She hesitates, still not meeting my eyes. After a moment, she bends down and grabs my phone from the side of the pool, and sends a blank text message to herself.
“There,” she says, and there’s so much in her voice that claws at my conscience; I hear her pride and thwarted lust and confusion. But how can I explain it all to her when I can’t even explain it to myself?
God, I’m such a fucking mess.
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, and she gives me a curt nod, again without looking at me.
“Goodnight, Logan,” she says and scoops up her shoes and shorts. Without bothering to tug them back on, she walks wet-footed and visibly upset into the house.
Shit.
5
I wake up with longing on my lips and an ache between my legs, both aftereffects from Vida’s party. With a hand thrown over my eyes, I press my thighs together and try to fall back into slumber, but the burn of desire is far too great.
Resigned and aroused, I roll over and grab my laptop from the side of my bed. I open it and within a couple of minutes I have it pulled up—Raven’s Real Playdates. I hit play on the bookmarked scene and set the computer at the bottom of the bed, facing me. Then I push down my panties, lay back, prop my head up with pillows, and part my knees so I can see the screen while I relive the shoot—my favorite fantasy, my go-to masturbation material, guaranteed to deliver at least one self-administered “O.”
The scene jolts into motion, picking up after the initial foreplay, after the characters have already kissed and sucked and fondled. Authoritative and controlling, Raven is directing the action, narrating what she wants to see happen, and what she wants to see next is the second woman—me—go down on the guy. Onscreen Devi is already naked, and though I’ve watched this a million times, I’m transfixed as she kneels before Logan O’Toole, unfastens his jeans, and tugs his briefs down far enough to unleash his dick. I hadn’t done other shoots with men, but I’d been on enough sets to know what to expect. I hadn’t expected him to already be hard. I’d expected he’d need a fluffer or that I’d need to prime him for a bit, either on camera or off.
But he’d been hard. Fully erect, his cock thick and heavy while it throbbed in my hands. I distinctly remember it—the weight of him in my palm—as I watch my onscreen self wrap her hands around his dick, lick up the length of him, and kiss the tip. She peers up at him, her wide brown eyes seeking approval.
The look Logan delivers in return makes me wet. Every Single Damn Time. It’s a look that suggests he’s on the edge, even this early in the scene, even before her lips part, and she slides them over his head and down the length of his cock.
If I were playing this from memory, I’d have chosen a section later in the scene to relive. When Logan lapped at my clit, most likely, his fingers buried deep in my * while Raven jacked him off.
But I don’t need to watch that scene to remember how it felt and pretty much anytime I close my eyes and touch myself, I’m recalling the way he fucked me with his fingers and tongue.
So this is the part I like to view again and again instead. I get crazy hot watching how turned on I made him that day, watching him buck against my jaw, his hands threaded in my hair, pulling and tugging while he used my mouth for his pleasure.
I made him react like that. Me.
Now, I watch the screen, my finger circling feather lightly over my clit. Any more pressure, I’ll explode, and I want to drag it out. I want to wait until he shoves his cock deep into the mouth of the onscreen Devi, so deep that she can barely breathe and her eyes start to water from the effort. So deep that his tip tickles against her tonsils—I can recall the sensation vividly—causing her throat to tighten around him. When she looks up at him this time, she means it to be a cue for him to relax his grip. But before he does, her eyes lock on his and for a handful of seconds, she’s caught there, so blown away by the ecstasy marked on his features that she nearly comes herself without any manual stimulation.
This is the moment I was waiting for, and I press harder on my clit, sliding the fingers of my other hand up inside me. I hook them so they’ll brush across the highly sensitive inner walls of my *.
Then I’m there. I’m everywhere, detonating in a massive blast of pleasure and release that causes me to curl inward and sends tremors down my spine. It’s amazing, and the amazing lingers as I fall back on to the bed, limp and relaxed.
I let out a sated sigh.
Followed by a frustrated groan as I remember seeing Logan at Vida’s party the night before. How adorable he’d been with his wet clothing clinging to his tight body. How searing his gaze had been on my skin. How he’d flirted and bantered.
How I’d gone home alone.
Damn, Logan O’Toole and his super hot hotness.
I’d truly convinced myself that I’d built the memory of him up in my head, that he couldn’t possibly be as alluring and charming and sexy as I’d remembered.