Marshall's late home again; her shoulders ache where they are jammed tight against the pillow and mattress. She's been painting all day and her eyes are red-raw behind her tightly closed eyelids.
She lets her mind wander…
Marshall… A younger, rangier, puppy-dog of a guy, all enthusiasm and hungry cock. Lily flicks on the device, guiding it between her legs, the low hum audible through the comforter. Yeah… Marshall was insatiable back then. He let her paint him naked once - "nude" - that stupid picture with the rose. His body, his skin, pulled taut over muscle that had appeared late in adolescence; he was so beautiful. She used to run her tongue all the way from biceps to groin, tasting salt-sweat that was uniquely him.
Lily runs the vibrator gently over her public hair, teasing herself before resting it an inch away from her clit, so she can feel the buzz without getting carried away. In her mind, she's painting and he's leering at her, daring her to carry in while he strips her, peels away her skirt and pushing his fingers past the thin material of her panties, probing inside her until she throbs, throbs…
The painting, flesh-tones, fills her vision while the throbbing builds slowly, cresting in waves that she refuses to ride, holding back, holding back.
The painting, abdomen, chest, pecs, all sharply defined, lips, sparkling eyes, the promise of something dark and crude and dirty, blonde hair…
Fuck!
The device leaps out of her hand while she grapples for it, the mood momentarily ruined. She gasps, groans, left trembling and torn and confused because it's not Marshall that's invaded her fantasies but someone entirely…
Inappropriate.
But if she can't fantasise in the privacy of her own bedroom, when can she?
Shakily, Lily runs the vibrator between her legs, her breath hitching as she slides it inside her and, hell yeah, she knows exactly who she'd be riding right now if she had the choice, if there were no consequences, if there were no Marshall…
And she cries out because - oh shit! - she's over the edge before she even knew it and she can't capture the orgasm, savour it, because it's hard and fast and too soon and leaves her aching and wanting more.
That's the trouble with Barney, Lily admits to herself. He'd leave you wanting more.
Marshall, now there's a boy who knows how to satisfy…