Chapter Twenty Two

I think my vibrator is broken.

It must be. I’m not willing to admit the alternative—that my orgasm is maybe a little broken.

At least I have my orgasm, I rationalized while pouring a cup of coffee. It was a lackluster and the spark seemed to have disappeared somewhat, but it was still there. It was enough to get rid of the sexual frustration.

Of course, I know how to fix it. All I have to do is think about a certain British man and wheeee! There she is. But that is not a smart move.

I was beginning to crave a man I barely knew.

The sound of his voice, the brush of his fingertips across my palm, the darkness of his gaze. Every minute I spent with him only added fuel to the fire. I was attracted to him in a way that was forbidden, if only by myself. I wanted him in a way that was, oh so tempting.

Want and crave are different. Want is safe. You can be on a diet and want a chocolate bar, but it doesn’t mean you’ll give in