Or better yet, have him do it. I want to shove his hand between my legs and ask him to touch me there.
I can almost see it.
I can almost feel his big hand between my legs, his fingers pinching my clit, grabbing my cunt. I can almost see myself riding his fingers, humping it like I do my pillow. I’ll drench his wrist; I know that. I’ll cream his palm like I’m creaming my panties and he’ll watch me do it.
But how can I be selfish and ask him to rub my pussy when he’s making me feel so good? I need to make him feel good, too. I need to give him something. And then, I know how. I feel him. On my stomach.
His cock. His thick, hard arousal pressing into my flesh.
And he is hard. And hot. And so big. Like a pipe or something. It makes me feel so small, smaller and more feminine than I’ve ever felt.
So I undulate against him.
I rub my stomach up and down his hard length as I clench my thighs for about the thousandth time since he started kissing me. It causes his dick to throb. It pulses. Like it’s alive too, just like my pussy.
I haven’t seen a dick before, not in real life. I’ve touched one, sure. But that was when I was a sophomore and my boyfriend was just a boy.
Simon is a man and his cock has to be the most masculine thing I’ve ever experienced. And I have only touched it through the layers of clothing and on my stomach. I still move up and down, almost touching him with the valley of my breasts.
Simon growls in my mouth.
It’s like I’m jacking him off with my body. With my soft stomach and heavy breasts. I’ve always hated them, but if my pudgy body can bring him pleasure, I’m all for it.
I wonder if I can make him come like this.
I want to make him come. Orgasms always make me happy. They must make him happy too.
So yeah, I want him to come and be happy. Like I am.
Be happy for me, Simon.
But then he rips his mouth away and my eyes snap open. Don’t know when I closed them.
A whine forms at the base of my throat and I want to ask him what happened. Didn’t he like it? I was trying to make him feel good.
I open my mouth to ask him when I hear voices. Footsteps and giggles. Someone’s saying they are going to see if Dr. Blackwood is in or not.
My eyes widen as I stare up at him. He’s rigid. Flushed. His hair’s a mess. His shirt is in disarray and his lips are red and swollen. Glistening with my kisses.
It’s like he’s marked and I realize with the throbbing of my lips that I’m marked as well. We both marked each other with our lust and now people are going to find out.
“Simon…”
I trail off when he grabs my hand and pushes me to the side. My back goes against the wall, by the door and I stare at him fearfully just when the knock comes.
With a clenched jaw, he says to whoever is knocking, “Just a sec.”
His voice sounded calm but his chest is still breathing with franticness. His eyes are still wild and on me.
“I’m –”
I don’t know what I was going to say but Simon doesn’t wait to hear it. He lets go of my arm and spins on his heel. I see his massive back going up and down with huge breaths, his fingers running through his hair, before straightening his shirt.
At last, he steps toward the door, opening it with a click.
“Oops, sorry. Did I interrupt something?” a nurse asks.
“No. I was just on the phone,” he says.
I can’t see him. He’s blocked by the door, but he sounds as he always does. Patient and calm. Me, on the other hand? I’m freaking out.
My heart won’t stop jackhammering, and some of their words get jumbled when they reach me. All I can gather is that she wants him to sign off on something, but he in turn suggests that he’ll take a look at the inventory first. Whatever that means.
And then they’re gone. Simon walks out, closing the door behind him, taking the nurse with him.
I breathe out a sigh of relief. Although I’m so high on adrenaline and on the kiss and on everything Simon Blackwood that the sigh is more like a panted breath.
I know why he left with the nurse. He was giving me a chance to escape, without being found out.
Biting my lip, I do just that. I walk quietly to the door and open it to peek outside. The hallway is empty and the nurses’ station at the end only has a couple of people who aren’t looking this way.
Thank God.
Quickly, I step out of the room and walk away from his office.
What were we thinking? It was stupid. So fucking stupid to do that.
God.
But for some reason, I can’t stop my beating heart and the smile on my lips.
“God, I’m not made for this,” I almost whimper, my body contorted in ways I didn’t think possible.
“Shut up. Everybody’s made for yoga,” says Renn, bent in the exact same way, facing me. On her though, the pose looks effortless.
“Not me. What is this?” I heave, trying to find my balance before my back gives out on me. “Why am I on my hands and toes? Why am I…” I lose my breath for a second. “Upside down? It’s not natural. Oh God, I feel my lime jello in the back of my throat.”
“You’re such a drama queen. It’s called downward dog.” Renn rolls her eyes. “It’s like, the most basic yoga pose. Kids could do this.”
“Do I look like a kid to you?” I swallow but gravity is working against me. “I can’t believe I let you pull me into this.”
“Exercise is good. It’s healthy, okay? We’re being healthy. We’re being productive with our day.”
I clench my eyes shut, the muscles in my calves probably starting to erupt in flames. “Shut up. You’re only doing this because you think you’re putting on weight.”
It’s true. This morning, Renn knocked at my wall to tell me her favorite top is fitting her tight around the tits. She called it the underarm/bust fat.
“My clothes don’t fit,” she practically shrieks. “It’s a disaster, Willow. I get anxious when my clothes don’t fit. So shut up. We’re doing this.”
My throat’s drying up and I feel like I’m going to pass out on the ground. The sun’s not helping. I fucking hate the sun. Hate it. The rays are piercing me like needles, making me prickle and sweat.
“I can’t… I can’t breathe.” I heave again and blow at my bangs.
“You just did, you moron. Just hold the pose for a few seconds. Don’t you like the burn in your muscles? Your ankles. Feel the burn in your ankles.”
“I don’t care about my stupid ankles.” I grit my teeth, sweat going into my eyes. “I’m dying. Dying.”
Renn blows a puff of air, dismissing my concern. “You wish.”
I snort. “God, I hate you right now.”
I do. I so do.
Why am I not reading like Penny or feeding the birds like Vi? Or why am I not at the library, reading a dozen new Harry Potter books? Yes. They finally listened to me, and now the library has the entire series of Harry Potter. Isn’t that wonderful?
But instead of petting those paperbacks and smelling their pages, I’m here. Why? I have no clue. I don’t even know how I got roped into this. Except Renn said something to me at breakfast and I said yes without listening since I was lost in my own head. So here I am. Standing on my head.
All because Simon Blackwood kissed me.
And then he ran away.
Well, he gave me time to escape without being seen but still. What does it mean that he kissed me? Does it mean that he likes me now? Has he always liked me? Why did he say no to the date, then?
What happened between us?
Damn it.
All of these questions are making me dizzy and this stupid yoga is not helping. I keep replaying it in my head. He kissed me. We kissed each other. I tasted him. He tasted me. I touched him. He touched me. I felt his arousal. I almost jacked him off with my stomach.
He cured me with his mouth.
I can’t stop thinking about particularly that. How his lips made me feel happier than I’ve ever been in my life. His kiss was a massive dose of lithium, lighting up the dark places in my brain.
That’s what I dreamed about when I fell asleep in my bed last night. Him lighting me up, chasing away the darkness by just being him.
My personal hero. Designed just for me.
I woke up this morning, my hands stuck between my legs and my panties shoved to the side, thinking about him.
But then, we almost got caught.
Oh gosh, my heart still jumps thinking about that. That knock is the kind of sound I’ll never forget.
I haven’t seen him since then, though, and I don’t know what it means. Do I hunt him down so we can talk about this? So we can figure this out? Or do I go see him for our appointment this evening?
What am I supposed to do?
My thoughts come to a halt when I see wingtips in my line of vision. Instantly, I spring up from my contorted position, but I forgot about the dizziness and I get a wicked head rush, almost toppling me over.
But a hand on my wrist stops me from falling.
“You okay?” Simon asks, pulling me upright.
I blink, adjusting my eyes to the sun, even though I’ve been under it for almost an hour now. Blowing on my bangs, I nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
He studies me for a few seconds, probably making sure that I’m really okay before letting me go. He doesn’t look away from me, however. He watches me like he was doing yesterday in his office, only today, his stare feels like a weight.
A physical thing. It’s as if that’s all he can do: watch. And nothing else. So, he’s pouring all his intensity into it.
“Hi,” I say, waving my hand lamely, hoping he’ll say something, praying it doesn’t look like I’m staring at his lips.
Because I am. In the direct sunlight, his lips are shining. They look even softer. Did I really have them on mine yesterday? Did he really kiss me? I lick my own lips as if his flavor still lingers there.
His gaze shifts to my action and he takes a step back, clipping, “Can we talk for a second?”
I bite my lip then, feeling apprehensive, and his nostrils flare. Almost angrily, he marches a few steps ahead, without waiting for my answer.
Well, that was rude. I almost don’t want to follow him but who am I kidding?
I’m obviously going to follow him. I’ll always follow him.
And I do. We’re away from Renn and the crowd, standing under the tree, but the relief I should feel after getting out from under the sun isn’t there.
I’m uneasy. As in, extremely uneasy.
“I have something for you,” he says, all somber.
“For me?”
“Here.” He offers me my old Harry Potter book that I’d left in his office on The Confession Day. “I fixed it for you.”
I look at him, his smooth, expressionless face, and then at the book. I wasn’t even thinking about it. I haven’t been thinking about it at all. I should be filled with gratitude that he thought about me and this book, and I am.
But I’m also a little nervous. A lot nervous, actually.
Taking it from him, I clutch it to my chest, hugging it. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
He tracks my movements, eyeing me as I hug myself with my arms, and shoves his hands down into his pockets. The hands that he put on me yesterday, of his own volition.
I can feel them over my pulse on the side of my neck. I can feel them in my hair too, fisting the strands. My heartbeat jacks up as my scalp tingles. Why is every part of my body already used to him when he’s only touched me once?
It’s magic. It’s fucking torture.
“It was a mistake.”
He doesn’t have to define what ‘it’ is. I know what he’s referring to. And I hate that. I hate that I immediately know what he means. I don’t even get the delay-time of comprehension. I can’t ease into the knowledge. I already have it.
“Was it?” I ask, my body feeling all cold and sweaty at the same time.
“Yes.” The angles of his face are sharp and defined, unforgiving. “It was a major failure on my part. It never should’ve happened. I was less than professional. It’s a line I never intended to cross.”
“But you did.”
Remorse flickers through his features, right alongside something else. Something like anger. At himself?
“Yes. And for that I’m deeply sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“I would understand if you wanted to take this to Beth.”
“You would?”
I’m aware that I sound like a parrot. A dumb parrot, at that. But I don’t know what else to say. What else to think other than this deep sense of betrayal.
“Yes. I made a mistake, and I’m ready to face the consequences, if I have to.”
I’m so pissed off.
God.
So fucking pissed off. While I was dreaming about his kiss, he was thinking about how much of a mistake it was. He was thinking how best to approach me and tell me that he’s sorry.
“Is this your way of apologizing?” I wave the book, the book he fixed for me.
He nods, appearing grim.
“Did you stay up at night, fixing it?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head, lowering the stupid book. I hate this stupid book. I want to take it and tear it apart. Ruin all his hard work.
“Why’d you kiss me?” I ask, gritting my teeth.
Simon doesn’t like this question. His gray eyes glint with anger, agitation almost. Tough luck. He’s asked me a ton of questions that I haven’t liked. But I answered every one of them. I wanna see if he’ll tell me the truth or if he’ll lie.
Come on, Dr. Blackwood.
“Temporary insanity,” he replies. “It was a slip-up. A momentary lapse of judgment.”
“Right.”
Kissing me was temporary insanity.
Great.
Wonderful.
It flares my anger. It flares it to the point where all I can do is smile tightly and nod. And make claws out of my fingers and dig them into the book. Stupid fucking blunt nails.
Stupid fucking book.
“What would happen if I told Beth? Would you get fired?”
Did you get fired from your last job for something like this, too?
I don’t ask that. But it runs through my mind.
And I do have the right to think that because let’s face it, I hardly know anything about him. Whatever I know is based on my feelings, not facts. I still feel guilty though. I feel disgusted at even having that doubt about him.
God, I’m a mess. And he’s a jerk.
“There’d be an investigation, if you pressed formal charges. The board would have to get involved.”
I’m trying to read his face. The sun is so bright that every nuance of it is visible. The curve of his lip, the corner of his eyes, the lines around his mouth. I’m trying to see if any of those would betray the man they belong to.
But no. Nothing. I’m still clueless about what happened to him at his previous job.
I’m still clueless about him.
“Well, then I absolve you. It was temporary insanity, wasn’t it? Everybody makes mistakes. It doesn’t mean you have to sit through an investigation for just a kiss.”
His hooded eyes and his clamped jaw are the last things I see of him as I walk away.
I take it back.
Simon Blackwood is a fucking asshole.
***
I used to have a pet goldfish.
Her name was Hedwig, after the pet snow owl of Harry Potter. My mom got it for me for my twelfth birthday, and I loved Hedwig to pieces.
In fact, for the longest time she was my only friend, aside from my mom. One night I couldn’t sleep, and so I kept chatting with Hedwig, telling her about all th
e things I’d like to do but couldn’t ever find the energy to. And suddenly, it hit me.
She never talked back. She simply circled the glass tank over and over, blinking her eyes and gaping her mouth. I thought maybe that was her way of communicating and I wasn’t capable of understanding it. Just like she wasn’t capable of understanding me.
What the hell was I doing with her, then?
Next morning, I decided to set her free so she could find her friends. It wasn’t fair that I kept her for myself when she could have a chance to meet people like her. At least one of us should be happy.
I’m missing Hedwig tonight.
I wonder what happened to her. Is she alive? How many years do goldfish live, anyway?
I hope she found her friends. I wanna tell her that I did too. I finally found my friends. My kind of people. I finally found a man, as well. He’s kind and sexy and so fucking handsome. He looks like a king and kisses like a beast.
But he thinks our kiss was a mistake.
I’m watching the rain from my bed, my knees drawn up and my back propped against the wall. The book he fixed for me is in my lap and I’m hugging it, like I would hug him. The night shift nurse who does hourly checks just left. She saw me through the square window on the door and found me awake so she stopped by for a little chat. I’m pretty sure she’ll put on her report that I wasn’t sleeping even though I’m on sleep meds, and a certain someone will hear about it.
Whatever. I don’t care.
I’m drawing shapes on the misty window with my finger. I refuse to write his name, even though that’s what I want to do. I refuse to be that pathetic. At least, tonight. I figure there’s going to be a lot of lonely nights for me in the future. I’m saving pitifulness for later.
I watch the rain pouring down on the screen in rivulets. There’s a storm out tonight, thick and loud.
Even though the sounds on the inside are drowned by the sounds on the outside, I still hear the door of my room opening. The air inside the four walls changes and I whip my eyes to see who it is, terrified.
The shape standing at my door is tall and large. It’s almost blocking the dim lighting of the hallway, causing my small room to plunge mostly into darkness.
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