I wait. There’s no response.
I flop down in my chair and stare at the phone.
Please text back, please text back.
She doesn’t.
Finally, I call her. It goes to her voicemail, the same one she never checks.
I text her again: Where do you live? I’m coming to you.
She texts back her London address.
I’m not thinking properly. I’m irrational. But nothing is stopping me as I look up flights to London. I find a thirty pound shitty Ryanair flight that will get me into the city no later than 9pm. There’s no way to get back until the morning, but I can still make my afternoon class. It just means I’ll be spending the night in London.
You’re booking a hotel, I tell myself.
I then text Miranda, telling her I won’t be home until late, knowing she goes to bed early anyway.
She never texts back.
I grab my stuff and go.
It’s crazy, and I’m thinking it even as the plane lands at Stansted Airport. But if I don’t deal with this now, with her, it will haunt me. If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll never be able to let it go. I need to be able to see what can be. I need to look down that path, see where it ends, and make a decision.
If only it were so easy.
The cabbie drops me off in front of a modest brick building in Woolwich, above a takeaway Chinese shop and a nail salon. I ring her buzzer, waiting as a group of college-age kids stumble past, drunk.
She answers it, her voice crackling. “Brigs?” Then she buzzes me up.
I rush through the door and take the stairs two at a time. I was trying to be calm and composed the entire flight down here, but the minute I hear her voice through the intercom, every part of me lights up. Now I can’t get to her fast enough.
Just as I reach her door, it flings open, and Natasha is standing there, wearing a plain black dress. I’ve never seen her legs other than in jeans, and I take a moment to stare at them, long, incredibly soft, and curvy, before I bring my gaze to her face.
It’s her face that sets my skin on fire.
It’s her lips, full and sensual, that make my heart drum against my chest.
And it’s her eyes, wanting so much from me, wanting to give me so much, that has me storming through the doorway and grabbing her. My mouth is wild on hers, unapologetic, and thirsty beyond repair.
As I’m cupping her face in my hands, she’s digging her hands into my shoulders and kicking the door shut. While my tongue dances with hers, she’s pressing her body against mine. I can feel my erection, thick and hard between us, and my hands slide down the silk of her back to her arse, where I grab and squeeze, feeling more savage by the minute.
We walk, stumbling backward through the unfamiliar hall until I have her back against the wall. My lips go to her neck, licking, tasting her. She feels better on my tongue than I ever imagined, and it’s nearly impossible not to devour her whole while she tastes so sweet.
“Tasha,” I groan into her neck, my hand sliding over her breast as I press myself against her, pinning her to the wall. “I’ve never wanted you more.”
I’ve never wanted anyone more.
She lets out a fluttery sigh, grabbing the back of my neck with her hand, squirming beneath my touch. I pull down the top of her dress, taking her nipple into my mouth and sucking it with one long, hard pull.
“Fuck,” she whimpers, tugging at my hair. “Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
But her urging words make me realize I have to stop. It’s now or never.
I don’t know how, but I manage to pull away. I’m surprised I have any willpower, any brain power left. All my blood is throbbing in my cock and I’m inflamed with the desire to finally have her, here, now, in any way possible.
What little is left of my morals, though, is coming through strong.
“Natasha,” I say, my voice hoarse. I continue to press myself against her, smoothing back the hair from her face, peering at her intently. Her mouth looks bruised, damp, her eyes glazed by lust as she stares back at me. “I love you.”
She seems to melt before my eyes. “You love me?” she asks with soft liquid eyes. “Really?”
I nod and rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes as I breathe. “Yes. For a while now. Even before you told me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?” she whispers.
“Because I’m a coward. And confused. And I don’t know how to do the right thing.”
“Love is the right thing, isn’t it?”
I sigh and pull back, cupping her face in my hands. “I wasn’t sure. But I think I know now. I’m going to ask Miranda for a divorce.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I swallow thickly. “Yes. It’s going to hurt her, I think. At least her pride. But I have to tell her the truth.”