This chapter contains explicit scenes, including sexual content, which may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised. If you're uncomfortable with mature themes, feel free to skip this chapter.
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No matter how much I refuse to believe that this man has pushed me to my limit, my body betrays me. Every part of me is aware of his absence, even though he left me alone in the kitchen over an hour ago.
My mind tells me to fight it, to regain control, but my body refuses to listen. Every muscle, every nerve remains on edge, as if it's still responding to him, as if he's still here. I can't understand how someone can affect me so deeply, but the truth is undeniable—he's left an invisible mark on me that I can't shake off, no matter how hard I try.
Even though he's not here, I can still feel the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin.
I imagine his hands sliding down my arms, tracing the curves of my body, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire beneath my skin.
NO.. Think about someone else...
Theo James,
yessss.. Henry cavill,
Michael B. Jordan,
Mahir agasthya.
fuck, No.. Not himm
I cup my heavy breasts, my thumbs brushing over my stiffening nipples. A soft sigh escapes my lips. I can't stop fantasizing about his touch. I imagine the way his hands would glide over my skin, leaving a trail of warmth and tingling sensations.
He would squeeze my large breasts, thumbs brushing over my sensitive nipples. Then he would grip my thick thighs, spreading them open to reveal my glistening folds.
I squirm on the bed, my pussy throbbing with need. I don't want to think about him this way, but my body betrays me. I crave his touch, yearning to feel his hands on my skin.
I let one hand trail down my body, over the soft curve of my belly, until I reach the juncture of my thighs. I'm already wet, my juices coating my folds and dampening my thighs. I part my lips with two fingers, exposing my aching clit to the cool air.
I circle the sensitive nub with a fingertip, my hips bucking up to meet my touch. I'm desperate for friction, for something to ease the terrible ache inside me.
I reach into my bedside drawer with a trembling hand, pulling out my trusty vibrator from my handbag. Don't ask me why it's there.
It's thick and veiny, closely resembling a real cock. I flick it on, the low buzz filling the room as I spread my legs.
