Page 86 of Riding the Sugar High

Sleep, Logan. Sleep.

It’s been a shitty day, and I wish I could close my eyes and stop thinking, but I’ve been lying here for two hours. I’ve listened to Primrose work on her computer, then leave the house to settle on the front porch and call one of her friends back home. I’ve heard the click of her lamp when she turned it off, and since then, I’ve heard absolutely nothing.

Yet I can’t fall asleep.

We’ve been avoiding each other the whole day. When I returned home for my lunch break, she didn’t leave her room. And once I turned in for dinner, she’d already cooked and left food in the microwave for me.

So this is it. I guess we’ll keep to ourselves until she leaves. She’ll be gone in nine days, and I’ll forget about this whole thing.

It’s for the best, anyway. I have nothing to offer—my business is sinking, I have no real friends or family to bring to the table, and the emotional availability of a goose. Having sex with her would have made a mess of everything, and we don’t need that.

I just wish it didn’t make my stomach twist the way it does.

A noise has me widening my eyes and sitting upright. I hold my breath, straining my ears as I listen for something—anything. It could have been Lola. Last I saw, she was asleep in the living room. Or it could’ve been a pipe. The wind, even.

It sounded like a sob, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly—there it is again. Primrose must have left her door open, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard it.

She’s crying.

I shove a hand on my face, my chest hurting in a million different places.

Primrose’s an easy cryer, right? Emotional too, so her crying isn’t a big deal, and I should go back to sleep. But she’scrying. And I don’t care if she does it all the time, or if it’s because of a stupid reason. I don’t care if there’s no reason at all.

I pull my covers off and walk out of my room and down the corridor. Though I’ve never been much of a sleeper, this woman has been stealing my peace in more than one way.

I raise my hand to knock on the door, but the bed springs squeaking stop me. Is she coming out here?

“Hmm.”

Nope. Back to sobbing.

“Oh, fuck...”

My eyes shoot wide as if I’ve just inhaled powdered coffee. That didnotsound like a sob. It sounded like...like a moan.

I step back, my heartbeat racing like a runaway train, and hold my breath. There’s more squeaking, then a whimper. I confirm she’snotcrying when she mewls, “Oh, Logan...” And I lose my ever-loving mind when I hear a click, followed swiftly by a vibration sound.

She’s masturbating.

In my house.

Thinking about me.

I’m back in my room and sitting on the edge of the bed within thirty seconds, my cock poking at my stomach. What the hell is happening? She rejected me. Last night, she sent me all the green lights there can be, and this morning, a huge STOP sign. And now she wants me again?

Could I have gotten it all wrong?

The muffled cries continue, my erection growing stiffer until pre-cum leaks from the tip, and my hand itches to jerk off. Would it be creepy? She doesn’t know I’m listening, and it feels like invading a private moment. But these walls arethin, and it turns out I miss porn after all.

I rub my dick over my sweatpants in a desperate attempt to soothe the ache, but it only makes it worse, and with a loud sigh, I throw my back on the mattress.

Ridiculous. That I’d be pitching a tent because my roommate can’t keep her volume in check is just...ridiculous.

I pull a pillow over my head as her whines turn shorter and closer together If I hear her climax, I’ll need to dip my junk in iced water, but knowing I could be hearing her orgasm, and I’m choosing not to, might hurt even more.

Pillow back into a chokehold on my chest, I listen to the vibration increase, picturing her legs writhing together and her pussy clamping around nothing.

With our size difference, I know she’d feel better than good. Better than perfect.