Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
But lust…now, that was interesting. The definition—strong sexual desire.
Okay, I knew that already, so what did I get out of my research? Well, I learned that I had the hots for someone light-years smarter than I would ever be. Conclusion: I either desperately needed to get laid or call my therapist.
Or ideally, snap out of it and tune in to my regularly scheduled life, which for the first time in years, didn’t suck donkey balls. I had a good job and good friends, and my usual aches and pains didn’t bother me as much lately. The fact that I physically and mentally felt better than ever was reason to celebrate.
However, my idea of fun had drastically devolved from near-naked gyrating with sweaty beefcakes to a quiet night crafting in sweats and an oversized tee. No shame whatsoever. I put in social appearances when required, but I always stayed close to home and kept my eyes on the clock, primed and prepared to fade without notice.
Saturday evening, I went to Darcy’s show because I’d promised and she’d notice if I didn’t say hello. I even popped into the after-party at a swanky rooftop bar in LA and flirted with Hollywood execs in my rainbow-sequined skintight pants and sexy mesh crop top. I sipped a slushy margarita till it turned into a lukewarm spiked lemonade substance while chatting with a middle-aged married bald man who’d attached himself to my side like a barnacle.
It was fine-ish. But two G and Ts into our acquaintance, he whispered, “I want to fuck you like an animal.” To which I thought, Okay…points for quoting a Nine Inch Nails classic, but also, no thanks.
I slinked away with my dignity intact, happily trading my sparkly pants for Hello Kitty PJ bottoms and an “Is it gay in here or is it just me?” T-shirt. Then I treated myself to a pint of chocolate Halo and listened to a cold-case murder podcast while I crafted to my heart’s content. I hit the repeat button on my podcasts and crafts on Sunday and Monday, catching up on laundry and grocery shopping before soccer practice.
And in between, I went back to biomolecular physics and engineering, whizzing over theories and science-y terms like recombinant DNA and polymerase chain reaction. I didn’t understand a word and I had zero interest in the subject, but my curiosity was sparked. Or I was just weird. It didn’t make sense to obsess over a professor I’d probably never see again.
Was I fun or what?
Hey, I thought so. After five days on my feet in a bustling hair salon, talking for hours on end, I cherished my quiet Sundays and Mondays. It was unrepentant “me” time, firmly dedicated to healing thoughts and calming pursuits. And one of the major perks of living alone was that I never had to make small talk or worry that my oddball habit of staying up until four a.m. would disturb a roommate. I was on my own in every way that mattered, and I was doing okay.
I had no desire to hook up with icky paramours who promised lavish gifts in exchange for sexual favors, overselling their prowess and willfully misunderstanding courtesy as interest. I didn’t need money and I didn’t need a man. I had plenty of batteries for my impressive collection of vibrating goodies, too. Give me porn and a dildo, and I was set.
Scratch that, I really didn’t need porn. I had an intrepid imagination. Me dressed in skimpy lace underwear with a sexy man between my thighs…his hands on my knees, his tongue in my hole, his glasses all fogged up and—
Gah!
This was insane. I couldn’t stop thinking about the professor.
Thomas in a classroom, wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows, fixing me with a stern look over the rim of his newly repaired glasses, demanding to see me after class. I’d jacked off to his gruff tone and the promise of his firm hand on my ass. I barely made it to the part where I offered to suck him for a better grade before I blew my load.
No kidding. It had happened every damn day since we’d parted ways. I’d had plenty of crushes in the past…even on clients. But this one wasn’t fading.
And it was giving my guilty lapsed-Catholic conscience a serious workout. I had no business thinking schmoopy thoughts about Thomas or wondering what he’d say about the thick bulge I’d given the merman on my newest design. Would he think it was overkill? Would he blush?
If so, I wanted to be there when his ears turned pink and his eyelashes swept over his rose-tinged cheeks. Or would he turn it around on me and leave me feeling defenseless in all kinds of sexy, delicious ways? Mmm, I wanted that surge of unexpected power he’d unleashed when he kissed me. I wanted his hands in my hair and his tongue down my throat.