“Okay,” she said, since there wasn’t anything else she could say. “I just need to get my bag.” Amber had much to mull over as she sluggishly walked out of the room. Her legs were rubbery, needing time to recover from the kneeling before returning to full usage. She left Eric on the bed. He probably needed a moment, too. To gather himself emotionally, maybe to take care of his neglected hard-on. That was part of the reason why she'd gone to shower, to let him do whatever he had to. She wondered how she'd find him, when she returned-- somewhat sated, or still frustrated?
Either way, she knew he'd be surly. Eric hadn't liked the rejection one bit; he hadn't even tried to hide his disappointment. Amber preferred it that way. She was glad he hadn't given her false platitudes. It'd have only made her feel more guilty. When she came back, he'd be at least a little less prickly, and they'd still spend the night together. At least that.
She could go back. It'd be easy enough, to squat next to him and fist his dick until he came. Watch him as he finally found release, see that moment of ecstasy come and go on his face. Take satisfaction in whatever sounds he made. She half-wished she'd done so; but sitting on him, denied the answers she'd wanted, it was if someone had flicked a switch in her. Amber was turned off and no quantity of longing otherwise would get her back on. Not tonight. And so she padded to the living room and picked up the bag that she’d unceremoniously dumped by the front door. It seemed like a million years ago, walking in and having eyes only for him. She'd wanted him so-- and that's where things had gotten so mixed up, wasn't it? Too excited, she’d gotten ahead of herself.
Bag in hand, Amber went to the bathroom. If she weren't so confused, she'd have taken note of the cleanliness. Admired Eric's organization. As it was, she didn't care. She turned on all the lights she could find and opened her trove of possessions on the sink. Eric had offered her his products, but since she had her own with her, she'd use them. Not only were they bought tailored for herself, but it'd be good to put her hands on something familiar. Not alien, like his apartment was starting to feel.
That tired old, habit of rubbing and washing her makeup away helped slow her heart and breathing down. By the time she'd cleansed herself off, Amber almost felt like herself again. She’d be ready to face Eric soon, she was sure. Feet bare on the cold bathroom floor, she stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water.
At first, the water just felt good. Amber wasn’t thinking about what had and would happen, and the spray was strong over her face. She gave in to the sensation, her strain easing into relaxation. After a few minutes, she reached for the soap and, upon touching it, its scent made her think of Eric. Oh, god, how could she have fucked up so much? It was one mistake after the other. Telling him she liked him, and then overreacting to his vague reply. Going fast, then slowing down too much to match his pace. Obsessing over who decided what, and then being too proud to tell him what she didn’t want. The screeching halt. It’d be a wonder if he’d still want to put up with her after this night; sure he said she could stay, but that might be politeness. Ever the gentleman, not kicking the damsel out. And starting tomorrow, he’d just be one of her bosses.
Rubbing the soap over her arms and breasts, she thought back to what he’d just said. He’d asked her to trust him. Amber did. She wouldn’t have suggested they start over if she didn’t, wouldn’t have asked to sleep with him. It wasn’t a question of trust. Though, she had to admit, slipping a hand between her legs to wash away the stickiness clinging to her thighs and mound, it was hard to believe in him when he wouldn’t even tell her why he’d been angry. He said it wasn’t because of her, but what else could it have been? She had no clue.
That was it, she was tired of wondering and worrying. Amber washed her hair and rinsed off as quickly as she could, toweling herself with equal speed. She dressed herself in the short, thin-strapped nightgown she’d brought. It had seemed foolish, when she’d packed the bag, but now she was glad for the outfit, as well as the fresh thong.
There. Amber looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wet and her skin damp, but otherwise she was presentable. She turned around and opened the door, bracing herself for a still-mulish Eric.
no subject
Either way, she knew he'd be surly. Eric hadn't liked the rejection one bit; he hadn't even tried to hide his disappointment. Amber preferred it that way. She was glad he hadn't given her false platitudes. It'd have only made her feel more guilty. When she came back, he'd be at least a little less prickly, and they'd still spend the night together. At least that.
She could go back. It'd be easy enough, to squat next to him and fist his dick until he came. Watch him as he finally found release, see that moment of ecstasy come and go on his face. Take satisfaction in whatever sounds he made. She half-wished she'd done so; but sitting on him, denied the answers she'd wanted, it was if someone had flicked a switch in her. Amber was turned off and no quantity of longing otherwise would get her back on. Not tonight. And so she padded to the living room and picked up the bag that she’d unceremoniously dumped by the front door. It seemed like a million years ago, walking in and having eyes only for him. She'd wanted him so-- and that's where things had gotten so mixed up, wasn't it? Too excited, she’d gotten ahead of herself.
Bag in hand, Amber went to the bathroom. If she weren't so confused, she'd have taken note of the cleanliness. Admired Eric's organization. As it was, she didn't care. She turned on all the lights she could find and opened her trove of possessions on the sink. Eric had offered her his products, but since she had her own with her, she'd use them. Not only were they bought tailored for herself, but it'd be good to put her hands on something familiar. Not alien, like his apartment was starting to feel.
That tired old, habit of rubbing and washing her makeup away helped slow her heart and breathing down. By the time she'd cleansed herself off, Amber almost felt like herself again. She’d be ready to face Eric soon, she was sure. Feet bare on the cold bathroom floor, she stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water.
At first, the water just felt good. Amber wasn’t thinking about what had and would happen, and the spray was strong over her face. She gave in to the sensation, her strain easing into relaxation. After a few minutes, she reached for the soap and, upon touching it, its scent made her think of Eric. Oh, god, how could she have fucked up so much? It was one mistake after the other. Telling him she liked him, and then overreacting to his vague reply. Going fast, then slowing down too much to match his pace. Obsessing over who decided what, and then being too proud to tell him what she didn’t want. The screeching halt. It’d be a wonder if he’d still want to put up with her after this night; sure he said she could stay, but that might be politeness. Ever the gentleman, not kicking the damsel out. And starting tomorrow, he’d just be one of her bosses.
Rubbing the soap over her arms and breasts, she thought back to what he’d just said. He’d asked her to trust him. Amber did. She wouldn’t have suggested they start over if she didn’t, wouldn’t have asked to sleep with him. It wasn’t a question of trust. Though, she had to admit, slipping a hand between her legs to wash away the stickiness clinging to her thighs and mound, it was hard to believe in him when he wouldn’t even tell her why he’d been angry. He said it wasn’t because of her, but what else could it have been? She had no clue.
That was it, she was tired of wondering and worrying. Amber washed her hair and rinsed off as quickly as she could, toweling herself with equal speed. She dressed herself in the short, thin-strapped nightgown she’d brought. It had seemed foolish, when she’d packed the bag, but now she was glad for the outfit, as well as the fresh thong.
There. Amber looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wet and her skin damp, but otherwise she was presentable. She turned around and opened the door, bracing herself for a still-mulish Eric.