When I get to my rental, I pant like a dog in heat. I mean, an overheated dog—though that first bit could’ve been a Freudian slip because Evan’s poultice application was the most sensual experience of my life.
How sad is that?
Jolene is right about my D deficiency. Maybe if I got laid once in a while, I wouldn’t have reacted as I did.
And boy, did I react. When Evan ran his fingers between my shoulder blades, it took a herculean effort not to do something inappropriate, like touch myself.
Things just got worse from there, and his attempt at conversation didn’t help. If anything, learning about his reading preferences made me want him more.
And then he touched my ass.
In an instant, I was ready to throw said ass at him. I even thought about practicalities, like the fact that my period shouldn’t get in the way of anal.
Yep, that was an actual thought I had, even though I’ve never done anal.
That’s when I knew I had to get the hell out of his house.
I sigh. At least the poultice seems to be working. My face and back are not hurting anymore, while the rest of me feels like it’s being bitten by fire ants.
I toss the coverup aside and apply the poultice to my arms and legs. Unfortunately, I fantasize about Evan doing it as I go, and my horniness skyrockets again.
You know what? I’m going to do something about this.
Yeah. I wash my hands and head into the bedroom, where I close the blackout curtains, and without much preamble, go to work on my clit.
Boom.
I’ve always been quick to orgasm—when working solo, that is—but this is Guinness World Record fast. Seems like Evan’s touch has really primed the whole system.
As soon as I’m done, I’m overcome with two urges: to shower and to sleep, ideally at the same time. Hey, at least I don’t want a post-sex cigarette (like my ex—yuck) or an éclair (like Jolene). Not that I’m saying I slept with Jolene. She just volunteered the information.
Problem is, I shouldn’t shower as that would remove the poultice.
That settles that.
I fiddle with Octothorpe Glorp to make sure my morning alarm will not go off for the duration of my vacation.
My dear Precious, so long as I get to watch you sleep, I’m perfectly contented not to wake you—especially since your breath reaches the perfect bouquet of fragrance after nine hours and thirty seconds.
All righty then.
I close my eyes and pass out.