Page 33 of Almost Ravaged

I take every safety precaution warranted, communicate my boundaries, and respect the limits of my partners. I only engage in sane, consensual sex.

Sometimes, though, my sex life still feels like my dirty little secret.

The sex isn’t the problem.

What worries me on occasion is my desire to chase after no-strings, emotionally empty sexual encounters. I’ve been on my own and touch-starved for the last three years.

Often, I have to remind myself that I’m not hurting anyone with my actions. Any shame I’ve had to deal with is caused by internalized misogyny and society’s view of women’s pleasure.

Butnothingmakes me feel more alive than submitting to a well-trained Dom or licking a woman’s pussy while her husband rails into me from behind.

CandJ:Details incoming.

A long message follows. It’s full of all sorts of general details about their plans. There are no specific dates, and they don’t include the exact location. C and J are taking the same types of precautions I do, only further confirming my initial instinct that we would be great together.

I try to ignore the emptiness I feel and the quivering of my insides as my body involuntarily clenches. I quickly google the town they mentioned, but my heart sinks when I see that it’s nearly three hours away.

With a long breath out, I consider the logistics of leaving campus and traveling so far. I don’t know the area. Hell, I’ve never even heard of Hocking Hills. Then there’s my schedule. I haven’t been given details regarding the requirements of my assistantship yet, and Cameron only releases the ice arena shifts two weeks in advance.

Most importantly, I have no idea how I’d explain a long weekend away to Atty and Ty.

That was something I hadn’t considered before. The three of us share a car, and there’s no way I could disappear for a weekend without explanation.

Ugh.

Maybe Unicorn Hunter won’t be a viable option while I’m at Holt.

Dejected, I send C a message. I tell her I need a few days to figure out logistics, when in reality, I know I’ll have to turn her down. I can’t bring myself to reject her outright, though.

While she and J are my ideal hookup, my current situation just won’t allow for it.

With a frustrated groan, I close out the app. Then I put my phone back on its charger and turn off my bedside light.

I flip my pillow to the cool side and slip my arm beneath it in my go-to position. Eyes closed, I focus on my breathing. On the way the fresh sheets caress my heated skin. On the way the dampness of my panties feels slick and oh-so inviting.

The warmth still swirling low in my belly can’t be ignored. Neither can the little throb that prickles through my pussy every few seconds.

Huffing, I flop onto my back and shove my arms down by my sides.

I need sleep. Tomorrow is the first day of school.

Why did I even allow myself to check my apps?

Because I’m pent up and anxious. Touch-starved. Horny.

My brain buzzes with frustration, despite how mentally exhausted I am.

Silently, I accept that I won’t sleep until I take care of the tingle between my thighs.

With a sigh, I brush both hands down the front of my body, starting at my neck, then trailing my fingertips across the thin fabric of my tank top.

I scrape over the swells of my breasts and toy with the barbells, then squeeze my nipples, playing with my piercings, gently teasing at first, then tugging sharply. The mix of pleasure and pain causes my breath to hitch and inspires a spasm in my core.

My needy walls clench around nothing, and a whimper escapes my parted lips. Heat flooding my veins, I roll my pebbled nipples between my thumbs and two fingers, using the fabric of my shirt to create extra friction.

I press my breasts together, then pinch the taut peaks as hard as I can. I’m rewarded with a little gush from my pussy.

Groaning, I release one breast, and with a shaky breath, I slide a hand down the soft rolls of my stomach and past the waistband of my panties. Automatically, my thighs clamp around my wrist. My core clenches again, a needy vessel desperate to get fucked.