Forbidden to Want

by JC Harroway

  ‘I’m fine. It’s not late. I’ll take the tube.’ My resistance is snappier than usual, sharpened by my growing unease in the wake of our earlier fight. At least, I think it was a fight. I’d certainly had a whole heap more I wanted to say before I realised there was no point.

  Kit’s expression told me everything I needed to know. Couples fight and make up. I was right, although the victory tastes foul—that isn’t what we’re about.

  I wanted so badly to be wrong. To have him deny it even while I formulated a lecture on how he didn’t really know me, had no right to question my fuck-and-run tactics and should spend some time looking in the mirror.

  Yep, definitely a fight.

  Kit grips my hand, spreading the now familiar heat up my arm. ‘I’m taking you home, Mia. Or my driver is.’ His mouth is grim. Obstinate. Brooking no refusal.

  ‘You don’t get to tell me what to do, you know. That’s not a part of this.’ Oh, I’m all about what we aren’t now, as if I need the reminder, even if he doesn’t.

  I understand Kit’s need to control what he can. A similar urge currently pounds through my blood, the only antidote for the unsettling emotions I’m experiencing. Emotions I’ve always shut down in the past. And now, with everything I was certain of in my life questioned, I know why.

  This is what happens when you let people in. Not only do they see you too clearly, they feel they have a right to tell you what to do.

  I lift my chin. ‘I’m a grown woman who’s managed to live perfectly successfully without your assistance up to this point.’ That he’s reduced me to a cliché, just a woman who craves more than his phenomenal sexual prowess—those rare glimpses of his dazzling personality, the unguarded moments where he’s warm and caring and funny—shunts my strung-out body close to the skin-crawling urge to run.

  He can’t get away with that unaffected. He can’t have me all figured out while keeping his own guard unbreachable.

  A gaggle of partygoers breezes past, heading for the exit, no doubt in search of a smoke. Kit turns on his heel and ushers me into an office accessed by a keypad.

  Inside he flicks on the desk lamp and shrugs off his jacket. ‘I’m not telling you what to do, I’m concerned for your safety.’ He pulls the phone from his trouser pocket, his thumb flying over the screen. ‘Just take a seat, Mia. Give me a second to text my driver...’

  Have I overreacted, led down the wrong track by his insightful observations? What’s the point of fighting? I can’t have him, anyway. I chew on my lip, the same urge that overcame me the first day I met him in another office washing over me. The urge to defy...the urge to prove...and now the urge to outrun my feelings, just like I’ve always done, intensifies, as if this time there’s more to run from. More at stake.

  Because if Kit sees me that clearly, enough to see I’m incomplete, to see what I might need, then I’ve allowed him too close.

  I’ve worn his clothes, answered his questions, put up with his rudeness, and even tolerated his sexual dominance... Okay—that’s a bit rich. I’ve revelled in the latter. But either way, I want Kit to suffer similar turmoil to what’s eating away at me. How dare he do this? How dare he make me something I’m not? How dare he make me see a future I’ve spent my whole adult life avoiding? How dare he make me...care? For him? A man so closed-off, it’s laughable. But the joke is on me.

  No.

  It’s just sex. Sex is all it’s ever been. While I don’t mind giving him the control he needs over our sexual activities, he doesn’t get to tell me what I need, or what to do. It’s time the power balance shifted my way.

  Clarity settles over me and I succumb to my needs with a sigh. ‘Sit down.’

  He spins to look at me, a small frown pinching his brow.

  That’s right, I can make demands too.

  I point at the leather chair behind the desk.

  ‘Mia, look, if this is about earlier—’

  I rise up on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his, transferring the heat burning inside me to my kiss. I don’t want him rational, consoling. I want to undo him as he’s undone me. I want to push him to the edge of whatever this is between us, so he feels it too. The panic. The prickly heat. The stripped-bare vulnerability which slides over my skin like warm treacle—seductive but bordering on discomfort. That I’m alone in this stiffens my resolve. If I’m going down, he’s coming with me.

  With my gentle shove, Kit stumbles back into the seat, his hands on my hips tugging me after him until I’m slotted between his strong thighs. For once I am in the driving seat.

  He looks up. I look down, the dynamic forcing blood to my head in a rush.

  ‘Fuck, you’ve been driving me crazy all night.’ His hands slide under my dress and up the backs of my thighs to knead the bare cheeks of my arse. ‘Are you wearing a thong?’ He leans forward and groans into my belly.

  My hands brace on his shoulders; the power trip is heady. ‘I’m not wearing anything. This dress is ridiculously revealing.’

  He lifts his head, a blue spark in his excited eyes. ‘You’ve been walking around all night without underwear?’

  I feel like a naughty schoolgirl called to the principal’s office. Not how I want to feel. I scour my psyche for my inner seductress, scrapping the idea as soon as it forms. He’s hard against his fly. Kit wants me. I am determined to be me. To be who I am.

  His eyes flick to the door behind me and then he levels earnest eyes on mine. ‘Come home with me.’ It’s a demand. Gruff with desire, but bearing enough bite to tell me he’s still in control.

  Yesterday, I’d have gone along with his demand. But today...today I’m different. He’s made me different with his hand-holding and his confidences and the small glimpses of his genuine smile.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I reach for his belt and tug it open.

  ‘Mia, I don’t want to fuck you on a desk...’ His eyes flick over my shoulder once more. I don’t know if anyone else knows the entry code, but I don’t care.

  ‘Come home with me? Stay the night?’ This time it’s a question, but I shake my head. Why is he pushing so hard? Why is he still trying to nudge me out of my comfort zone without offering anything in return...?

  My stomach twists. I want Kit vulnerable, confused, as rudderless as I’ve felt since the community centre—while he grapples with whatever this is flaring between us.

  I drop to my knees on the carpet, loving the conflicted thrill of excitement in his hooded stare.

  ‘It’s late.’ I shove his zipper down and free him from his boxers. ‘I have to be back here early tomorrow for the shoot.’

  ‘Mia...’ he groans, so close to losing the battle he has going on in his head. I taste victory. He wants to control this chemistry. And I was happy to concede when I had nothing to lose. But now...

  My hand pumps him. He’s steel and velvet in my palm. His hips shift. Is he getting comfortable or recoiling...? But his fingers toy with my hair, his stare dropping to my mouth every few seconds, while his chest lifts and falls at an increased rate.

  I lean in, my tongue sliding over the head of his cock while I look up at him. I channel my defiance into my stare, just as he did that first time we kissed in the car the day we met. We’re both hiding. Both running. Time for Kit to feel the burn in his lungs and the lactic acid scream in his muscles...

  I wrap my mouth around him.

  He hisses, his head falling against the backrest and then snapping up to watch the show once more.

  ‘Mia...’ There’s a hint of warning in his voice, a hint of danger. But he cups my cheek, fingers gentle in my hair as he shifts his hips once more.

  I blank out his voice, blank out the sight of his male beauty, blank out his words from the dance floor, needing to keep him at arm’s length. Because I’d known he was dangerous the day I met him... I just fooled myself I could handle the challenge, as usual. But the Kit
effect is too strong. Overwhelming. He’s already seen too much, seen me too clearly. Probed too close to an area of my life even I don’t have figured out. If I’m not careful he’ll dismantle me completely.

  I suck him hard, hollowing my cheeks while I pump with my hand. Kit spreads his steely thighs, his grip tightening in my hair and surrender softening his features.

  It’s a heady feeling. I bob my head with renewed enthusiasm. I want him breathless. I want him reeling. I want this urbane man who wears his pain like a second skin at my mercy, just for a second.

  His knuckles whiten on the arms of the chair, and my pulse thunders in my head. His breath seesaws in and out of his flared nostrils and his pupils are massive black pools, honed on the action.

  For a few delirious seconds he’s mine. Completely vulnerable. Undone.

  The relief washes through me and I groan, the sound buzzing my lips where they’re stretched around him.

  ‘Stop.’

  What?

  My fingers release him and I rear back on my heels, allowing him to slip from my mouth.

  His thumb wipes the saliva from my bottom lip, his eyes soft, searching. He finds his breath then says, ‘Come home with me.’

  He rises and pulls me to my feet, still hard and still wet from my mouth. He really wants this to go his way. He’s not going to let me finish him. He can’t give me even that.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing what’s left of my lipstick, glad he’s rumpled my stupid hairdo so much the sequinned headband is somewhere on the floor, the pins have fallen out and it’s as wild as usual.

  ‘Why? So you can tell me what I need?’

  Disappointment flashes in his eyes. And then they harden, taking my resolve along for the ride. It would be so easy to cave, to lose another little sliver of myself to him. I shake my head. My slivers, as rootless and uncertain as they are, are precious. I can’t give him more. I can’t give him more than he’s willing to give me.

  I’m not relenting this time. ‘I know what I need—kiss me.’ I know that look on his face, and I’m determined to pre-empt whatever comes next. To cling to a shred of the old me. The me who had her life figured out. The me who needed no one. The me who didn’t belong, but didn’t need to.

  He wavers for a split second and then he scoops one arm around my waist and hoists me up onto the desk. I tunnel my hands in his hair, dragging his mouth down to my kisses, and he fumbles in his pocket for what I assume is a condom.

  I spread my thighs to accommodate him, desperate now, as I am every time with him, to slake this fire. He breaks away to stare between my legs and groans. I was telling the truth about the underwear.

  ‘Fuck!’ He drops to his knees, his mouth covering me as his hands grip my thighs and he spreads me open on the desk. My mind shuts down as he pushes his tongue inside me, once, twice, three times and then he’s back on his feet, tearing into the condom and shunting my backside to the edge of the furniture.

  My legs curl around his, drawing him closer, and he notches himself at my entrance, teeth gritted as if he’s holding back things he wants to say. But it’s all there in his eyes. The same flicker of regret he’s always harboured.

  I close my eyes, blocking out what I’m not ready to see, not ready to admit. I yank on his neck, kissing him so those things stay unspoken as he pushes inside.

  Our coupling is quick, but no less spectacular for that. We come together and for a few breathless minutes in the aftermath I think I’ve overreacted; made shit up in my head and everything is the same as it was a week ago.

  When he shifts and withdraws, I push him away and stand, my jittery limbs covered in goosebumps as the surge of orgasmic adrenaline dwindles. His phone on the desk behind me buzzes, breaking the silent tension and gifting me an escape.

  As if he senses my intention, Kit makes a grab for my fingers with one hand and tucks himself away with the other, before smoothing the wrinkles from my dress down over my hips. ‘Come home with me.’ It’s quiet, almost a plea, but still a command. He’s still angling.

  I want to capitulate, to say ‘yes, take me home’. To have him spend all night reminding me how good we are together. Sex is all I can want from him and all he can expect from me in return. If I go home with him, if I give him more, I might lose the identity I’ve clung to all these years.

  I tug my hand free and smile, stepping backwards. ‘I don’t think so.’ I shrug. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, boss. Work to do.’

  Kit shoves his hands in his pockets and some of the tension leaves me. If he doesn’t touch me again, I might find the strength to follow through.

  I grab my clutch and make it to the door.

  ‘Mia.’

  I spin, shoulders back, carefree grin wobbling in place.

  He’s holding his phone, his clothing renewed so no one would know what has just transpired. Still beautiful, still in control. ‘My car’s waiting for you. Take it.’

  I nod and leave, like Cinderella regretting that she’s seduced Prince Charming hoping to find him a frog, only to discover he’s the one hundred per cent authentic heir to the throne.

  In the back of Kit’s car, I collapse into the leather. Even now he surrounds me—his scent on my skin, his voice in my head, his stare tattooed on my retinas for ever. I watch the world whizz by, blind to everything but the weight sitting on my chest. There’s a reason I’ve avoided relationships all these years. This feeling, right here, is the reason.

  Vulnerability.

  Making me question everything about myself. And there are enough questions in my life. Relationships, like mortgages and dog ownership, represent permanence. And for a woman who’s scared to dig too deep, to look too hard beneath her surface for fear of the answers...

  I fish a tissue from my clutch and dispense with what’s left of the make-up, scrubbing too hard but welcoming the burn as I peel away Kit’s uniform. He’s changed me enough with his champagne and his family gatherings and his control.

  I take some deep breaths, willing my heart rate into submission and telling myself that, underneath the £3,000 dress and out of the chauffer-driven pumpkin, I’m still me.

  When I arrive back at Will’s, every muscle in my body sags. He’s still up.

  I find him in the kitchen, a cup of cold tea at his fingertips, his laptop open and paperwork spread over the table.

  I make fresh tea, snag his sweater from the back of a chair, don it over the dress and sit beside my brother. Fatigue rims his eyes. He rubs at his face and takes a grateful sip of the tea. ‘Thanks. Sorry about bailing out tonight.’

  ‘No problem. How are you doing?’

  He sighs, but smiles. ‘Good. It’s all happened a bit quickly.’

  Will and Josh applied to adopt a year ago. Today, this evening, they got the call. Josh is away on an overnight business trip.

  ‘It’s so exciting,’ I whisper around my tight throat. ‘What you’re both doing will change someone’s life.’

  He nods. We both understand the importance of growing up in a loving home. Who knows where either of us would be without that stability?

  ‘Have you told Mum and Dad?’ They’ll be beside themselves... Their first grandchild...

  Will shakes his head, some of the fatigue leaving his face. ‘I will. As soon as I’m sure it’s really happening.’

  I nod.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks, intelligent eyes probing over the rim of his steaming mug.

  I try to nod, but it comes out half-shrug, half-collapse as I slump into the chair. At last I force the words out, barely a whisper. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  I’m not sure which of us is more startled by my confession. By the tone of my voice, which is clogged with the threat of tears. I’m always on the move. Always know what I’m doing next. But something here... London... Kit... Family has tripped me up.

&nbs
p; He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

  I chicken out, confessing only half the issue. ‘I should be here for you. To help out.’ I swallow hard so the next words emerge as no more than a croak. ‘Aunt Mia...’

  ‘There’s nothing to stop you coming back. You have a room here anytime you want it. You know that.’

  A part of me wants that so badly. And what is stopping me? I’m the only thing standing in the way. My need to outrun who I am. Because who exactly is that?

  Perhaps Kit is right. Perhaps finding answers from my birth mother will help me feel like I belong. Somewhere...

  I rub at my face, disgusted with the smear of mascara on my fingers. ‘How did you do it?’

  He knows what I mean.

  Will tracked down his birth parents five years ago. His mother had been easy—she’d left the door open. But it had taken a year of soul-searching, a year of doubt and disappointment to find his biological father.

  He shrugs, but he understands the portent of my question. ‘I needed to know.’

  I nod. ‘I think I do too, but I’m scared of the whys.’ It’s easier to keep moving. To act like it doesn’t define me. To exist without certainty in case certainty hurts like a bitch.

  ‘Of course you are. But they may not be as bad as you’re imagining. And if they are the worst-case scenario you still have love. You still have us and Mum and Dad.’

  I smile at my brother, despite the turmoil swirling the tea in sickening circles in my stomach, because that, right there, is how I know he’s going to be a superb parent.

  ‘You’ve met someone, haven’t you?’

  I swallow, forcing my eyes to stare at the tea ring drying on the table and trying not to blink away the burn.

  My silence tells my perceptive brother all he needs to know. Will reaches for my hand; his is warm, solid and undemanding. Just like Kit’s hand.

  ‘It’s okay.’ His voice is barely a soothing whisper now, as if he understands the fight or flight building inside me. ‘It had to happen some time.’