Chapter 10 - Chapter 10: Not Small Enough

I'm so close. My toes are curled, my legs are spread wide, and my head is pushed into the pillow of my hotel bed. My vibrator buzzes in my hand as my body squirms beneath it, on the brink of getting off. My eyes screw shut as my handheld best friend carries on working its magic against my clit.

There's not a work trip I take without this thing. And it's been a while since I've really got off, so this overdue orgasm is about to rip through my body. I can feel it.

I'm so close. So fucking close as I picture someone else doing this instead of the bright purple rubber toy in my hand.

Michael B. Jordan. Yes.

Thapelo Mokoena. Yes.

Oh my God, I'm right there.

Zondi. No.

No. No. No. Please no.

But it's too late as my entire body contracts, and my mouth falls open as I come, picturing Zondi as the one making it happen. His tattooed skin and those light amber-brown eyes, flecked with gold, are all I can see as I hit my high. His gold chain around his neck. His corded back muscles. His long fingers and perfect teeth. No. Fuck no.

Once I finally come down, I throw my vibrator across my hotel room in frustration and betrayal. Did I seriously just come to the image of Zondi fucking me?

Yes. Yes, I did.

Have I been able to picture anyone else all week, ever since I saw the outline of what he's carrying in those grey tracksuit pants on our flight home from Richards Bay?

No. No, I haven't.