Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
But emotionally, we’re worlds apart. In theory? In theory, we might as well be London and Seattle. I’m the plane in Seattle, stuck on the runway, hesitating at takeoff. He’s the driver at Heathrow airport, waiting for the client who may never show.
We’re so close yet so far apart.
I wish—with everything I have, everything I am—that I could push past the heaviness of my past and leap recklessly into his arms. I wish it didn’t have a hold on me.
All I have is the knowledge that I’m not broken. I don’t have nightmares. I don’t have flashbacks. I don’t suffer because of it—I’m not depressed or anxious.
I’m perfectly normal if you don’t count my affliction for addiction to a single person.
I’m whole. I’m just a person with a demon from her past that causes her to fear. Find me someone who doesn’t have that, whether it be a nightmare or a broken heart from a high school boyfriend, and I’ll applaud your ass as you run out into the sunset.
I change from the bikini, stuff it into a bag to send back down, and slide into a pair of shorts and a shirt with spaghetti straps. I pour a glass of wine and step onto the balcony. It leads straight from my “front room,” and the view covers the whole beach. I can see the pier, the stores on the street beside it, the people streaming through the streets.
It’s a whole different world. One day, I’d love to live somewhere like this. Somewhere busy yet quiet. Somewhere packed yet empty. Somewhere you can step out your door and breathe in the salty sea air without the chill of Seattle.
I settle back into the chair and sip my glass. At least I stopped at a store before I got here—thank you, Google Maps, for your expertise on where I should purchase wine.
I set the glass on the table next to me and gaze out at the beach. There are people wandering… Playing, kissing, dancing…
His hands are all over my body. His fingers stroke me in the most intimate way, caressing each of my curves in turn with the same amount of reverence. He’s worshipping me, leaving no part of me untouched by the softness of his fingertips.
His mouth settles by my ear. “I missed you,” he breathes, running his lips down my neck to my collarbone. My hips tilt up, my knees bend, my arms reach up…
And grasp thin air.
Godfuckingdammit.
I’m alone. I’m still sitting on the chair on the balcony, staring out at the now darkened coastal sky, my glass of wine inevitably warm. There’s a heavy ache in my pussy. My clit is throbbing, and I get up, grabbing my glass.
Well, it looks like Tyler is going to get his own way after all.
My penchant for dirty dreams about him is getting ridiculous. I mean, really. On a deckchair? Is that my latest sordid fantasy?
I tuck the glass of wine into the fridge and move through to the bedroom. No. The dream definitely involved a bed. I stare at my suitcase.
He said that I should use my vibrator. And think of him. My pussy clenches at the thought. Fuck. My body is wound so tight with the anticipation of the dream release that it’s now expecting the real thing.
With a sigh, I get up and dig through my case. I find the long, flesh-colored vibrator tucked deep within my clothes. As I stare at it, I run my fingers along its ridged surface. It’s no Tyler, but it’s a portable orgasm, so it’ll do.
I lie back on the bed, the hard member still encased in my palm, and close my eyes. I imagine him in all of his hot, British glory, standing in front of me. He’s shirtless, his stomach tensed after a workout, showing me each pack of muscle on it.
My hand finds my breast and creeps beneath my shirt, cupping the tender flesh. In my mind, he reaches down to his pants and undoes them, pushing down his boxers as he does. His hard cock springs to life, long and ready for me, and he wraps a hand around it.
I flick the switch at the base of my vibrator and trail it down my stomach. That’s how I’m imagining him—standing at the end of my bed with his hand firmly encasing his cock and his eyes firmly on my pussy.
My vibrator finds my clit and trembles against it slowly. I can almost imagine that it’s Tyler’s fingers teasing me, circling me, rubbing me. I can almost imagine that I can feel his breath cascading over my skin and his fingertips trailing along my thigh.
I run the vibrator along my pussy and rub, spreading my wetness across myself, before I dip it inside me. It takes a few gentle pushes before I have it all inside me, but it gets there. With a few soft thrusts, my whole body is humming.