Page 49 of Fifth Avenue Fling

I pull out my vibrating friend and get to work. It’s midnight, and efficiency is key. I need to release this sexual tension; otherwise, if Quinn returns from his run tomorrow morning, shirtless and sweaty, I might explode right there and then in front of him.

Oh. Yup, that’s the spot.

Exactly. Right. There.

Sadly, this little helper will soon be retiring. Every few months, I have to buy a new sex toy. It’s as if my body becomes immune to everything. Which is really shit because sex toys aren’t recyclable, and obviously, you can’t donate them to charity.

Even with toys, it takes me so long to come that it’s embarrassing.

And coming with actual penises, tongues, or fingers involved?

Zero chance. I can’t get out of my head.

Men expect orgasms. They expect you to go from zero to earth-shattering, yes, yes, yes O’s with a finger twitch. The embarrassing truth is I’ve never come during sex.

My ex used his tongue with the same technique as painting a wall with a roller brush—long, broad strokes. After I told him that it wasn’t about covering the whole surface but focusing on the right spot, it was game over for us.

The fact I couldn’t come became this big thing in our relationship, and sex became a chore.

Would my boss upstairs be able to make me come? I’ve never been with a man like him.God, his bulge was so prominent in his running shorts this morning, I wondered if he wasn’t a bit hard.

The familiar heat builds between my thighs.

Slowly… slowly.

I force myself out of my head, imagining Quinn’s hard body on top of mine.

Yes… I’m getting there.

My breaths turn into moans with no one to hear.

My lass, don’t leave me aloooooone.

I freeze mid-stroke. What the hell is that?

Singing.Awfulsinging on the street right outside my window.

The guy croons on, singing in a painful, mournful tone, like a male banshee. My bedroom is at the front of the house, but I rarely hear even the traffic, so this guy is singingreallyloud.

He hitches up to a higher note.

Fuck off, you idiot.

An annoying buzzing sound accompanies the bad singing. My phone.

Who’s calling me at midnight? If it’s someone from home forgetting the time zone, I’ll kill them. Unless it’s an emergency. Oh God.Granny Deirdre.

I grapple at the phone, cursing the fucker on the other end. They aren’t giving up.

Sharp green light stings my eyes, and the caller flashes across the screen.

“Piss off, Liam,” I hiss. Gobshite.

Groaning loudly, I press cancel on the phone, taking my anger out on the phone.

Uh. I’ll never be able to come now that Liam has weaseled himself into my head. Nowthere’sa guy who could come quickly. All I had to do was give the guy’s willy a wee tug, and he was exploding faster than a gas tank with a lit match.

The lunatic outside sounds like he’s drunk-crying.

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