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Sighing through my nose, I press my lips together. “I’m angry because yet again, you didn’t listen.”
“But you didn’t get the milk, so what’s the difference?” There’s amusement in his tone, even though we’re both shouting. He steps closer and my breath hitches. As if picking up on it, Joe shakes his head with a light chuckle, then runs a hand down his face. “You never cease to amuse me, Jane.”
“And I am so pleased to bring you such joy, Joe.” I impale him with my icy glare. “I’m taking a shower.”
“Kay.” He plops down on the couch—my couch—and I glimpse the small spill of beer on the red fabric. My jaw clenches and I head to my bedroom, grab a load of dirty clothes, then bring it to the laundry room.
Big surprise, the washing machine is full with Joe’s wet load. I consider giving him hell for it, but I’m too tired.
I stifle a curse as I reach into the basin, pulling everything out. They’re not his fancy work clothes, just sweatpants and T-shirts, and for a few seconds, standing with the pile in my arms, I consider what I should do:
Should I put the clothes in the dryer like a good roommate and human being?
Should I bring it to Joe and dump it onto his lazy mass that’s dirtying up my expensive couch or;
Should I drop it on the floor to teach him a lesson?
I purse my lips in thought, but I’ve already made my decision. The clothes make a loud, wet smacking noise as they splat onto the tile floor. I throw my clothes into the washer and leave the room, a satisfied smirk on my face.
CHAPTER 5
JANE
After what feels like hours in the shower, washing off my day—other people’s tears, the heartbreaking stories, the fears—I step out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam behind me.
The apartment is quiet. Joe’s bedroom door is wide open, and the room is dark. The living room is empty and his bottle of beer isn’t sitting on the coffee table.
“Joe?” I call out. After a few silent moments, I assume he’s not home, then remember it’s Friday. Joe usually starts his weekend off by going out for the night.
Glad for the solitude, I sigh and drag my body to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
Not bothering with pajamas, I lie down in my bathrobe, so tired I could close my eyes and drift off within seconds.
But the week has left me on edge, too. It was tougher than most, and I feel surrounded by nothing but sadness and pain.
I need something to remind me of the good. Something to lift the weight that’s cemented to my chest.
I reach into my bedside table and pull out my trusty vibrator. Usually, the sight of it alone gets me going, but tonight it’s not enough, so I search for websites on my phone and scroll through the endless images of skin and lust, ignoring the disgusting pop-ups. Finding something female-friendly—also known as sensual, without money shots—I prop the phone against my pillow, then sink into my bed and get comfortable.
The actors don’t waste any time getting naked after minimal dialog. Their tongues lap, their fingers wander and heat spreads between my thighs.
My bathrobe falls open, and I pinch my nipple, rolling it until it gets hard. The toy vibrates as I watch a woman run her fingers through her lover’s hair, the latter sucking and licking her girlfriend over her panties.
I’m wound so tight that mere teasing foreplay has me on the verge of exploding. It’s been weeks since my last orgasm—and I won’t even count how long since I had sex—but sensations burst across my skin and through my veins with razor sharp intensity. Hot and sweaty, my skin tingles, and since I’m alone, I don’t hold my moans back.
The video fades to black, but my orgasm continues to ravage my body. My mind wanders to something different, something I would never admit to thinking of—the scene from this morning. The way Joe’s towel hung suggestively from his hips, showing off his bulge beneath the fluffy pink terry cloth and the caramel color of his damp, smooth skin. The vivid details stimulate my aroused brain, rushing blood between my ears, between my thighs. I welcome the lack of control, the inhibition, and tumble over into my climax, my thighs clamping down on my hand.
