The Professional Lover II (18+) | [Complete]

06 : Discussing It

A/N: The following chapter contains topics some may find triggering. Please remember there is a little bit of me in every character I write. 

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"Fuck," I whimper as I stroke the tip of my vibrator hard against my g-spot. My skin breaks into a light sweat as I force myself to stay on the edge of my climax. I curl my knee up more and spread my other leg wider, my mind focused on the perfect pace of my little friend. I want this. I need this.

The humming noise fades when my imagination pictures brown skin and narrow hips taking its place. The little smile on his face when he looks down at me. Yeah, fuck me hard. Just like that! My grip tightens on the flesh of my bent leg and I picture his long fingers doing the job instead.

"Yes," I say to no one. The pressure builds painfully in my core until it bursts. My legs spread wide as I fall over the edge with a scream, the pleasure exploding through every inch of my body as my pussy clenches and releases the toy. I push it harder into my g-spot over and over then pull it out as I continue to come, a stream of wetness following its retreat. I touch it to my clit and my legs snap together around it as another wave of pleasure consumes me.

My entire body shakes as the orgasm reverberates within me, overtaking me, blinding me to everything. No one fucks me like me.

As the intensity of my orgasm starts to lessen, I help myself come down slowly. I slide my little friend through my folds, twitching every time it touches my overly sensitive clit. The waves of pleasure roll in smaller and shallower until I'm left sated on the beach of my post-orgasmic, blissful haze. 

Still panting, I switch it off and let it flop with my arm to the bed. Fucking hell. I probably made one hell of a mess, but I deserved it. 

I relax for a few moments in the silence of my room as my breathing slows to normal. Glancing at my clock, I find it's 10:45. Shit, I'm late. I spring into action, running into my bathroom to clean up.

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It's the third weekend of the month which means two things; I'm about to get my period, and Remy is taking me to California. Both are beneficial for my life, but also really fucking annoying.

I run out of my building and find him waiting under the porte-cochere, leaning against his car while he talks on his phone. He crosses an arm over his chest as he stares at the ground with a concentrated expression, his bicep straining against the light-gray material of his suit jacket.  Looks like we're taking the convertible today. Behind him, the silver Z4 gleams with a new coat of wax, its top already down for the drive.

He spots me when I walk closer and ends his call. "Hey," he greets me.

"You do know that casual clothes exist, right?" I ask him.

He chuckles and says, "So I've heard." He opens the passenger side door for me and I climb in. As he walks around the front of the car, he shrugs off his jacket, folds it, and tosses it in the back. "Are you excited?" he asks as he hops into the driver's seat.

No. I don't want to fucking go. I never do. "You know I love LA."

"I do," he grins as he rolls up the sleeves of his standard, white dress shirt. He shifts the car into gear and we pull away from the curb.

My heart beats too quickly in my chest. It seems my previous battery-aided distraction didn't work well enough. I decide to quell my nerves by flipping through his CD folder. So many good options, different genres, mix CDs, but nothing new. A few minutes later when we make it onto the highway, I still haven't decided. "Do you have anything from this decade?"