That night after Tristan and I left our windowsills, I lay down in my bed, still a little tipsy, and I imagined him and his wife. I imagined what she’d been like. I wondered if she’d smelled like roses or lilies, I wondered if she’d been a cook or a baker, I wondered how much he loved her. I imagined her with him, and for a moment I even pretended that I heard her whisper she loved him against his thick beard. I felt his fingers pulling her closer, the gentle touch to her spine as she curved into his body, the way she called out his name. Tristan…
My hand glided against my neck, and I pretended it was her neck he was touching. He warmed her up without saying a word; he loved her quietly with his hands. His fingers trailed down her neck and she moaned as he reached the curves of her breasts. Tristan… My breaths picked up as I felt him taste her skin, his tongue gliding from his mouth and slowly licking her nipple before he placed it between his lips and sucked, nibbled, massaged. She was surrendering herself to him. Tristan…
My hands moved lower across my skin as Tristan filled my mind. He lowered her panties as I lowered mine. His hand glided between her pulsing thighs as I slowly slid a finger inside myself. I gasped, almost surprised by the feeling Tristan brought to me, my thumb massaging my clit as I kept imagining.
But she was gone now.
It was only him and me.
His rough beard brushed against my stomach before his tongue danced around my belly button. I moaned slightly, feeling another finger slip into me. His fingers moved faster, fell deeper, and pushed harder as he worked me up to a sweat. I whispered his name as he owned mine, and when I felt his tongue taste me, I was seconds away from losing myself to him. My hips thrust against his tongue, my lips begged for more, and he gave me more, faster, deeper, harder. Caringly, gently, forcefully. Oh my God, Tristan…
My mouth parted and I pumped my fingers faster, feeling myself hanging from the cliff of forever and moments away from falling into the depths of never. He fed my imagination, he rocked my insides, he begged for me to come apart against his lips, and I did. I collapsed with his touch inside me and released with a feeling of bliss, unable to remember the last time I’d been able to feel alive.
I’m good.
I’m good.
I’m so fucking good.
And then I opened my eyes and saw the darkness of my bedroom.
My hand slid from between my thighs. My panties moved back up my legs, and the feeling of bliss dissipated.
I’m not good.
I looked over at Steven’s side of the bed, and a level of disgust filled me inside. For a moment, I swore I saw him lying beside me, staring my way with confusion. I blinked once and reached out to touch him, but he was gone.
Because he’d never really been there.
What did I just do? How could I do such a thing? What is the matter with me?
Pulling myself up from the sheets, I headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I stepped inside with my bra and panties still on, and I fell to the ground as the water washed over me. I begged the water droplets to drag my guilt down the drain, to make the disappointment I’d been feeling leave my body. But it didn’t.
The shower rained over me, mixing with my own tears, and I stayed there until the water ran cold. I shivered in the tub and closed my eyes.
I’d never felt so alone.
