Page 116 of The Temptation of Truth

Mabel slips off the robe, then saunters toward me in slow motion with a confidence that makes my mouth water. When she reaches the bed, she places the box on the mattress and flips it open. I don’t know what I was expecting, but a bottle of lubricant and a massage wand was not it. Then she flips a switch, making the wand buzz to life.

My jaw drops on a gasp. “Oh, God.”

She smirks. “Goddess, baby. A man could never.”

26

AURORA

Sleeping Beauty,

You looked so pretty, I didn’t want to wake you. The band has a full day, but dinner tonight?

- Mabes

My heart stuttersas I read the note again.

I’ve read it probably twenty times since finding it on my nightstand this morning. I could close my eyes and picture it perfectly.

She has the most elegant handwriting. Each word is written in flowing, loopy cursive, and if I didn’t know her, I might be surprised. I might expect something more edgy and chaotic, something morerock and roll, but that’s just not Mabel Rossi. Her voice from last night plays in my ears, and my blood heats at the images that come with it.

I’m just a girl who likes pretty things.

The sultry makeup. The pink lace and leather. The matching piercings.

She’s so hot that it hurts.

I drop my face into my hands and groan. I can’t get a handle on my emotions. I keep jumping fromoh my God, I can’t believe that happenedgiddy giggles tooh my God, I can’t believe that happenedanxious panic. It’s been a chaotic morning for my nervous system, and I haven’t even left the room yet.

But seriously. I cannot believe it actually happened.

I keep waiting to wake up and discover it was just a dream. Just another of the X-rated fantasies that have been popping up in my head lately. But no, the delicious ache of my muscles and the technicolor film reel of memories flashing on repeat in my mind say otherwise.

I read the note one more time before sliding it into the back of my leather journal, then press my hand over my heart, feeling thethump thumpagainst my palm.

Iamawake. Itdidhappen. Every touch. Every kiss. Every amazing, blissful, terrifying moment. It wasallreal.

I was completely naked in this bed with Mabel Rossi last night. She tasted and caressed every part of my body, and I enjoyed it. She brought me to orgasm multiple times, and never once did she expect anything from me in return.

That’s the part that has rocked me the most, I think. How is that possible? Sex has never not been a chore for me. A quid pro quo, heavy on the quo. Or is it the quid? Whatever. Usually, my pleasure is the very last priority, so how could Mabel spend hours focusing on me, and then be just fine when I passed out from exhaustion without returning the favor?

I mean, thank God she didn’t expect anything from me, because I would have freaked out. I’m freaking out a little now just thinking about it. I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. I’d screw it up. I’d make a fool of myself. I have no idea how to please a woman. Just because I have a vagina doesn’t mean I know what to do with one sexually.

I groan again and squeeze my eyes shut.

But Iwantto please her. I want to make her feel good. I want to do for her what she did for me. I want to, but I don’t know if I can.

I push to standing and start to pace, then my eyes catch on my journal on the bedspread, and I think of her note again. She called me Sleeping Beauty and said I looked pretty. I can’t remember the last time someone called me pretty or made me feel special. I don’t know when, if ever, I was put first in a relationship.

My eyes widen the second the word forms in my head.Relationship.

Why would I think that? This isn’t a relationship. It’s not. It can’t be. Right? What happened last night wasn’t that big of a deal, was it? It felt like a big deal for me, but was it for her? She’s a rock star. People throw themselves at her. I literally watched that guy at the club in Adelaide do it. She’s experienced. She’s not hurting for attention. She probably hooks up with people all the time.

Are we just hooking up, too?

Is that what I want?

Yes.