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PROLOGUE

EMILY

A dry spell. I, Emily Renee Hawkins, am going through this.

What has this world become? It’s been months since I’ve had a man beneath me, on top of me, or behind me, pulling my hair as he pounds me.

I own my sexuality. Unequivocally. No woman should be ashamed of finding someone to help scratch that itch.

That’s all changed for me now. The thought of even trying to find someone different has my mind, stomach, and body revolting.

I’m freaking broken, and there’s one man, and one man only, to blame.

Before I met the name that won’t be spoken, I’d have had no problem going out and finding Mister Right Now, not thinking into the future.

That’s changed now, though, one night in.

The last time a guy gave me an orgasm was at my sister’s wedding in Hawaii.

He also just so happened to be by one of my now brother-in-law’s friends.

That is definitely saying something in the hands-off department; warning level activated.

It's not fair, not at all. Nothing is working, and it sucks dick, not literally obviously, because at this point in time, even that would give me more action than what I’ve been getting with the help of my own hands.

Tonight was an epic failure. I tried to go on a date to put him in the past. I mean, it’s been six months.

I was so uninterested that I ended up leaving before the appetizer even arrived. The old me would have never done that.

Which leads me to now, here once again, attempting to take the edge off while refusing to bring up the memories that have plagued my mind this whole time, using my hands along with my vibrating toy in the hopes to get myself there. It isn’t working, not while trying to keep my thoughts off him.

Sadly, it’s a lost cause. The man is so ingrained in me, the memories constantly swirling, tugging at way more than my nipples like he did that night so long ago.

I swear that he worked some kind of witchcraft on my body for other men. I’m not sure if it’s me comparing him to all the others who came after him or these guys just being complete and total idiots when it was time to seal the deal.

“What a waste of time.” I get off my bed, defeated because nothing is clearing the memory that I so badly want to scrub off my mind.

The way neither of us were looking for anything other than a night of passion.

It all started with a few shots of rum, forgoing the drink of choice in Hawaii in the form of a Mai Tai, some sly talking, a few flirtatious glances from me, the light touches from him, and the two of us agreeing on one night and one night only.

It was understood that we kept this quiet.

No one had to know, and we made it so the wedding guests along with our friends and family didn’t see us leave together.

Tate going as far as to hang around at the bar for a few minutes as I meandered towards the palm-tree-covered path away from the reception.

Apparently, Tate’s room wasn’t in the main area of the hotel, choosing to be away from the touristy scene.

It worked out better that way; no one would interrupt what was about to happen, and no one would be the wiser.

I remember the way his thick, muscular arms wrapped around me from behind, the heat that permeated around us, not to mention the heaviness that was pressed against my ass.

The first time, we didn’t make it to his place.

He took me with my back to the tree, my dress up around my waist. Tate’s pants were unzipped, he slid a condom down his length in a matter of seconds, and then he was working his way inside me.

Our tongues tangled, the mix of alcohol making it all the headier, and the groan that left him after I came on his cock which happened in a matter of minutes since it began, talk about going off like a firecracker.

I was almost ashamed, almost, but that part of my ‘I am woman’ wasn’t allowing it.

Though what it did do was make me want him again.

Luckily, Tate was more than on board. The second time, we made it to his room, not to the bed, though.

We fucked on the bathroom counter, clothes off, my knee on the ledge, one foot on the ground, opening me up for him as he tunneled in and out, hand fisted in my hair, pulling on it in order to arch my back further for our enjoyment as he sunk his teeth into skin in the hollow of my neck.

For the first time ever, I wanted a man to be bare, to feel what it would be like for him to come inside me instead of into the tip of a condom.

It sucked that I had no right to ask that.

I barely knew him. Me, the woman with the nickname 'Maneater’ was willing to do a whole lot of firsts with Tate.

It didn’t happen, though. One night, and one night only, was what we agreed on.

Our third round, we made it to the bed. It was slower, but that didn’t make it any less powerful.

If anything, it was probably the most intense sex I’ve ever had in my life.

Our eyes locked, my leg was thrown over his shoulder, his muscles working with every ebb and flow, my body rocking towards his.

And now I’m completely fucked because men might say women have some kind of voodoo magic or a pussy lined in gold, but let me tell you, Tate must have a magical cock because I’ve yet to get over that night, and it’s making orgasming nearly impossible these days.

“Maybe the shower head will work tonight.” Something has to give.

The irritation is making me annoyed with myself, and after the last six months, I absolutely know there’s only one man who will help me achieve my end goal to finally come.

The only problem with that is I have no idea how to get in touch with him unless it’s through my brother-in-law, and absolutely no way will that happen.

So, it looks like I’ll keep trying to take matters into my own hands, or use the shower head, it seems.