I run a hand down my side and to my pulsing . . .
Sarah hesitated and sought the right word. Slit? Vagina? Lips? I can’t write pu**y. Can I?
She avoided the decision and wrote:
(insert right word later).
I slip a finger between my lower lips and imagine that it’s his tongue. There is no need to rush when something feels this good. I softly run my finger back and forth, feeling my (clit?) grow beneath my touch.
I use two fingers to spread my lips wider, and a stream of water rushes in and warms me as I imagine his breath would. I put a leg up on one side of the shower so I can open myself more fully to the spray, to my fingers, to him.
I slide my middle finger inside of myself and clench involuntarily. I’m soft, wet, and so ready. I delve deeper, pumping in and out with a rhythm as old as time itself.
I’m f**king myself and it’s good.
Oh, so good.
I circle my clit with my thumb, still pumping as I rub. One finger is no longer enough. I insert another and lean back against the coldness of the shower wall as I picture his (penis? Staff? Cock?) thrusting inside me. The steam of the spray is his hot kiss on every inch of my skin.
I come on my hand, shuddering and gasping for air. Unwilling to end the pleasure, I bring my wet fingers to my mouth and suckle my juices as if they were his. I lick my fingers lovingly, imagining they are his cock. I take them deep within me, deeper than I ever thought I could, and I love how he fills me.
My mouth is his for the taking, and his pleasure is my pleasure.
I clutch one wet breast while I imagine him pushing his hands into my hair so he can hold my head there, insuring his release is welcomed deeply.
I come again, this time claiming his orgasm as my own.
An orgasm he would have had.
Had he been f**king home.
Sarah slammed her notebook shut, feeling pleased with how her writing was changing, and also about the jab she’d written for Tony at the end.
She cocked her head to the side mischievously as an idea came to her that instantly began an inner debate.
That would take serious balls, and I’m . . .
See, that’s the problem. If I do what I’ve always done, how can I expect things to be any different than they’ve always been?
With a fortifying deep breath, Sarah stood, opened the door to Tony’s house, and headed upstairs. This time, instead of going to her room, she went to his and placed her notebook on his pillow.
He’d read her notebook earlier when he should have respected her privacy.
It would serve him right to read this.
Back in the hallway, Sarah leaned on Tony’s closed door. She had no idea how he’d react to her latest entry.
But a woman can hope.
Sarah pushed away the door and decided she’d have to find something to distract herself with while she waited for Tony to come home or she’d lose her mind.
Maybe it’s time to call my brother. He’s not going to be happy when he finds out that I’m not at Lucy’s house, but I’ll tell him I needed to stay for research purposes.
Sarah chuckled to herself as she descended the stairs. I’m not a sex-crazed woman chasing a fantasy night with a cowboy. I’m an author researching my first novel.
She stopped at the mirror at the bottom of the stairs and blushed at the burning desire evident in her eyes. I should try to look cool and unattainable, but all I can think is . . .
Bring on the research.
Sarah straightened her shoulders and headed into the living room to call Charlie. She picked up the phone and dialed quickly. I’m an adult. He’s my brother, not my keeper. He’ll understand.
“Charles Dery, please.”
“I’ll put you right through,” his secretary said, so cheerfully Sarah wanted to smack her.
“Hello?” The male voice was crisp and impatient.
This trip was all about finding her voice—in her writing and in her life. She cleared her throat and said, “Charlie, it’s Sarah.”
“It’s about time you called.” His voice boomed through the line. “Mom and Dad are worried sick. You were supposed to call when you got in. What happened yesterday? We called Lucy and she said you’re not staying with her.”
“It turned out that I couldn’t stay there.”
“She said you’re at someone else’s ranch? I didn’t know you knew anyone else down there.”
“You don’t know everything about me,” Sarah said defiantly. Thank God. Sarah covered her mouth with a shaky hand. A nervous laugh escaped. I can barely justify this to myself; Charlie would never understand.
The hiss of his angrily indrawn breath was merely more evidence that she was correct to keep some of this trip to herself.
“Who the hell is Anthony Carlton?” he demanded.
“Who?” Sarah asked lamely. How does he know about Tony?
“You must know him since you’re calling from his phone.”
Shit. Why didn’t I block caller ID?
“I’m fine, Charlie. You can tell Mom and Dad to relax. This trip is the best thing I’ve done in a long time. I’m actually writing again.”
He made some noncommittal sound that spoke volumes about his disapproval. “Where is this ranch?”
Please, please do not come here. Sarah reluctantly gave him the information. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t going to let her go without it.
She wanted to tell him more about what she was doing there and how it was healing her, but talking about that would mean mentioning the past—and that had always been taboo.
Does he still blame me? Is that why he doesn’t believe I’m capable of making the simplest decisions on my own?
Maybe I don’t deserve this second chance, but I’m going for it anyway. In Texas, I don’t have to be who I’ve always been. I don’t have to apologize for what I failed to be. Here, I’m just me. Just a woman on a journey.
How do I make my brother see that?
“Charlie, I need this. I know you don’t understand it, but can you give me time?”
If you do, I may even find the courage to tell you the truth.
“I should fly down there . . .”
Sarah held her breath.
“But I won’t.”
A flash of movement behind Sarah made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” Charlie said.
Me, too, Sarah thought as she hung up and looked around. The living room and the hallway were empty. For a moment there she’d been convinced that someone had been watching her.