He used to love to watch her come. Not even touching her, just lying beside her, his attention wholly focused, watching the way she stroked her clit with her fingers, gently inserting one into her slick pussy from time to time as she arched her back and moaned and gasped.
Then she’d come, thrashing and screaming his name, and automatically reach in his direction. He’d catch her hand in his and hold it to his lips, murmuring softly against her fingers as her frenzy culminated and then calmed.
Thinking about it, she massaged her clit slowly, sliding her hand lower at times to feel the wetness she was creating. She moved her fingers faster, feeling her climax build. When it came, she reached out to her left where he used to lie.
Her hand hit the bed with a quiet thud. She gripped the blanket, bunching it into a ball with her fist as the orgasm consumed her body. When it was done, she released the blanket and turned her head.
He wasn't there. Her breath caught, even as her body twitched from the physical pleasure she’d just experienced. Turning in the other direction, she curled into a ball and closed her eyes.
She kept them closed as she recalled the end of their final fight. It had happened on the phone, last week, two days before Valentine’s Day. She had known it was over, even though the idea of living without him seemed surreal to her. He’d finally said what she needed to hear to push her over, strike the depth of her self-preservation instinct enough that she made the final move. The conversation wasn’t finished, but quietly, completely, she had ended it then: "All right Brandon. I'll let you go."
Each word had come out as if it were its own entity, slipping by the protective lump in her throat that desperately tried to keep the words contained. She knew he understood what she meant.
Banishing the memory, she got up and wandered around the apartment, naked, lifting her hair off the back of her neck as she entered the dining room. Her eyes fell on the roses in the center of the table. She dropped her hair and went to them. Despite everything, he had sent her roses on Valentine’s Day, knowing it was her favorite holiday. She knew it was not an invitation, not a peace offering, not even an apology. It was simply a gesture, one that embodied the unique percipience that made him the man he was.
She carried the roses, vase and all, to her bed, and resumed the curled-up position on her side. Holding the vase against her body, she inhaled slowly, dropping her head to the pillow as the scent of the red velvet petals enveloped her. The stark coolness of the vase against her skin made her nipples harden almost immediately.
Though she held it carefully, the vase tipped as she cradled it; a threadlike stream of water slipped over its edge and landed on her breast. Not moving, she watched it roll slowly down to the very tip of her nipple. There, the droplet hovered, as if unsure what to do. After wavering for several seconds, it let go, falling to the bed and instantaneously disappearing from sight.
Moving her hand across the smooth glass of the vase, she slowly turned onto her back, her breathing growing deeper as she thought, despite herself, about the way he used to take her after he finished watching her get off. Holding the vase absently on her stomach, she slid one hand down her body again and pictured the way he would push between her spread legs and press down on top of her, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.
Water splashed gently out of the vase onto her belly as she began writhing beneath her own stroking fingers again, remembering how he pounded her, his hard cock ramming into her while she grabbed his shoulders and screamed in ecstasy against his neck. Clumsily she reached over to set the roses on the nightstand. Her hand dripped water and she brought it back to her body and squeezed each breast, reaching down to flick her tongue over a nipple as she pushed two fingers into herself, moaning softly and biting her lip with pleasure.
Soon she arched her back and bucked against her hand, soaking wet from her pussy, while the other hand, soaking wet from the roses’ water, slid down over her stomach and up across her nipples. She cried out, pleasure overtaking everything as her body shook beneath her own touch. Instinctively she reached out, eyes closed.
She felt only the soft blanket beneath her fingers. She slowly brought her hand back to her body and lay still as her breathing evened.