Six Hours Since My Last Pill Novel
"Ahh…"
A moan slipped out. I quickly covered my mouth.
Damn it. My sex addiction was flaring up, and my pills were at home. Nobody told us about this company retreat until this evening.
I'd had it since I turned eighteen. One brush of a man's skin and I got wet; bad nights, I came on the spot. I never told a soul, just swallowed my pills and stayed away from men.
So I did the math and told myself it was fine. Get a room, lock the door, ride it out alone, nobody ever finds out.
Then the supervisor announced, "Sorry, guys, the rooms are all booked… but we've got tents! Not many, so make do. Lark, you're in Dax's tent."
There went the door, and the lock, and my last shred of a plan.
I crawled straight in and curled up in the far corner, facing the wall, praying I'd be asleep before the last pill wore off.
Dax came in after me, reaching up to hook the lantern on the frame. His shirt pulled loose—hard ridges of abs, a dark line of hair sinking down. My thighs pressed together all on their own.
He sat down with his knees apart, and I could see the thick shape of him through his jeans.
I stared until my ears burned, then turned to the wall and dragged the blanket over my hip.
Under it I was already slick, panties glued to me, clit throbbing so hard it ached.
Then Dax moved closer.
"What's wrong?"
His heat landed on my back, close enough that I could smell him—soap, sweat, man.
"N-nothing. I’m fine."
Please… just stay away from me.
But he leaned in anyway, and the back of his warm hand brushed my bare shoulder.
That was all it took. My whole body jerked, and a hot pulse spilled out of me into my ruined panties.
I picked up my phone with shaking fingers. Midnight. Six hours since my last pill.