Page 9 of Game Misconduct

Her name puffs on my lips, and even though I know I’ll hate myself the second this is over, I reach for the lube I hid in the bedside table. It’s not like I’m planning on hooking up with anyone on this resort, and I’ve got to take care of my needs.

I pump the cool liquid onto my palm, letting it warm up before I take myself in hand again and stroke with purpose. Sticky precum pools on my skin, and I roll my balls, trying to bring myself that sweet, sweet relief that’s just out of reach. My hand is a poor substitute, so I let my mind wander to my favorite fantasy: a sassy, mouthy redhead and that one perfect day.

Remembering her scent, the sweet orange blossom perfuming the humid hotel room. Remembering the way she tasted on my tongue, the exquisite way her pussy gripped my fingers and then my cock. Her sighs and moans, the soft cries she let out.

I don’t let myself think about after. I don’t allow myself to recall how it all went south.

No, I think about all the good.

And when I come, her name on my lips, and the intense high washes over me, I wait for that sickly feeling to take root in the pit of my stomach.

She doesn’t want me. She discarded me as soon as she was done with me. Just like everyone else in my life.

Sighing, I force myself out of bed and clean up. The endorphins pinging around in my brain are already fading. Here I am, lusting over a woman who would barely give me the time of day, and now that we’re finally face-to-face again, she still wants nothing to do with me.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s my burden to bear.

Maybe this week, we can finally bury the hatchet and put this behind us. I have no idea what I did to ruin our fragile, fledgling truce so easily, but maybe…

Maybe. It’s the possibility I cling to as I crawl back into bed. Although my general outlook on life is pessimistic, just this once, I want to hope.

I have a second chance with my dream girl. And I won’t let her slip away—not again.