Temptation [h.s.] ✔

Chapter 9.

 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 havemy orgasm, I rationalize while pouring a cup of coffee. It's lackluster and the spark seems to have disappeared somewhat, but it's there. It's 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'm beginning to crave a man I barely know.

The sound of his voice, the brush of his fingertips across my palm, the darkness of his gaze.

Every minute I spend with him only adds fuel to the fire. I'm wanting him in a way that's forbidden, if only by myself. I want him in a way that's 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. If you're on that diet and you crave a chocolate bar, you can bet your ass you'll have that chocolate. And when you crave, you'll rationalize it. You'll give yourself a thousand good reasons why it's okay to have that one little chocolate bar. It won't hurt. It's just one.

My body tingles with the very thought of having Harry inside me once more. All it will take for the want to turn to a craving is perhaps something as simple as a single touch from him. Then I could have him, have his body, just one more time.

And I could rationalize that it'll be okay because one more time won't hurt. One more time of having his lips across my skin, my breast in his hand, his tongue across my clit, my hips tilted as he drives his cock deep inside me... It wouldn't hurt.

But it would. It would sear into my skin. Burn me. Consume me. Possess me.

I know my limits. I know my boundaries. And Harry Styles breaks every single one of them.

I sip my coffee slowly, absently scratching under Angus's chin. His purrs echo through mysilent apartment, the low thrum of it relaxing to me.

What am I doing, really?

 How can I realistically expect Harry to stay away from me when I can't accomplish the same thing? How can I expect him not to touch me when I don't push him away? How can I expect him not to kiss me when, whenever he does, I respond as enthusiastically as he does?

 "Oh, Angus. I need a vacation."

 He meows and dips his head to rub it against my palm. I smooth the fur along his back.

 "That wasn't a vacation. I was working. Then I went to see my parents. Yes, I know you're upset you didn't come, too." I pat his head. "I'll take you next time. I promise."

 Talking to your cat: the first step to spinsterhood.

 "Maybe we should get you a lady friend," I sigh.

 He jumps from the counter and sidles over to the door. I open it and follow him downstairs.

 He nudges the main door with his head, and when I open that too, he rewards me by walking a figure eight around my feet before darting through the door.

 A foot blocks my shutting it, and I look up, set for another argument with Harry. But it's not him.

 "Where's Lord Grumpyass off to?" Dayton asks, following me up the first flight of stairs.

 "Gone to get him some," I mutter.

 "Good. He needs it." She laughs. "Little shit."

 There's no arguing with the truth. He really does need to get him some. A bit like his mama.