One More Thing

by Lilliana Anderson

  “I love puppies.”

  He laughed then turned to the door. “Come on, then. Let’s go and find somewhere that will actually feed us.”

  Hand in hand, we walked along the busy city street, past restaurants and cafés all teeming with people. As we rounded a corner, the glass door from one of the historic Sydney pubs pushed open and a couple fell out of it, laughing at each other, obviously intoxicated.

  “Sorry,” the man slurred before squinting and taking a closer look at Jude. “Don’t I know you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do,” he argued. “I do. You work upstairs in accounting, right? You collect the time sheets?”

  Jude frowned and tried to tell him he was wrong but the guy wasn’t hearing it.

  “Yeah, it is you. Carl, right? What are you doing out here? The party’s on the inside.” He pulled the door open and I noticed a sign that said the pub was closed due to some big-name law firm’s Christmas party. The sounds of raucous laughter floated out to the street and I could see waiters circulating with trays laden with food. The smell caused my stomach to growl.

  “Come on, Carl,” I said, elbowing him lightly in the side. “Looks like fun in there.”

  “Yeah, go on, Carl,” the guy joined in. “We won’t be long. Just grabbing a quick smoke.”

  Jude hesitated until I pressed a hand on his back and said, “Live a little. Karma gives rewards too.”

  “Which department do you work in?” a guy with a red nose and round belly asked as he gulped from an almost empty stein. His eyes shone brightly from intoxication.

  “He’s Carl,” I slurred, a half-drunk glass of vodka, lime, and soda in one hand as I finished off some sort of chicken skewer in the other. The bar was completely open and everyone, including Jude and me, were taking advantage of it.

  “Carl?”

  I nodded, placing the empty stick and glass on the nearest tray. “You know Carl, everyone knows Carl.” I slapped him playfully on the chest and laughed.

  “Oh, of course.” He laughed uneasily then Jude and I moved on, finding our way to the dance floor where a band was covering every rock song from the eighties and beyond. The place was thumping.

  I was a hot mess, dancing with my arms above my head, singing along when it suited me. It had taken Jude a little while to loosen up, but once I’d pulled the ‘you know Carl’ comment out a few times and we’d gotten away with it, he relaxed. He even got into the role a little.

  “I’m not sure I’ve seen you before,” a blonde had said to him at the bar.

  “Which department do you work for?” he’d asked.

  “I’m on Gareth’s team.”

  “Oh,” Jude said. “Then I’m on the opposite side of the office to you.”

  “You work for Helen?”

  “Helen. That’s right.”

  “I hear she’s a real ball-breaker.”

  Jude’s shrug was back. “I don’t really like to call her that. I prefer to think that she just expects high-quality work from us. And with what we’re getting paid, I think that’s pretty fair. Know what I mean?”

  And that’s how things went. We worked the room seamlessly, always asking questions before answering so we could easily explain why we were there. We ate, we drank, we danced, and we laughed until our sides hurt.

  It wasn’t until we actually met Carl from accounts that our story unravelled. We tried to tell him that Jude was a different Carl who was on Helen’s team. But that just caused him to go and ask Helen if she knew us. Which she obviously didn’t.

  “Our cover’s blown. Abort, abort!” I yelled over the music.

  Hand in hand, we pushed through the crowd, bursting out onto the sidewalk and running down the street, our laughter echoing in our wake. Darting around a corner, we stopped, out of breath, before we looked back to make sure we weren’t being followed.

  “That was crazy.” Jude laughed, his hand against the wall I was leaning on. He looked down at me, his eyes dancing, his chest heaving. It had been so long since I’d done anything outside the realm of the working mother. Jude brought out the fun-loving girl in me. It felt so good to get up to some harmless mischief, and my cheeks were hurting from smiling.

  “But it was fun, right?”

  He nodded, shifting a little closer to me. “Incredibly.” Then his fingers brushed lightly against that place where my jaw met my neck. Tendrils of delight curled through my body as I saw the intensity in his eyes.

  “You’re amazing,” he murmured.

  “So are you.” I smiled, then his lips brushed against mine.

  Drunken hands and stumbling feet, we practically fell through the door to his apartment. Twirling along the wall, knocking into bookshelves. Laughing. Kissing. Touching. Pushing at clothes.

  With clumsy fingers, I unbuttoned his shirt, my hands searching for skin. He pulled the strap of my dress down my arm and ran his teeth along my shoulder. I moaned then pulled at his shirt, hearing at least two buttons hit the floor.

  “I’ll fix that.” I giggled, running my hands over his chest and feeling the light smattering of hair on toned skin. He had the body of a runner.

  “I’ll buy a new one,” he responded, pulling down the zip in the back of my dress and splaying his fingers against the soft skin of my back. He pulled me against him, pressing his arousal against my stomach as we landed against his bedroom door.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” I asked when he hesitated, his breathing ragged as he pressed his forehead against mine.

  “I don’t want to do this just because we’ve been drinking.”

  I moved my hands upward, pushing his shirt off his shoulders so it slid down his arms. “We’re not. We’re doing this because we’ve had a wonderful night and we really like each other.”

  His fingers moved lightly against my skin. “Like?”

  “Do you want more from me?”

  “I do,” he admitted.

  Wriggling slightly, I let my dress drop to the floor. “Then take it.”

  I saw the desire in his eyes and the hesitation in his brow; he was caught between wanting and waiting. And I, I was simply wanting. For once, I had a clear mind. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the circumstances. But I didn’t have a shred of doubt. I wanted the man standing in front of me.

  “Take me to your bed, Jude.”

  Reaching back, I turned the handle of the door, our weight pushing it open. I watched his eyes shift to look over my shoulder at the bed awaiting us, then I pushed his shirt the rest of the way down his arms, pressing kisses to his chest as my hands went down to his belt, working the buckle.

  “I want you, Jude,” I whispered, undoing his button and then his zip. My hand slid past the waistband and I discovered that he was a boxers—not a briefs—man.

  “Sarah,” he gasped, his voice thick, wavering as I wrapped my hand around his shaft, noting how it fit in my hand and how the length of it matched the rest of him.

  “Jude.”

  He moaned softly as my lips brushed across his chest and up his neck, my hand moving back and forth along his shaft. There was an ache between my legs, a swelling in my breast, and craving within my belly.

  He wanted more. This was the more I could give.

  Lowering to my knees, I released his length and took him into my mouth, my tongue tasting the saltiness at the tip. I hummed, the aching in my own sex growing in intensity as I sucked and swirled. His hips began to sway. His arms lifted and his hands braced against the door frame. The sounds of his moans, the knowledge that he was coming undone, did things to me. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel wanton. It made me feel desirable.

  “Sarah,” he gasped, his hands going to my hair, gripping a little tighter as he fucked my mouth. Then he growled and fisted my hair, stopping my movement before tilting my head upward. I met his eyes. “Get on the bed.”

  The command caused my insides to clench and I did as he asked, walking backwards as I kept my eyes on his, getting of
f on the dark desire I saw there. He was over me as I slid back onto the soft mattress, almost like a predator and his prey. He kissed me with a force he hadn’t used before, yet it included soft moans and probing tongues. My head spun as my body floated on a cloud of desire.

  He slid down my body, his hands pulling at the cups of my bra, tugging them downward before palming my breasts. His fingers found my already erect nipples and squeezed. Then he took one in his mouth and sucked back, hard. My back arched, my legs wrapping around him.

  “Please,” I said.

  Sitting back, he hooked his fingers into the black lace of my underwear and freed my body of the tiny slip of material. He hummed lightly, a pleasurable sound made as he slid his fingers through the curls on my mound then up until he reached the space between my breasts. Then he pressed his fingertips against my skin and dragged them back down, over my stomach until he touched my mound once more. “You are exquisite,” he said, kneeling between my thighs, his naked arousal standing to attention as he held it in his other hand.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, showing me a condom that I wasn’t sure at what point he procured. But I was drunk and horny and all I could do was want that man to push inside me.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “Please.” I was begging. In that moment I felt as though I needed to get off more than I ever had in my life. The tension coiled inside me was set to explode. I needed him to flip the trigger.

  Rolling the condom down his shaft, I bit my bottom lip as I watched on hungrily. I could feel my insides pulsing with anticipation and I opened my legs for him—completely without shame—then moaned as his tip pushed into my opening.

  “Oh God, yes.”

  As he filled me, he hissed through his teeth then pulled back out. I whimpered at the loss then gasped when he took a hold of his dick and used the tip to tease me. Back and forth he moved it, sliding between my entrance and my clit.

  I was up on my elbows, watching the display, my teeth pressing into my lip. It had been so long since I’d done this—since I’d desired someone that I’d wanted it to last longer. But I was so close and he was so good, so beautiful to watch, so perfect in his touch…

  My body tipped over the edge, my orgasm tearing through me. “Holy shit!”

  The moment my hips bucked, Jude thrust inside me, pumping back and forth with a vigour that kept my climax going until he reached his, bodies slapping, hips grinding, nails digging.

  I couldn’t stop the sounds from escaping my mouth, didn’t care who overheard my moans. I just wanted to be fucked. I wanted to lose myself in the frenzy. And I wanted to come, again and again.

  That’s exactly what I got. In several different positions. Until we ran out of condoms and energy, and fell asleep in a tangled mess, laughing because, well, we were drunk and fucking was fun. Actually, to amend that. Fucking was monumentally fun with my handsome and sexy Brit. Who would have guessed he’d be a sex god too?

  17

  Saturday, 17th December 2016

  DRUNK SEX. IT’S pretty awesome. You did and said things you didn’t normally because your inhibitions were out the window, and all your mind really cared about was chasing the best orgasm it could achieve.

  The problem with drunk sex wasn’t the sex. It’s the next morning when reality seeped back in.

  I had sex for the first time since Tyler. The moment I opened my eyes, felt the cotton wool in my mouth and the ache in my head, that was my first thought.

  I’d had sex with a man who wasn’t my husband. Worse. I’d fucked, given in to that animalistic urge that’s inside us all.

  I looked over at Jude, his expression soft with sleep, and I had to cover my mouth to silence my anguish. He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he’d been perfect from the moment he entered my life. But still, I felt so…naked in that moment.

  It wasn’t that I regretted what we did. I liked Jude. I wanted a relationship with him. But no matter how logical my mind was in understanding the past and present and the events that brought me here, I simply couldn’t help feeling guilty.

  I’d fucked someone else.

  Even though he was gone, I felt as though I’d been unfaithful.

  Slipping from beneath Jude’s arm, I tiptoed from the room, finding my clothing and shoes along the way, dressing quickly, leaving even faster. I desperately sought the solace of my own apartment because I didn’t want to break down in front of him. Jude didn’t deserve to feel responsible for what was going on in my head.

  It was me who was fucked up. Me who was struggling to let go. I’d assured him I was OK, practically forced him into bed with me, and now I was cracking. He’d wanted to slow down. I kept pushing.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasped, the moment I got inside my own apartment. Tears burst out of my eyes, instantly transforming me into a slobbering mess. I rushed for the bathroom, stripping my clothes and jumping into the shower before the water had even managed to warm up. Cold water shocked my system, slowly warming until my skin turned pink and I scrubbed myself clean, trying to feel better about what I’d done.

  Except I wouldn’t feel better. I couldn’t change what I’d done; couldn’t change the fact that Tyler was now forever in my past. My hands stilled and I dropped the soap and the sponge, feeling a mixture of shame and stupidity for what I’d done and how I was reacting. Then I covered my face with my hands and laughed. It was a deep, throaty belly laugh that shook my body and forced me to lean forward, clutching my abs, one hand bracing against the shower wall. I sounded mad. Madder still when the laughter turned back to tears and I dropped to the floor, the water raining down on me, crying and laughing and crying some more. I was a mess. A crazy, psychotic, crying mess. I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to move forward without feeling guilty for every moment of joy I took in another man. How was I supposed to do this? How did other people manage to move forward with their lives without losing their minds to the guilt? I didn’t know. There was no guidebook to help me, and I had no fucking clue if this was how I was supposed to react, to process. I don’t know how to feel.

  “I want you to live, sweetheart,” Tyler said, lying beside me on the bed. I knew this was a dream and felt the tug against my heart from knowing he wasn’t real. I reached out and ran my hand down the side of his handsome face, focusing on the feel of his features beneath my fingertips. I didn’t want to forget a single line.

  “Did you always look like this?” I asked him, touching his nose, his full lips. “It’s been so long. Have I changed you in my memory?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t know. You’re the one creating this version of me. I’m not even really here.”

  I sighed in response, shifting my body closer. His arms wrapped around me. “I know that. But it feels like you’re here.”

  “That’s because you want it so much. But I think you need to let me go.”

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “You’ve read my journal, right? You know there were forty-seven things I wanted with you.”

  “Yes. And the forty-seventh thing was everything.”

  “And you gave me everything, sweetheart. You gave me more than I could have asked for.” He shifted his weight so we were once again looking at each other. “But you know there is one more thing, right? It’s on the page all by itself. The one that says ‘When I’m gone’.”

  “You want me to fall in love again.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Wasn’t our love enough?”

  “It was for me. It lasted my whole life. But your life is still going, Sarah. You can have more than one love in a lifetime. I don’t want you to quit living and loving just because I’m not there anymore. This guy, Jude. He’s good for you. He makes you smile and I haven’t heard you laugh like that in a long, long time. You should be with him, not in here with me.”

  “It’s just hard. I’m having all these firsts again when I wanted you to be my last. Forever didn’t last long enough for us.”

  �
��Falling for someone else doesn’t mean you don’t still love me. It just means you love someone else too. You have a big heart, sweetheart. There’s room for us all in there.”

  I snuggled closer again. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  “That’s because you haven’t let me go yet.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “But you have to. Let me go, sweetheart. We’re both tired. We need to rest.”

  “No.” I held him tighter.

  “Please, sweetheart. Please,” he begged, slowly fading away. I tried to hold on, to keep him beside me. But he vanished the moment I opened my eyes and found that the only thing in my arms was his journal. I’d fallen asleep clutching it, like I had so many times before.

  Sitting up, I lifted my hand to my head, my brain throbbing against my skull. The early morning call of birds pierced my skull, reminding me that I’d drunk far too much the night before, and my crying jag had further dehydrated me.

  Shuffling into the kitchen, I took some pills and drank some water, trying to make sense of my jumbled mind. The dreams. I didn’t know if they were making things better or worse. My mind was obviously so confused over starting a new relationship when I was still so in love with Tyler that it was conjuring him in my dreams, turning him into my counsellor. But for what purpose? To try and alleviate my guilt? But it wasn’t really working that way, because it just made me miss him. Maybe I really did need to let him go. But how? How could I let go of the other half of my heart? Even if I had only been with Tyler a year. Even if it had been five years since he died. Even if I did want to open the other half of it to Jude.

  Jude.

  I thought about him and how he’d feel waking up to an empty bed and empty apartment. Guilt twisted my stomach even tighter than before. I wasn’t being fair to him. I’d convinced him I was ready then I’d turned and run.

  Seeking out my purse, I found my phone and called him. He answered straight away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said before he even had the chance to speak. “I woke up. I freaked out. And I ran. I’m an arsehole and I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, but I could hear him breathing. I gripped the phone a little tighter, my free hand clutching the oversized T-shirt I’d worn to bed.