𝅘𝅥𝅮 𝄠 My Favourite Faded Fantasy – Damien Rice
THE MOMENT I GET HOME, I slam the door behind me.
Four hours of torment later and I’m about to explode.
My fingers are shaking as I mess with the hundred thousand locks I need to keep NYC out as per Dad’s orders.
With that done, I race through my sardine-can apartment to my bedroom and start to dig through my nightstand drawer.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I mutter, retrieving the smorgasbord of vibrators I have stored in there, hoping, praying that one will have enough charge to get me through.
But the pink rabbit, the purple wand, and the bright green Hulk dildo with the bullet vibe are all dead.
As dead as my sex drive was before Liam came to the city.
“Fuck!” I groan, pulling out the drawer in its entirety, on the hunt for anything that will take the edge off.
When I find a small bullet vibe that’s shaped like a lipstick, I hit the ‘on’ button and almost weep with frustration—no dice.
“Okay, low-fi it is.”
My tuque and gloves go flying, as does my sweater when I strip off. My jeans, on the other hand, are clearly a part of Satan’s clothing line because I end up plunking my ass on the bed with them around my knees, my panties tucked into them.
Sucking in air, I think back to the rink.
His breath on my lips.
His eyes locked on mine.
His dick brushing my knee.
Then, the memory shifts. Morphs into my favorite fantasy where Liam and I are on a lakeshore of all places and I’m on top of him and he’s beneath me.
I know what that feels like now for real.
“God,” I groan, feverish with need as I think of my knees burrowing into a sandy shore as I cling to his hips, digging my thighs into his sides as I grind on top of him.
He’d only take so much teasing, though. I know him too well. He’d spin us over so that I was beneath him. While I never wear dresses, I do in this fantasy for some weird reason, so he’s got the easiest access ever.
In no time at all, his fingers would be plucking my panties away and they’d be sliding through my core. Gathering my juices, getting me wetter, preparing me for his dick.
Groaning, I whimper as I rub my clit, circling it with the flat of my hand how I like. It doesn’t have the same punch, but just thinking about him filling me, stretching me, thrusting into me, taking me…
“Oh, fuck,” I whine, curling onto my side when my orgasm hits.
In the grand scheme of things, it’s a sneeze.
But fuck if I didn’t need that sneeze.
Panting, I rock my hips to eke out every last bit of pleasure, then I push my forehead into the pillow as I get my breath back.
The need for him is overwhelming.
It isn’t new, but it’s starting to hurt.
Working with him was the worst idea in the world, but like any addict after falling off the bandwagon, the need for my fix reigns supreme.
Eyes fluttering with fatigue, I almost fall asleep.
But then I remember my current state of affairs and, drowsily, I clamber out of bed and waddle over to the toy I tossed on the floor as I simultaneously try to shuck off my jeans.
Mid-shuck, my cell buzzes in my pocket.
Liam: Hey
Liam: Today was a good day, non?
Eyes wide, I shake my head. “Ended better than you think, Liam.”
I think of the thirty-five mangas in his apartment and smile to myself.
Me: It was great. Thank you
For the orgasm inspiration.
That’s when I grab every single goddamn wire for each vibrator I own and I set them up and get them charging.
“Be prepared,” I mumble to myself. “Girl Scouts will come in handy for something.”
