Three episodes of Dr. Who later, and Donovan and Otto are still swathed in the blue-light flicker of the television.
They’ve taken over the love seat, Donovan hunched forward, watching intently. Otto is mesmerized, his mouth partly agape. He’s tired, though, I can tell because he’s half-slouched against Donovan and, toward the end of the episode, his eyes start to droop and he cuddles the quilted blanket tighter around his little body.
I’m curled up in the adjacent lounger. I spend more time watching them than I do watching the TV.
When the credits roll, I finally break up the fun. “Alright, buds,” I say. “We should probably think about getting ready for bed.”
“One more,” they whine in unison.
I lift my eyebrows pointedly at Donovan.
Donovan seems to remember he’s an adult because he nudges Otto. “Your mom’s right—we’ve got to leave some surprises for tomorrow. C’mon. Let’s get to bed.”
Otto looks morose about it. He sighs dramatically (I know, I’m the anti-fun mom, everything is the end of the world) and tosses the quilt off himself before melting out of the love seat.
Before he goes up to his room, he stops and turns around to look at Donovan.
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” Otto asks.
Donovan’s eyes flicker up to me. “Sure. If it’s okay with your mom.”
“Of course. But Dr. Donovan can’t come back if he doesn’t leave.” I muss up Otto’s hair and press a kiss to the top of his head. He wiggles out of my grasp.
“G’night, Dr. Donovan.”
“Sweet dreams.”
Otto trudges to his bedroom. I walk Donovan out. He pulls on his coat and then hangs in the doorway, wrapping his scarf around him.
“You know you don’t have to come back tomorrow.”
“I know I don’t have to,” Donovan says. “I’d like to.”
“Are you sure you can’t stay?” I ask him. “I can make the couch.”
“I’m positive. I have to put the other child to bed.”
“Jason. Right.”
“He misses you, you know.”
“Yeah…well. Maybe he should’ve thought about that before he let my only child run off on his own.”
Donovan is bundled up now, but he doesn’t leave right away. Instead, he offers, “Just…throwing this out there. And then I’ll leave you alone for the night.”
He’s got his best-friend voice on. I cross my arms over my chest, bracing. “Alright…”
“Is it possible that you’re looking for reasons to hate Jason…because hating him is easier than telling him the truth?”
I button my lip. “It’s—”
“Complicated. I know.” He shrugs, then says, “Think about it.”
Then he steps forward and brushes his lips against my cheek. I feel the scrape of his stubble. The warmth of his breath.
“Good night, Kenzi,” he says, and his voice is a low murmur, a lion mountain’s purr.
“Night,” I say.
I lean against the doorway, hugging myself. The cold is sharp, and it slices through my clothes, but I stay outside until his car pulls out of the driveway and vanishes down the road.
I put Otto to bed, which takes no time at all since he’s already half-asleep. I quietly close his door behind him and go back downstairs.
The TV has gone into screensaver mode, slowly changing through you might like science fiction titles.
I click the remote, and it goes dark. I realize all at once that there’s nothing left to do. Normally, I’d use this time to do the dishes, but Donovan has already taken care of those. The dishwasher is humming quietly to itself. The counters are cleaned.
The house is taken care of. Otto is safe and sound. Pearl is asleep. And, for a minute, I’m all alone, with nothing to do.
The concept is foreign. I don’t know what to do with this stolen time I have. I’m too wired for bed just yet. I go into the kitchen and uncork the bottle of red Donovan left. There’s enough for a glass, so I help myself to it.
That’s when I remember—Donovan’s gift. It sits on the counter inconspicuously.
After all, Donovan did specify alone. The box is about the length of a pencil and neatly wrapped with silver wrapping paper. On the front of the box, he’s cut out a square of wrapping paper, folded it, and tapped it into the shape of a note which reads, For the woman who treasures her alone time.
A delicious sliver of childlike excitement runs through me.
My nails make quick work of the wrapping. It’s a small black box, and when I open it up, what’s inside makes me smile.
That bastard. What was I expecting? Jewelry? Something sweet?
No. Donovan gets me what he knows I’ll want.
It’s a small, silver vibrator.
I pick it out of the velvet-cased box. I’ve become something of a connoisseur of vibrators—rabbit vibrators, bullet vibrators, butterfly vibrators—and this one seems simple enough. The surface is metallic, smooth, and I know from experience that it’ll slide well once it’s wet.
The top screws off, so I untwist it and check—yep, he’s already installed batteries. Bless him. According to the instructions, it’s also waterproof. Doubly blessed.
There’s a discreet black button on the top of it, and I turn it on.
Immediately, my nipples go tight underneath my shirt.
Holy cow, the vibrations are powerful. I press it to the tip of my finger, and it makes my whole hand tremble.
Already, I feel my panties grow damp at the prospect of playing with this.
It has been a long time since I’ve indulged in some me time…
And I do have the night to myself…so what’s stopping me?
Fuck it.
I throw out the wrapping and tuck the vibrator into my pocket. I take my glass of wine and go upstairs into my room and into the bathroom.
I lock the door and draw a bath.
I’m my own best boyfriend. You’ve had a long day, Kenzi…you deserve a hot bath, a glass of wine, and an earth-shattering orgasm.
I get out of my clothes, drop them in the hamper, and adorn a fluffy robe instead as the water goes. I turn Pandora on on my phone, low, to a chill, bluesy station. There’s a small side table, and I carry it over to the bathtub, prepping. On the table sits my phone/radio, my glass of red, and my shiny new silver friend.
I let the claw-foot tub fill up until water is trickling into the spillway.
When I step in and ease myself into the tub, the water is almost too hot. I have to slowly lower myself into it, and my skin tingles at the change from the winter-cold to the steamy bath. I let my body adjust, loving the steam on my face, the way the water melts the ache from my shoulder blades and lower back.
I lean my back against the tub, close my eyes, and exhale a deep sigh. My breasts rise slightly out of the water, and so do my knees when I part them. I don’t need to warm up, but I tease myself anyway, drawing my fingertips over my pebbled nipples. I dip my hand under the water, over the softness of my belly, the small patch of hair between my legs. When I finally reach my core, I can feel how swollen my nether lips are already.
Water drips from my fingers and onto the side table as I pick up the vibrator. I dip it underneath the water and press it between my thighs, teasing myself a little. The metal slides effortlessly against the slipperiness between my lips.
I close my eyes. My thoughts drift to the ferry ride. Jason’s hands on my hips. The curve of his grin. The way he looked at me like I was his entire world.
I click the button, and immediately my toy jumps to life. I gasp as the powerful vibrations rocket through me. I click the button again and find that it has different speeds—slow, medium, and fast.
God bless you, Donovan.
I leave it on the slow speed at first, letting my body get used to it.
Already, it’s making my toes curl. I forgot just how wonderfully good this felt.
My legs lock, and I turn it up a speed. I swallow back a moan as pleasure lashes through me.
My cunt is raw and sensitive, and when I slip the vibrator inside me, the sensation is so good, it’s almost painful. I jerk and have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
My fantasies are running wild. In my mind, I’m back in the dark, shadowed dance floor of my favorite club in London. Except Jason is there. We’re dancing. Swaying together.
Between the crowd of bodies, I imagine Jason slipping his hand between my legs. I imagine he tells me how much it turns him on to turn me on, as his finger crooks deep inside of me and he fingers me, right there on the dance floor.
I’m soaking the vibrator, and it’s hard to get any friction now as it slides inside me. I trace it up my slit, and the rounded tip nuzzles directly against my swollen clit.
Then I test fate and turn it up. High speed.
I can’t hold back; I gasp loudly. My cunt clenches, and my nipples ache as hot bursts of pleasure rocket through me. I’m getting tighter, closer, and I close my eyes tightly, back on that dark dance floor, and I see—
Donovan. The smoldering look in Donovan’s deep eyes. Donovan, who takes my face in his hands. Who brushes his painted thumb against my bottom lip. Who whispers darkly in my ear, Cum for me, Kenzi.
My legs quiver as I brace my heels against the sides of the tub. I’m thrashing, water splashing, as I torture my clit with powerfully delicious vibrations, drowning in the waves of my own pleasure. I’m there, I’m right there, and I grind against the edge. My want tastes like metal, and I choke on my breath.
“Kenzi.”
“Donovan…” I moan.
“Kenzi!”
No—wait—that voice isn’t coming from my fantasies. It’s coming from outside. And it sounds like…
“Jason?”
I quickly turn off the vibrator—or try to; I’m still getting used to it, and it takes a couple of clicks of the button to get it to stop its delicious humming.
My cunt is fluttering on the screaming edge, pulsing weakly, painfully. So close to the mind-blowing orgasm it wanted, I could cry.
But this is…weird.
I get out of the tub and wrap my robe around my wet body. I unlock the bathroom door and glance around, trying to find the source of…
“Kenzi! Over here!”
I snap my gaze to the source of the noise and…you’ve got to be kidding me.
There’s Jason. And his stupid smile. In the flesh.
Crouching on a tree branch outside my bedroom window.
Immediately, I fly to the window, unlock it, and shove it open. “What the hell are you doing?” I hiss.
“So, it turns out, this is harder when you’re not a teenager,” Jason says. The tree is half-white with snow, and he does look a little unsteady, clutching the thick branch with red, cold-bruised fingers.
“Are you insane?”
He falls to the side a little, and my heart lurches as his grip on the branch wavers. “Whoa!” Then he grins. “Just kidding.”
I nearly shut the window in his face, when he adds, “But really. It is pretty slippery.”
“Get inside. Now.”
Mom voice. I reach out a hand, and he manages to shimmy over the branch. He grips the window frame and pulls himself the rest of the way, ungracefully half falling, half climbing inside. He’s a bull in a china shop, and his tall frame bounces against my dresser, making the whole thing shudder.
“Sorry,” he says and then gets to his feet. He shivers dramatically, shoving his hands under his armpits. “It’s cold out there, did you notice?”
“You’re a child.” I’m spitting mad. “An actual child.”
His eyes flicker over me. “I hope I didn’t…uh. Interrupt anything.”
He’s staring at my hand, which is when I realize…dear God. I’m still holding it.
In my rush to save the Jason-cat from the tree, I completely forgot to put away the vibrator.
I go to shove it in my robe pocket, but my thumb accidentally bumps the button. It jumps to life in my hand, and I swear, my face getting hotter as I have to cycle through every goddamn setting—which two seconds ago I loved and now I loathe—in order to get the thing to stop again.
“Looks like fun,” Jason says, and I hate that he approves of it.
“It’s the middle of the night!” I snap as I finally manage to wrestle the vibrator into my pocket. “In winter! You can’t just…climb into people’s bedrooms! If you’d gotten hurt…”
“Would you have cared?” he asks bluntly.
“Of course I care!”
“You’re not answering my calls. Or texts.”
“You know, some men would take that as a hint…”
Was that too harsh? Some of the boyish mischief dies from his eyes. He sobers up then, giving a nod. “I know. And if you want me to leave you alone after this…I will. I promise.”
My boiling rage lowers to a simmer. When you peel back his reckless and silly antics…it’s clear that he’s just uncomfortable.
“I want to invite you to our New Year’s party.”
“What in the hell would make you think I’d want to go to a party with you?”
“Because there’s something here. I know there is. And I need you to give me another chance. Just one. Please.”
“Oh, go with him, Kenzi!”
I nearly scream. I swivel around to see my mom standing in her own robe, peeking in through my cracked-open bedroom door.
Jason lifts his hand in a half wave. “Hey, Missus P.”
“Hello, darling. Did you shave your beard?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s a lovely look.”
“Thanks—”
I throw up my hands. “Oh my God! Let’s just invite the whole island to my bedroom!”
Jason pulls his lips together. “Ten p.m. At the Anchor. Totally casual. Locals. Karaoke. You can bring Otto.” Those blue eyes drink me in. “Just think about it. All I ask.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
But I keep my arms tight around my chest. I’m not budging.
“Okay.” That, at least, has brought a little bit of the hopeful spark back to his eyes. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder toward the window. “Well, I’ll just see myself out—”
“The door, please. Like a human.”
Jason slips past me. He gives Pearl’s shoulder a pat as he exits. “G’night, Missus P.”
“You should go,” my mother urges in an urgent whisper as I take the door from her, gently closing it. “I’ll watch Otto. It will be perfect—”
“I’ll think about it. Good night, Pearl.”
Finally, I close everyone out.
I exhale. Count to three.
I go back into the bathroom. My wineglass is still there, the bath still drawn.
I’m wound tight. Frustrated. But the mood is killed, and my bath is cold.
I feel rotten. Jason—kind, sweet Jason—is doing everything in his power to get me back. But his father’s shadow hangs over me like a cloud. Meanwhile, I nearly humped myself to a mind-blowing orgasm with Donovan on my brain.
This complicates things.
I pull the plug on the tub, letting the bath drain out.
