Chapter 46 The man I hate
RORY POV
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I just wanted to know.”
I shook my head, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.
She tsked. “Well, if you want to know whether you like someone sexually, tonight when you go to bed, try touching yourself. Slide your hand between your thighs, play with your breasts, anywhere. Imagine it’s the person you like doing it to you. If you feel yourself getting slick, if your pussy starts dripping and you cum on your fingers… there’s a 70% chance you want him. At least sexually.”
I felt embarrassed. My sister-in-law was explaining masturbation to me like a biology class.
I swallowed hard. “Okay…” My breath came short because the image already forming in my head — Alexander’s hands instead of mine — was stealing my air.
"I have to go. Time is up," she said, checking her watch and standing up. "Bye, Rory. And don't you dare eavesdrop." She winked and practically ran toward Luke's wing.
I sat alone on the sofa for a moment, then I got up and went to the bedroom.
The moment I entered my room, I locked the door.
I stripped slowly, removing every piece. I unhooked my bra, watching in the mirrors as my breasts sprang free, heavy and full, nipples already tightening in the cool air. I bent, sliding my panties down my legs, seeing every movement reflected back at me , the way my ass curved, the shallow rise and fall of my chest, the slight tremble in my thighs.
Completely naked, I sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and spread my legs wide.
I slid my middle finger down first, circling my clit lightly. I winced at the first contact but I didn’t stop. I pushed deeper, sliding into my pussy. A soft, shaky moan escaped as I threw my head back. The initial sting melted into warm, slick pleasure. I felt my own juices coating my finger, making every thrust wetter.
My other hand flew to my breast. I pinched my nipple, then bent my head and licked my own nipple, imagining Alexander’s hot mouth instead, his tongue flicking, sucking hard.
imagining the same tongue that had been on my neck at the party, and the sound that came out of me was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
I imagined his hands, his mouth. The way he had pressed me against his chest in the corridor at his office. The way he moved me like I weighed nothing. Those blue eyes in the dark asking me how my day was like he actually wanted to know.
“Fuck… Alexander,” I whispered. My finger found that sweet spot inside and I moaned his name louder, my hips rocking.
I increased the pace, pumping deeper, my legs curling and shaking. I imagined his thick, long cock stretching me open, thrusting hard and deep, owning me, taking me apart the way I had imagined a hundred times reading my books late at night. I twisted my nipple hard and felt the orgasm tear through me without warning. I twisted my nipple harder, curling my finger inside my dripping pussy, shoving myself closer to the edge.
“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” I moaned, voice breaking as the orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure ripping through my body, my pussy clenching around my fingers, juices coating my hand.
I collapsed back against the sheets.
Heaving. Completely wrecked. My fingers still buried between my thighs, slick and warm.
I stared at my reflection in the ceiling mirror.
A version of myself I had never seen before stared back — flushed and undone and unrecognizable in the best and worst way.
The realization settled over me quietly.
I had just come on my own fingers for the first time in my life.
Imagining a man I was supposed to hate.