It breaks my heart every single time, because my fingers ache to tap out the truth. I miss you, too. I don’t send anything, though, because the rest of the problem—that I really can’t handle how much he wants from me, how much I feel for him despite myself—remains true.
Every night, my body betrays me by dreaming of him. Erotic, filthy imaginings. Sometimes it’s what we did together. Sometimes it’s even more depraved acts we never got to. He ties me down and works me up until I’m begging him to take my ass. He spanks me until my bottom is black and blue. He makes me blow him in public.
That’s the most recurring dream, the public humiliation, and I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with my guilt for exploding at him in London, and how far my dream self is willing to go to make that up to him.
I’m more fascinated by the disturbing reality that my real self isn’t willing to do much at all.
When my thoughts wander in that direction, I force myself to get to work on my research. What’s done is done, and if I’m really that brutal, then I can be matter-of-factly mind-over-matter about it and move on.
It’s an early morning in June when he texts next.
S: Shameful admission: I deleted the history of our text messages.
I gasp when I read that. And where nothing else before worked, this has me firing back a reply before I think about it.
A: Oh no. Whatever will you wank off to now?
S: Secret videos I took of you. Sleeping. Other things.
I laugh out loud. It fades to a bittersweet sigh when I realize that, yeah, that’s definitely just a joke, and not for a second do I feel any panic about the implied threat.
A: If you ever want to see any of the dirty texts I sent you, I’ve still got the complete record
S: Is that a sideways booty call?
A: You want it to be?
S: No
S: Do you want it to be?
A: Maybe
As soon as I send it, I’m squirming in my chair. Damn it. That was not how that was supposed to go.
But it was still pretty hot.
S: Let me know if it gets desperate over there
A: That’s selfless of you
S: Your orgasms have always been my top priority
He’s kidding.
I’m kidding.
Right?
— —
Another week goes by, with a few more text exchanges. And I never intend to actually suggest he come over, until I’m up late one night and the squirming in my chair gets to the point where I’m thinking about heading to bed with my phone.
Damn it. If I’m going to do that, I might as well invite him over.
This is a terrible idea.
Definitely a mistake.
A: You busy?
His response takes just long enough that I start to worry about where he is at ten thirty at night.
S: Depends.
A: Wanna come over?
—thirty—
Scott
I have no idea why I’m letting her suck me back in.
I know she doesn’t want anything other than ex-sex, and I’m gonna be pissed about this at some point down the road.
It doesn’t stop me from heading over to her place anyway.
When she opens the door, it’s a punch in the gut how great she looks. She’s wearing sweatpants, low on her hips, and a girly t-shirt that skims her curves. Casual and fuckable and perfect.
“You summoned me?” I stalk past her before she gives me an answer.
Behind me, she lets the door swing shut. “Is that how it’s going to be?”
I pace into her kitchen. The overhead light is off, but the hanging pendants over the peninsula are on, casting warm light on the center of the room that quickly fades to dark corners.
It’s quiet and intimate, and I have to fight to keep my angry edge. It would be so easy to just let this happen.
I roll up my shirt sleeves as I turn to look at her. I catch her eyeing up my forearms and I flex those muscles for her. “So where do you want to fuck?”
“That’s not—”
“No, that’s exactly what you want from me. And all you want from me. I’m a cock at your pleasure tonight.”
Her eyes flare at me. “Not just a cock. I like your fingers and tongue, too. Sometimes even more.”
“More?” I loom over her and she sucks in a ragged breath. Does she smell my body wash and after shave? Is she thinking about the fact that as soon as she texted me, I threw myself in the shower?
I’m at her mercy here.
I love/hate that.
“Equally,” she says quietly, her gaze cautious now.
“No, you said more. You don’t love my cock enough to get fucked tonight, Ali.”
“We don’t need to fuck.” She stumbles over the word and I hate myself for pushing her. She stands tall and smirks, proving once again I’ve underestimated her. “Wanna play Little Big Planet?”
I laugh. Funny girl. “No.”
“What do you want to do?”
I walk her back until she bumps against the counter. At the same time, I settle my hands on her hips. Hot and heavy, I hold them there, my fingers squeezing the top of her ass, my thumbs rubbing lazy circles on her hip bones.
She feels incredible.
She feels fragile.
She feels like mine, and nothing less than that will do.
My jaw flexes as I glare down at her. “Sunday brunch.”
—thirty-one—
Alison
“No!” The protest rips out of me first of all because it’s only Tuesday, and the last thing I want is him to turn around and head out the door until Sunday. And I’m still pissed at him about all the secrets, so I’m not giving him a date.
Not yet.
But he probably thinks I’m saying no for other reasons.
He’s not wrong. Dating would open a Pandora’s box of mess that we could avoid by…not dating. On the other hand, not dating didn’t work out that well for us either. I’m not stupid. I know that any way we do this, it’s going to be messy.
Evidence: right now. He’s pissed, and I’m not climbing him like a tree right now, getting that blissful orgasm I want so bad.
Which is really his fault, anyway. “You know, this whole thing is a monster of your own making,” I point out, trying to pull us back to the light flirting of our text messages.
Yes, I summoned him.
Yes, I texted him late at night because I want his cock inside me. I can’t fall asleep without the hard press of his body against mine, his words in my ear as he growls all the filthy ways I turn him inside out.
I need him, plain and simple.
We also need to talk, but I keep forgetting that as I watch his forearms flex and twist. Corded muscles popping out of the shadows, golden bands of strength that make my mouth water.
I set my hands against his chest. He doesn’t move. I sigh and stroke his curved pecs, then slide my fingers together, meeting in the middle. I play with the buttons there. He’s still just staring down at me. “I had no idea how awesome sex was until you showed me. If you don’t want me to text you…”
I trail off, because I’m not going to make an empty threat. I’m not calling anyone else, and I can’t even pretend I’m not going to call him, either.
“I’ll trade you,” he finally says. “Dates for orgasms.”
I laugh. “I’m going to get the orgasm anyway. You’re even worse at this lying thing than I am.”
He sighs as he winds one hand into my hair, tipping me back just a bit. Trapping me at just the right angle to crash his mouth down on top of mine.
As our tongues slide against each other, as he fills my body, sweeping all my defences away like they’re made of air, I think…what am I fighting, really?
So he’s broken my heart.
He’ll probably do it again.
So what.
It’ll be worth it.
But then he pulls back, nipping at my bottom lip as he separates us back into two people, and he says, “Fine, then. Dates for secrets.”
And whoosh, my defenses are back in place. Because there aren’t enough date possibilities to trade for all that remains unspoken between us. I wrap my arms around myself and shake my head. “You know you won’t really do that.”
“You don’t think I’ll bare my soul to you?” He steps back and spreads his arms wide. He looks like an avenging angel, his dark hair flopping over his hooded gaze, his hands turned skyward. Tall and lean and wide and mean.
“I think there’s room for you to bare plenty and still not really tell me anything at all. I think that you and I use the word secrets in two totally different ways.”
His head lifts up an inch, and his eyes glitter. “You need to get over what happened in London.”
“And you need to not speak to me like I’m a child.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He growls. “Even when it’s only a fraction of what I want, I’m here because you snapped your fingers.”
I gasp. “That’s not fair.”
“No? You don’t think I’m yours?”
“I think you were someone else’s first, in so many more ways than you’ll ever be mine.”
“We can’t all be virgins, Ali. You might not have been my first, but you’re my last. My only.”
I shake my head. “Don’t say that.”
“You don’t want to know how much you mean to me? You don’t think I’ll fight for you? I’d kill for you. If I back off, it’s only to regroup.”