Reasonable Doubt(21)

“I told you I was going to own your pussy,” he whispered harshly. “Don’t cum until I tell you to fucking cum...” His cock was throbbing inside of me, and my muscles were clenching with his every stroke.

“Fuck....Fuckkkk!” My legs were starting to give out as an intense pressure built inside of me, as he fucked me relentlessly. “Andrewwwww...”

“Don’t let go.” He warned, but I couldn’t help it.

My orgasm took ahold of me in a rush and I collapsed, falling forward. Before I could land face first onto the coffee table, he pulled me back and continued pounding into me until he reached his own release.

I shut my eyes and leaned back against him, panting heavily as we both tried to catch our breath. Several minutes later, Andrew gently lifted my hips and pulled out of me.

He stood up, and I watched him as he walked into the kitchen and threw the condom away. He picked my fallen towel up from the floor and walked back over to me.

I made no move to get up, but I re-wrapped the towel around myself.

“Is there anything you didn’t lie to me about?” His voice was a whisper.

“Yes...”

“And what would that be?”

“I did miss you...”

He raised his eyebrow, keeping the rest of his face stoic. Expressionless. He started to buckle his pants, not taking his eyes off mine.

I was hoping that he would say something, anything, but he didn’t.

He smoothed his shirt with his hands and walked to the door. All of a sudden, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Then he walked over to me and lightly kissed my lips—brushing his thumb against my cheek.

I wanted to speak, to ask what he was thinking, but he pulled away and left.

This time he was gone.





Recess (n.):

Temporary withdrawal or cessation from the usual work or activity.

Andrew

I’d broken a lot of rules in my life, but sleeping with an intern was probably one of the worst ones. There was no precedent for this, and that terrified me.

The second I left Aubrey’s apartment, I did what I normally did after fucking someone I met online: I went home, showered, poured a glass of my favorite scotch, and pulled out my laptop—preparing to search for the next.

Except this time, I didn’t want to search for a next. I wanted to fuck Aubrey, again and again. I wanted to hear her scream a little louder, feel her body wrapped against mine, and see her face as I buried myself deep inside of her.

Damn...

I couldn’t believe this. I could count on one hand the number of women I’d thought about after I left a hotel, and it wasn’t because any of them were memorable in a good way. And the ones that were good, were just “good”—never amazing, like Aubrey.

A part of me felt bad for leaving her right after we finished, for not saying a word, but I had to leave.

I didn’t do pillow talk conversations after sex. Ever.

Even though I was more than tempted to drive back over there right now and claim her again, I had to make myself accept a very harsh fact: I was never going to sleep with her again. It was against my rules.

***

“Where is my coffee, Jessica?” I called her desk. “Why hasn’t Miss Everhart brought it to me yet? Is she late today?”

“No, sir.” She sounded confused. “It’s only seven thirty...”

I looked at the clock on my wall and sighed before ending the call. I was on edge for some reason, and I didn’t like it.

I’d failed to get any sleep the night before and I’d purposely ignored Aubrey’s midnight text. It’d read, “Can’t sleep...Can we talk about what just happened between us?”

The answer was no.

Our conversations were long over. There was nothing more we had to discuss.

We talked. We fucked. That was the end of us.

I pulled up the Dating-Match website, determined to get her out of my mind. All I needed to do was find someone else, and she would become a drop in the sea of other endless women—a fleeting memory that I would halfway remember whenever I saw her gorgeous face.

There were hundreds of new women on the site now, but very few of them caught my eye. The ones that did seemed too good to be true, so I didn’t bother clicking on their full profiles.

Just as I was reading about a math professor, a cup of coffee was set on my desk.

“Good morning,” Aubrey whispered.

I didn’t answer. I continued to scroll through online profiles; she’d get the point eventually.

She sighed. “Andrew—”

“It’s Mr. Hamilton.” I looked up, immediately wishing that I hadn’t. She looked even more stunning today than she did yesterday. She was wearing the same grey dress she’d worn to her interview, and it was tighter today than it was on that day. Her hair was falling in soft curls that fell past her shoulders, and her blue eyes were bright, hopeful.