“Crap, I’ll do that first thing. She isn’t used to me having…help.” We both decide to let it go at that, knowing full well what I mean. “So,” I say brightly, “the food looks great.” He has made toast, juice, and eggs; it’s the same thing I fed him a few days before.

While I pick up the fork and eat a bit of the eggs, he studies my face and hair. When he touches my ponytail, I try to pull away. “Is that…dental floss?” At my nod, he starts laughing. “Boy, you make use of whatever you have, don’t you? First, a bread tie and now dental floss. Am I going to come home one day to find my underwear in your hair?”

Childishly, I stick my tongue out, which only serves to amuse him further. I watch him as I sip my juice. You would never know he had been sick just a few days prior. “You look like you feel better,” I remark.

“Pretty much back to normal,” he agrees. “It’s been years since I’ve been sick enough to stay in bed for more than a day.” His eyes seem to drift away after that statement, and I wonder what has put that faraway look on his face. When my eyes slip down to the scar on his neck, I wonder if that is the memory he is thinking of. Surely, an injury like that had required a hospital stay. Without thinking, I stroke the top of the hand resting next to mine, and he jumps noticeably. He had been far away, and he is distant now, looking but not really seeing me. “I’ve got to get ready if I’m going to make my meeting,” he says lightly as he stands. Before I can reply, he takes some clothing from his closet and shuts the bathroom door behind him. It makes me angry to think of someone hurting him physically. In such a short amount of time, I have become protective of this beautiful but complex man. If I never saw him again after today, I would still be forever grateful that for once in my life, someone had made me feel protected and cared for.

When he walks from the bathroom a short time later, fully dressed in a form-fitting suit and tie, my mouth drops open, and I literally drool all over the bed covers. I’ve never felt sexual desire like I do when he is near. I shift my legs together, trying to ease the throbbing of my clit. My body knows its master, and every part of me is begging for his attention. At that moment, he could fuck me in any way he wanted to, and I’d beg for more. As he moves closer, my eyes roll back in my head; he smells even better than he looks. I’m so horny; I fight a battle to keep from leaping into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist. As he leans over to remove the tray from my lap, his eyes lock on mine and he knows. His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare as if smelling my arousal. I grip his silk tie as he remains frozen over me, the tray all but forgotten between us. When I lick my suddenly dry lips, he groans as if in pain. “So…I guess you have to go to work now?”

“I guess so,” he agrees, making no move to pull away. He runs his thumb along my bottom lip, and I part my mouth, licking the tip. He stares as if mesmerized before slipping his finger inside, saying hoarsely, “Suck it.” I have no idea what comes over me, but I suck his thumb deeper, swirling my tongue around the tip before nipping it. He jerks back in surprise and an apology hovers on my lips. He takes his injured thumb and sucks it into his mouth, never breaking eye contact with me. “You’re fucking killing me here.” Unable to resist, my eyes lower to his crotch and the impressive tent there; he isn’t lying, I am getting to him. He clears his throat, and I look up to find him smirking knowingly at me. “That’s right, baby; when I get back, you’ll suck that, too, so get some rest.” With those words, he removes the tray from my lap and leaves the room. A few moments later, I hear the front door slam, and I slump back onto the pillows, using a shaking hand to fan myself.

Suddenly, I’m dying to touch myself. The need to touch my clit and put a finger inside my aching sex is almost overwhelming. The thought of masturbating in Lucian’s bed is dirty…but erotic. Just imagining his reaction if he found out is enough to have my hand lowering, stroking myself through the damp material of my panties. I let out a moan that echoes through the empty apartment. The sound of an incoming text from my phone brings my wandering hand to a halt. Using my free hand, I grab my phone, looking at the screen.

LUCIAN: You better not touch yourself while I’m gone.

Wildly, I look around the room, almost expecting to see him standing there, but he isn’t. He couldn’t possibly know what I’m doing. This is just some kind of twisted foreplay.

LIA: I’m sleeping, sicko.

I chuckle at my clever reply.

LUCIAN: Liar. You’re touching that sweet pussy. Do you want to be fucked with my tongue, baby?

OH. MY. GOD. No one has ever talked dirty to me the way he does, and it drives me out of my mind. The things he makes me crave should embarrass me, but they don’t. The fact that he lets me see how much he wants me gives me confidence I’ve never had. We are both scarred, and maybe that is what draws us to each other like a moth to the flame.

Lia: Yes, I need you…

My answer, though short and simple, is completely honest; I need all he will give me. We are miles apart in every way, but he was there when I needed him, he took care of me, and now I desperately need the physical connection to him.

Lucian: Me too, baby. I’ll be home around noon. Be laying on the chaise in the living room. I want you completely naked with your legs spread and your ass at the end. You better be wet and swollen, or I’ll know you touched yourself.

I’m panting as I read his text. How can he say stuff like that and expect me not to touch myself? I need an orgasm the way an addict needs his next fix. Can you die of sexual frustration, because I feel like I’m close.

Lia: I’ll try my best to wait.

I hope he knows I’m being honest and not trying to taunt him. I’m in such agony that agreeing to wait seems impossible. I’m also shocked at how easily I’m discussing something this personal with him.

Lucian: If you’re a good girl, I’ll eat you for lunch. If you’re a bad girl, I’ll jack off on your tits and leave you to suffer all night.

The breath leaves my body in a painful whoosh. Instead of being intimidated, I’m gushing between my thighs. How will I ever make it?

Lia: Stop talking to me! I’m going to shower, you evil man.

He doesn’t reply to my text. He is probably laughing his ass off over getting me so worked up, then telling me to wait three hours for relief. Insults fly from my mouth as I stomp to the shower. I can’t handle it cold, but even warm, it’s a much-needed distraction. My nipples are hard as stone as I run the soap over them lightly. I make quick work of the rest of my body; my skin is too sensitive to handle the texture of the washcloth.