Mike thought of my tits right now. It mattered if this situation confirmed for him that I was too much banana for one milkshake.
“You were wet when I was fingering and licking you,” he said instead, making my breath hitch. “Before Keri showed up, I mean. You were shaking like a leaf. I definitely thought you were about to come.”
Hearing him recount that moment in his deep voice made me shiver. “Yeah.”
“What about now?”
