I gently grip her hair when she lets out a muffled groan. “Ok, now a little faster. Suck it harder, baby, but still be soft. Put that pretty, wet mouth all over it.”

Pulling her hair a bit, I speed up until Lacey’s head steadily bobs up and down. When she takes hold of the dildo and begins fisting it enthusiastically as she sucks, I let go and take a step back, admiring the little monster I’ve created.

I actively engage the women as they explore the art of oral copulation, getting off on their obvious discomfort and inexperience. This is exactly what I need to distract me from the pressure at my temples, and the rage resting at the back of my neck. Not to mention the niggling ache in my chest. I shut it out. I shut it all out, focusing only on my work. Which is exactly what the fuck I should have been doing all along. Not humoring a silly woman while she cries about her cheating bastard of a husband and failed fraud of a marriage. Not sitting through dozens of episodes of mindless drivel and eating lard while she nestles against my side like the cocktease that she is. And not letting her lead me to believe that I was anything more than the hired help, damn near the equivalent of a gay BFF.

How did I get to this? How in the fuck did I lose sight of what I am and what I stand for so easily?

I can’t even really blame her. She’s simple and vapid and shallow. She couldn’t drown in the depth of her petty thoughts. So I can’t hold her responsible for the state that I’m in. Ilet this happen. Ilet her in when I swore that would never happen. I should’ve known better. I knew what type of person she was since the day she made it clear that I was an outsider. A nobody. Not even good enough to be fucking honest with. I was a shiny new toy to play with, then discard when she grew tired of me.

My thoughts lead me to the mahogany desk she’s stationed at, but I don’t look at her. I only know it’s her by her shoes—those same sandals that would slap against the pavement when she’d intrude on my nights by the pool. The same sandals that she’d slip off before tucking her feet under her ass and curling her body next to mine.

I hate those fucking sandals. I should have told her that. No man wants a woman that wears sandals. They want women that wear heels. Platform stilettos. Heels that look damn sexy when they’re sitting on our shoulders or wrapped around our waists. Ain’t shit sexy about sandals. They’re one tier up from flip-flops, which are barely a step away from Crocs.

Fucking Crocs.

“You’re doing it wrong,” I blurt out gruffly, before my little reflective moment takes a turn for the worst.

“What?”

I still don’t look at her. I just keep my eyes trained on those sandals and her little, pink-tipped toes peeking out of them. Even her toes are adorable.

Hmph. Adorable.

I’ve never been a fan of adorable. Chubby-cheeked babies are adorable. Puppies are adorable. Sometimes even little old ladies named Ethel. None of those things equate sexy.So neither should she.

“I said, you’re doing it wrong,” I say more sternly.

“I heard that.” Her voice is small and sad. Just like she is. A small, sad, adorable woman. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?” She sounds defeated. Like she wanted so bad to succeed at this so she could give Evan the blowjob of his life, ensuring that he’d never stray. Like she wanted to be the Superhead of the Upper East Side and boast her talents on a billboard in Times Square.

“Yeah. You’re doing everything wrong.” Sorry, Superhead Junior. No book deal for you.

I start to turn away, somewhat satisfied with myself, when her small, sad voice stops me in my tracks.

“Can you teach me how?”

Can I teach her how?

Can I teach her how?

I bite back my initial response—which would probably consist of me telling her exactly where she could go, how, and with what shoved up her tight, frigid ass—and take a moment to breathe before formulating a more professional response. “If you need extra help, Mrs. Carr, I suggest you make an appointment during business hours.”

“An appointment?” I can hear the confusion and hurt in her voice.

“Yes. An appointment. That’s what clients make when they find that they require more assistance than usual. When their inexperience stifles their progression. I can’t give you extra attention just because you seek it, and take precious class time away from others. That would be foolishof me, don’t you think?” I answer tersely, giving her back her own words.

Her face contorts as if I’ve just slapped her, her eyes twice their size and mouth agape. “What are you doing?” she whispers, though it’s already too late. We have an audience. And right now, these gossip mongers smell fresh shit to stir. Still, I lean in close, invading her personal space and stealing her air. I want her as uncomfortable as I am. I want her just as exposed and humiliated and wounded as she’s made me.

“I’m doing my job, Mrs. Carr. Exactly what your husband paid me for.”

BY THE TIME I dismiss the ladies for the day, I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. Everything hurts. I can’t think of one part of me that doesn’t ache with every step I take back to the refuge of my home. And it’s not just my body that feels it. I’m too tense, too edgy. I feel like I could explode at any given moment.

I know I fucked up in class at the way I spoke to Ally, but shit, she needed it. She needed to see who I am…and what she’s left of me. As much as I hate it, she caused the mess that I am right now. So, Bravo, Allison Elliot-Carr. You’ve single-handedly fucked up my day and given me blue balls. And you’ve reminded me why I despise people like you…why I hate the world you come from, and why I’ve emancipated myself from it.

Thank you, Ally. It’s bitches like you that create coldhearted bastards like me.

“Hey!”

I hear the slap of those damn sandals again, and my skin goes clammy and hot. I try to shake it off and keep walking, ignoring her approach.

“I said, Hey!You wanna tell me what the hell your problem is?”

“Make an appointment, Mrs. Carr,” I bark out without turning to address her as I fumble with the lock at my front door. Goddammit, I don’t have time for this shit.

“I don’t give a damn about your appointments, Justice. Why are you acting like this?” Her voice is right here, right behind me. I can nearly feel her warm breath at my back. With her this close, her heat mingling with mine, I can’t even respond. I’m too tired for this shit. Too exhausted to even try to make sense of what’s happened between us. Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe Ally was completely innocent and platonic with me. I could’ve misread her signals. Shit, maybe she really didlook at me as her gay BFF.

“Hey,” she says softly, placing a hand on my sweat-dampened back. “Talk to me.”

I didn’t realize how much I could miss a simple touch until I didn’t have it anymore. It’s so easy to let her back in. To let her wiggle her way back into my arms and smile up at me like she is the sun and I am every star in her sky.

When you spend your life in the dark, looking up and wishing for something better—something brighter—you don’t realize just how lonely you are. Not until the sun shines, shedding light on all the empty spaces and filling them with beautiful warmth. But when the sun abandons you, everything seems darker and colder than before.

Emptier.

Lonelier.

I force myself to push open the door and step inside, not even sure if she’s trailing behind me. When I turn around, she’s standing in my living room. I want her to stay; I want those smiles and that maniacal laugh and her cheesy jokes. But I don’t want this feeling that will return full force when she leaves again. I can only do this once, so for all intents and purposes, I’m going to do it right.