Loud moaning from the next room wakes me from a deep sleep. I reach for the down pillow trying to drown out the obvious sound of people fucking. It’s completely useless. This is when two inches of wall space does absolutely nothing. Nothing. Even if I can’t see them, I can hear them.

Dammit, Julian kept his promise.

From the sounds coming next door, he’s definitely not a gentle lover. His words from yesterday, “I love to fuck,” continue to loop in my head like a broken record. The man who loves to fuck is fucking her … hard.

Why couldn’t I be in an alternate universe where I’m the woman next door screaming at the top of my lungs in pleasure? I think about how nice it would be to have him make love to me. I laugh inwardly because who am I kidding? I don’t want gentle. I don’t want nice and sweet. I get that from my fiancé. Hell, I want to be fucked into a crazed stupor.

Andrew.

Andrew.

Andrew doesn’t exist right now. Andrew is in our house sleeping.

This, this is a fantasy.

Julian.

God, what I wouldn’t give to be Shira right now.

Still dressed in my Mandalay racer dress, I quickly sit up and take off my dress. A tear escapes my eyes when I hear The Weeknd’s “Wicked Games” in the background. Oh, how cruel that he would have one of the sexiest songs I have ever heard playing, a song about a one-night stand no less. Surprisingly, I find myself whimpering. I’m such an idiot. Naked in bed, I pull the cover over my entire body and lie in a fetal position, trying desperately to forget what the couple next door is doing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’ve never been like this before. I’ve never been disoriented. I’ve never been jealous of another woman simply because of a man. I can’t even remember wanting to be intimate with someone other than my fiancé. Yeah, I’ve thought of Bruce Venture while Andrew was inside me. He’s a porn star, so that’s a given, especially when he’s so good at what he does on-screen. But how could I be so stupid for desiring a man who is obviously fucking someone else in the next room?

The. Next. Room.

Why am I even thinking about another man when I have someone at home waiting for me? Okay, I might also be delusional in that department as well.

“Oh! Oh! JC! Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder. That’s it! Don’t fucking stop,” the bitch yells from the top of her lungs. Good God, that girl is ridiculously loud. Kanye West’s “Gold Digger” now plays, and although a part of me laughs at the sentiment, I am still filled with jealousy.

I’m not going to fight this and slowly pull the covers down. Peeking up, as if to make sure I’m alone because the couple next door sound like they’re right next to me. And then I do the unthinkable. I picture them. Different scenarios unfold.

I torment myself as I imagine him doing things to her. Things−I want him to do to me.

I close my eyes, desperate to compose myself. More importantly, trying not to jump out of bed and bang on his door like a disgruntled neighbor or, even worse, a jealous woman; a woman who has no right to cock-block her childhood friend.

Please let this be over soon.

The sound of intense fucking continues. I can actually hear his bed creaking. Thump, thump, thump. What the hell? I grip my sheets tightly. Dear God! Did the floor just shake? I turn my head side to side, making sure that nothing has fallen. I look up at the ceiling. Okay, there are no cracks. Thump, thump, thump. They’re still going at it. Time has never moved so slowly before. Fifteen songs play back to back before the moaning, loud thumping, and the music from the other room cease. Yes, I counted and unfortunately knew all the songs. I didn’t know this about myself until tonight.

I. Am. A. Masochist.

I sat up with my back against the headboard, the duvet covering half of my body, willing myself not to move. I continued to listen to them fuck while I kept my eyes closed, singing along to all fifteen songs, even when I had to use the bathroom.

Silence.

Did he really just fuck her for over an hour? Could it be that they’re finally done? I pull the cover off and walk over to the useless wall space that shares the bedroom next door. Torturing myself because I really am a masochist, I place my right ear next to the wall trying to listen. Anything. The only thing I hear is the rapid beating of my heart. Not even music is playing. Instead of pillow talk, I hear the door open and voices out in the hallway.

I rush to the door on my tiptoes and open it gently like a nosy neighbor.

“Come on, baby, let me spend the night with you,” Shira begs. Her voice is hoarse and still so annoyingly whiny. I’m surprised she can talk after all that shouting.

“I sleep alone. That’s never going to change. Leonard is waiting downstairs for you and will take you back to the hotel. I’ll be leaving tomorrow, and we’ll see each other in London. Good luck with the auditions. Thank you and good night.”

“Thank you? That’s all you have to say? You know that was the best fuck you’ve ever had.” Her voice is a decimal louder than before. She’s obviously displeased with Julian’s brushoff.

“Please keep your voice down. Shira, that was great. Yes, thank you and good night. I’m fucking tired.” Julian kisses her on the cheek and closes the door.

Whaaaaat?

Who knew that Julian could be such an asshole? Inside, I’m performing the happy dance.

And just when I’m about to raise my hands in the air and swing my hips, she turns around and notices me. Oops. I don’t know who’s more embarrassed at this moment. Me or her? Shira’s long hair is messy, her lips are inflamed, and traces of her eye makeup remain, giving her that ‘Yeah, I just got fucked’ look. Of course, her cheeks are still flushed; the sexiest man I’ve ever met just banged her for over an hour.

She doesn’t say anything.

I remain mute.

She cocks her head slightly, glaring at me. She purses her lips. And there it is−a slow, wicked smile forms along the corner of her swollen lips.

Bitch.

I quickly close the door and exhale.

Although Shira just gave me the look that says I know you wish you could be me, I don’t want to be her. Julian banged her for over an hour but won’t allow her to spend the night.

That’s so fucked up.

And now, I’m the one smiling.

Completely naked, I walk over to the mirror and study the reflection staring back. My breasts are tender and swollen. Touching them, I imagine that the man next door who just fucked another woman for over an hour is the one enjoying them. I turn around and make my way to the king-size bed. Pulling the covers over my naked body, I begin to slowly touch myself. I really should get a vibrator. My fingers would thank me, and the last thing I want is carpel tunnel syndrome. A few minutes ago, I was angry, hurt, and very jealous. The knowledge of Julian inside another woman infuriated me. As ridiculous as this may be, at this moment, I am unable to contain my excitement.

I am aroused.

I have never moaned or screamed like Shira did even while masturbating to porn. I wonder: would a certain Englishman be able to make me scream like that?

The songs playing in the background while Julian banged Shira hits me. For a good part of their marathon session, tracks by Eminem, 50 Cent and Dr. Dre were in constant rotation−definitely not sweet lovemaking music.

I am ridiculously wet just from imagining him as a lover. He’s definitely not gentle. His bed creaked. I bet he’s the kind of lover who would fuck me so hard I would forget my own name. A lover who would fuck me into such a stupor, it would feel like a 5.0 magnitude earthquake was happening. I chuckle, remembering that the floors shook. My breathing starts to quicken, and two of my fingers are working their magic.

My fingers, slick with my juices, touch my sensitive clit. I rub small circles. My mouth slowly opens as I begin to murmur … only his name escaping my lips when I finally reach my climax.

Damp hair. My body, revived, is covered with sweat. Sheets fall to the ground. Physical evidence suggesting I just had sex with someone. Well, the masturbation session was much more rigorous than my sex with Andrew a few nights ago. I pad over to the master bathroom and clean myself up. When my head hits the pillow, I close my eyes briefly and immediately see the image of Julian grinning. Ooh, that mischievous grin. Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling.

Julian, Julian, Julian.

He is the only thought I have before sleep takes over.