Oh, my.
Tasting myself on Evan’s breath is the hottest thing that has happened to me in seven years. Actually, coming from his tongue was.
Wait, no. The honor belongs to the moment when Vitamin D makes its grand entrance. Or more specifically, enters me. It’s so big that my muscles have to stretch to adjust for it, but once they do, the feeling of fullness—and rightness—is frighteningly good.
It’s like I’ve suddenly become whole.
Evan thrusts into me, gently.
Wow.
He does it again, still carefully.
Grr. Judging by how ravenous his kiss is, he’s restraining himself. So I grab his butt—which is hard-muscled perfection—and ram him into me.
He takes my not-so-subtle hint. Oh, my, does he ever. He pistons into me harder, faster, his movements borderline savage, and I feel a new orgasm coiling inside me. Every muscle in my body tenses, and tingles of delight run up and down my spine as white flecks dot my vision.
Evan shifts his kisses to my neck as he impossibly speeds up his thrusts.
My entire body is covered in goosebumps of need, and my hands grab his ass again, without any ulterior motive this time, just to have something to hold on to.
Fucking me harder, he sucks on my earlobe as if it were a clit.
I cry out, my nails digging into his ass.
Evan’s eyes, hazy with lust, meet mine, and I tumble over the explosive edge.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes!
With a loud scream and my insides quivering all over Vitamin D, I come so hard the white flecks in my vision go supernova and every nerve ending in my body sizzles with electric ecstasy.
Above me, Evan groans in pleasure, grinding into me as he reaches his release.
The aftermath is as soft and foggy as the sex was wild. Holding me like a little spoon, Evan strokes me all over as I catch my breath. I feel both ridiculously happy and wrung out, so I yawn. Loudly.
Evan chuckles into my hair. “Did my performance bore you that much?”
Since he already sounds cocky, I don’t tell him I have a case of the proverbial fucked-out brains—or that his performance was the best I’ve ever experienced, by a wide margin. Instead, I yawn again. “You did well. Especially considering it was our first time.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” he says. “I think you owe me another rematch.”
He wants to do that whole thing again? With me? The thought fills me with languid hope and contentedness as I fall asleep.
I wake up because my phone has somehow turned into a jackhammer, and its hellish vibrations are drilling a hole in my skull.
I check what the infernal device wants.
Oh. It’s a video call from Jolene and Dorothy. I think I know two people by those names, but I don’t want to talk to them right now. Or talk at all.
I mean to dismiss the call, but I accidentally click “accept”—the dexterity of my fingers is clearly compromised.
“You slut,” Jolene says instead of a hello. “You totally got some last night.”
Is Jolene like that boy in The Sixth Sense, but in her case, she sees freshly fucked people?
Speaking of freshly fucked, it’s all coming back to me now. Drinks. Strip Scrabble. Vitamin D overdose.
Blood leaving my face, I turn to see if the owner of Vitamin D has heard what Jolene said.
Hmm. Evan is missing from the bed.
Weird. I’m pretty sure this is his house.
“I’ll call you back,” I say in a hoarse voice. “Oh, and please, for the love of all the vacation gods, do not call me at the crack of dawn.”
“Actually, it’s noon,” Dorothy says defensively just as I hang up on them.
Noon? I immediately think of Reagan and start dialing the camp. Once I hear his cheerful and excited voice on the other end, I breathe a sigh of relief and wish him a good day, careful not to do so too loudly.
After we say our goodbyes, I check my Octothorpe Glorp, half expecting my blood alcohol content to conveniently appear on the screen.
My dear Precious, if I could dream, I’d dream about being a phlebotomist so that I could have access to the healing elixir that is your life’s blood. I’d gladly inform you of BAC, or infections, or unwanted pregnancies, or if your blood tastes bad. Alas, the elixir is not accessible to me… at least outside of my fantasies.
Hmm. Where is Evan?
“Evan?” I shout, but it comes out like a husky whisper.
I walk up to the bathroom and knock.
No reply.
I pull the door open.
The room is empty.
Maybe this is a blessing in disguise? I’m probably not in any condition to be seen by Evan, or anyone else at the moment.
Entering the bathroom, I spot a sealed toothbrush that someone has left for me.
Okay. Seems like Evan was here at some point in the recent past and thought of me.
That’s nice, but where is he now?
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I feel awake enough to tackle the elephant in the room: I slept with Evan.
More accurately, we went on what amounts to a date, and then he gave me multiple orgasms.
And I liked it all. And want to do it again. Badly. Ideally, while I’m sober so I can remember every little detail.
No. That’s crazy talk. I’m still only here on vacation, so at most, Evan and I can have a fling, which until last night, I didn’t think I’d ever want.
But… didn’t we just have a fling? Or is it a one-night stand at this point? Is there a difference?
Either way, what harm would it do to fling my pussy at him some more?
I look at myself in the mirror sternly. The harm could be immeasurable because days like yesterday could lead to feelings.
And maybe already have.
No. Can’t allow feelings. Even if by some magic, I were to turn into a Florida native and therefore no longer hold the status of a tourist, I still haven’t told Evan about Reagan—the most important part of my life. But if I tell Evan that I have a child—one of those creatures that he hates—he’ll run for the hills, assuming he’s not already hiding in said hills.
Speaking of that, I come out of the bedroom and search the house.
All I find is Sally, who narrows her eyes at me in the clear feline equivalent of slut shaming.
“Where is your human?” I ask.
No reply.
“Evan?”
No one answers.
Wow. Is it possible he did the classic one-night-stand thing and slinked away? But can you do that when the one-night stand was in your own house?
Maybe. Could he be watching me through some security camera, waiting until I get a clue and leave? Then again, I’ll still be his renter for a while, so avoiding me might be tricky.
Hmm. Jokes aside, could last night have meant so little to him? He said he wasn’t into flings, but he did drink, and he does own a penis, so…
My phone rings again.
Is it Evan?
No. It’s my friends.
Maybe they can shed some light on this?
I accept the call but tell them to hold on.
Walking over to the fridge, I take out milk, locate cereal in the pantry, and make myself some breakfast. If he truly is waiting for me to leave, I’m not going to make it easy for him. Besides, breakfast might absorb some of the alcohol still sloshing through my veins.
“Spill already,” Jolene says when I finally return to my phone.
“Yeah,” Dorothy chimes in. I can only see the top of her face on the screen, but she seems very curious because her eyebrows are raised, and her forehead is wrinkled.
“One second.” I take my breakfast to the porch, assuming that even if Evan is spying on me, he’s unlikely to overhear me outside. “It all started when Evan brought over a treasure map,” I say, and proceed to tell them everything.
“I’m so proud,” Jolene interrupts when I get to the bedroom part. “Is this how you feel when Reagan brings home an A?”
“Yeah. Those are exactly the same situations,” I say with an eyeroll. But I do wonder: would Evan give me an A for last night?
“Please continue,” Dorothy says, her voice not quite her own.
“Hey, not cool,” Jolene says. “You can’t masturbate when your girlfriend is dishing, no matter how sexy the story.”
Dorothy gets so close to her phone that we can only see one pantomiming eyebrow. “Unlike some, I don’t masturbate twenty times a day.”
“Who does?” Jolene makes a show of looking around, like secret masturbators might be hiding in her kitchen. “From my experience, after about ten sessions, soreness becomes a real issue, so whoever the twenty-times woman is, I’d like to ask her to give me some tips.”
“You know what, I’m done.” I move my finger to end the call.
“No!” they both shout in unison.
“I’m sorry,” Jolene says.
“Same,” Dorothy adds.
Fine. I finish my story, going into graphic detail in the process. Unfortunately, reliving it all makes me hot and bothered, and wishing for a lot more. Soon.
“But when I woke up, he wasn’t here,” I say in conclusion. “And I have no idea what it means.”
“Did he leave you a note?” Dorothy asks.
“Or text?” Jolene adds.
I examine my phone.
No texts.
I haven’t looked for a note, though. “Hold on,” I say and retrace my steps through the house. No notes in the kitchen, but when I return to the bedroom and glance at the nightstand, I feel like an idiot because there it is, next to the papier-mâché Evan.
A note written in masculine handwriting.
“What does it say?” Jolene demands.
Great question.
Hands trembling, I reach for the note.