Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Good. We’ll bounce as soon as he gets here.”
Half an hour later, that’s exactly what we did.
I threw myself back into work, finding more of it to go around than I’d expected since I’d clearly been focusing a little too much on the alliance with the Costas.
Those possible twenty-hour days became my reality for the next couple. Only making it home well after midnight, finding Lore already asleep in bed, and climbing into my side to catch a few hours, only to wake up before her and be off again.
No amount of physical distance, though, seemed to calm my fucking desire down, finding my cock rock hard each morning and night, even going semi several times a day if an image of Lore’s tits or pussy popped into my mind.
No amount of jerking off seemed to ease the ache to be inside of her, though.
And by the third day, I was starting to think that maybe, if I took it slow, if I gave her the time she needed to get used to sex, I could actually get the relief I was craving.
So on that fourth night, I found myself calling it quits early.
And finally heading home to my wife before she passed out for the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lore
I woke up alone in an unfamiliar room with a slight ache between my thighs to remind me of the events of the night before.
The sun was already streaming through the windows, little golden rays of sun streaking across the walls, making me wince with my swollen eyes.
My heartbeat started to hammer as I moved myself to sit, wondering what time it was, where Renzo was. What he was thinking about me now.
He told me that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but clearly I had. I guess by not telling him about my virginity, I’d somehow… disappointed him. Because he clearly hadn’t enjoyed that.
I pulled the sides of my robe closed, feeling unmoored, adrift in this strange sea, with nothing solid to swim toward.
I climbed out of the bed, tiptoeing across the bedroom to peek out of the door, finding no one in the apartment below. Just the faint scent of strong coffee in the air.
Alone, I grabbed a change of clothes, and took myself into the bathroom, locking the door, running the water in the bath as hot as I could, then stripping out of my robe and nightie.
I slid under the water, feeling the heat of it prick at my skin, an uncomfortable sensation I found a sort of release in as a red flush crept across my legs, arms, and chest. The hot water seemed to squeeze my lungs, making each breath a pained gasp.
This wasn’t the bath I’d dreamed about for years, full of scented soaps, little fizzing bath bombs, a comforting soak meant to ease aches.
It was more of a punishment of sorts.
And each time the water chilled to the point of comfort, I pushed the drain, and filled it up again.
And again.
And again.
Until, finally, there was no more hot water to draw from the tap, making me finally rush to wash my body, then climb out.
The woman in the mirror didn’t look like me with her splotchy cheeks and swollen eyes from crying. With her skin red as a sunburn.
Perhaps it was right to feel different, considering.
Objectively, I understood that virginity was a social construct, that it was simply a little tear in tissue, no different than a paper cut, that it didn’t have to mean anything to lose it.
Emotionally, though, I felt different.
I felt changed.
I couldn’t decide, though, if it was a change for better or for worse.
If I would have been better off left wondering instead of knowing.
Regardless of that, it was done.
I walked through my new bedroom in my new apartment, digging out my hairbrush, toothbrush, creams, and shampoo, all my essentials, taking them into the bathroom with me, hiding what I could in an empty drawer, and placing the rest in the shower, tucked behind Renzo’s own items.
The scent of him clung to them, and then me after touching them, bringing a sense of longing through my system that I couldn’t explain. It was an ache behind my ribcage, a knot in my belly that refused to untangle as I went through my morning routine, dressing in clothes that suddenly felt too wrong for this new life I was living.
I’d never been interested in fashion. In skirts and dresses and showing off my body. If anything, I’d done everything in my power to hide it, to deflect attention, to be able to fade into the background of any given situation.
My bags were packed with yoga pants and massively oversized tops, hanging down nearly to my knees, making it impossible to make out the curves of my body underneath.
I stepped back from the mirror, seeing my flared leg black yoga pants and my old, gray shirt with the red embroidered New York emblazoned across the chest, worn soft from endless washings, with little holes in the sleeves for my thumbs to slip through, so they wouldn’t hang down and hide my hands at all times.