by Paige North
I can see her movements stiffen as she hangs my coat in the hall closet.
“Oh. I see.” She turns to me, her smile a little brittle around the edges. I’ve disappointed her, but she doesn’t want me to see her hurt. And somehow, that makes me feel even worse. “Well, I’m glad you came even for a bit. I guess that’s progress, right? Let me get you a coffee.”
Mom brings me a black coffee and makes small talk for a few minutes, asking me a bunch of questions. I give all the right answers—yes, work is going great. Yes, I heard about my high school buddy who just had his third kid. Yes, I’ll make sure to send Aunt Rose a get-well card as she recovers from a bad bout of flu.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“Your father had some work to catch up on this morning, but he’ll be here any time now,” she says, glancing at her thin gold watch. “He’d better be, anyway. I asked him to stop by the store and grab more coffee so we wouldn’t run out. You know how your brother lives off the stuff.” Her gaze darts to mine, and she offers a tight smile. “Anyway. Are you seeing anyone?”
“I was, but nothing serious, just the occasional date,” I say smoothly. “Busy with work anyway, so that’s fine.”
I will not talk about Emme with her.
A key scrapes the door, and I hear it open. My dad strolls in, carrying a plastic bag. To his credit, he doesn’t show too much surprise at seeing me, just gives a curt nod in my direction. He holds the bag up and says to my mom, “Got the coffee.”
“Thank you,” she tells him as she rises. “I’ll be right back,” she says to me.
She heads in his direction, and they murmur for a few moments. I hear my name mentioned a couple of times, and the pitch of her voice rises. Dad shakes his head. She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him, and he stares placidly at her, no emotion on his face whatsoever.
She grabs the bag, spins away from him, and moves to the kitchen at a clipped pace.
Dad takes off his long black overcoat and hangs it in the closet. It’s clear they were arguing about me. It’s also clear he doesn’t give a shit about whatever he said that upset Mom.
“What was that all about?” I ask him.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Pardon? What was what all about?”
I fight back a sigh and refuse to let any emotion on my face. Dad and his fucking head games. He likes to be the man in control, the one who never gets rattled. I learned a long time ago not to get caught up in a fight with him.
I don’t know how my mom does it. I don’t know why. But the only way I could make peace with it was to realize it’s not my damn business and let them live their lives.
I lean back on the couch and take a sip of my coffee, then another. I don’t say a word to him, just stare. He doesn’t intimidate me with these tactics. I see the streaks of gray at his temples, the deep crow’s feet around his eyes. The long hours of work and hard drinking and fucking around on Mom are taking their toll. He doesn’t look as good as he used to.
I should feel more satisfaction in that, but I don’t. I just feel cold, and tired of the bullshit.
After a long stretch of time, Dad breaks eye contact first and moves out of the living room. I hear a door click softly behind him, most likely his home office, where he’ll stay holed up until it’s time to eat. Dad puts on a good face in front of people…unless you’re related to him.
There’s a grinding sound in the kitchen as Mom gets the coffee beans prepared for company. I put my mug on the coffee table, then head into the kitchen. Sunlight pours through the large windows over the sink, warming the room with a golden glow. The black granite sparkles in the light, and the maple cabinets are pristine. Mom runs a tight ship.
“Are you sure you won’t stay for food?” she asks me. “I made plenty.”
She’s trying so hard to sound nonchalant, but I know better. I’ve heard her use this tone on my dad when trying to convince him to do something he doesn’t want. My chest tightens in response. I’m not like him. I don’t hurt the people I care about.
“I can’t do it,” I say, surprised to hear myself admitting the truth in such a raw manner. But the words have spilled out before I could stop them.
She turns away from the coffee grinder and takes a few steps toward me. Her hands reach out and grasp my forearms. In her eyes is a deep, resonant sorrow, a vivid response to the honesty I just shared. “I know it’s hard for you. Believe me, I know. It’s just that I miss the way things used to be, and I know they’ll never be like that again even though I want them to be. I keep hoping you’ll be able to shake it off and come back around, but that’s foolish, selfish thinking on my part.”
“It’s not selfish to want to be happy,” I say as I peer down into her eyes, which suddenly look tired. “I want that for you, and—”
“I know. It’s okay.” Her gaze turns down to the ground between us. I see threads of gray in her hair, something I don’t remember seeing before. The months that have stretched between my visits suddenly stand out in my mind. I’ve been keeping away because of my brother and ex, because of my dad, but she’s the one hurt in the crossfire.
There’s a hard knock on the front door, interrupting our moment. Mom’s head darts up, and I see her blink away her feelings. In a flash, she’s back to her usual self, like none of this had ever happened.
In the past, the shift, the fakeness of hers, frustrated me, made me push away from her even more. But right now, I get it. It’s how she copes. I can’t resent her for getting through life however she can. We all do what we gotta do.
“I think that’s them,” she says in a crisp tone. “They’re early. I’d better go answer the door.” She strides away from me.
I go to the closet and grab my coat, wishing I’d picked a different day to visit. She and I need to talk, that much is sure. But not here, and not right now. I vow to take her out of this house for a while, maybe to dinner, where she doesn’t have to put on a face. I need to be a better son to her.
The door flies open, bringing in a gush of cold air, and in comes Marianne, her blond bob blowing around her elvish face. She stops in place when she sees me. “Dane,” she says in a breathy voice; her large blue eyes are wide. “I... Hello.”
I don’t know what it is—because we haven’t seen each other in months, or because I had a real moment of connection with my mom, or I didn’t let my dad rattle me…or maybe losing myself in Emme’s amazing taste on Friday recalibrated something in me. But I don’t feel anything when I look at her beautiful face. Not anger, not love, not lust, not sorrow.
Just a blissful indifference.
Maybe I’m starting to make peace with the situation after all.
I shrug on my coat then press a kiss to my mom’s cheek. “I’m heading out. Enjoy your dinner. I’ll call you next week—I think we should go out soon to Rue 42 for seafood. What do you say?”
The sheer pleasure in Mom’s eyes makes me glad I asked her. “Yes, that would be great.”
I’m just moving past Marianne when she says to me, “You look good, Dane.” Her gaze rakes over my figure, like she’s seeing me for the first time. There’s no mistaking the tiny flare of interest in her eyes. Clearly she expected me to look terrible. Like not being with her is eating me up inside or something.
My brother is coming up the sidewalk, bearing an armful of bags. His attention is straight ahead on the two of us, his lips a thin slash.
I sidestep to add distance between me and Marianne, then head past my brother, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgment, my eyes locked straight ahead. That’s about all I can muster for him right now, because while my feelings for Marianne are nonexistent, my deep-seated frustration at him is still there. After all, he’s my blood. My brother.
I don’t know how to stop feeling this way toward him. But at some point, I need to, if only for my peace of mind.
Some point, maybe.
But not today.
I get in my car and drive away.
Fucking
hangover.
Sitting in my office the next morning, I grimace and rub my fingertips along my temples, my brow, where the lingering vestiges of last night’s party of one still taunt me. After getting home from my parents’ house, I holed up inside my condo and thought.
Thought and drank.
My head wouldn’t stop with all the shit running through my brain. My dad, my brother and Marianne, my mom’s sad eyes…
Emme.
Every time I let myself have a minute of quiet, the memory of Emme’s soft sighs creep into my consciousness, and I find I’m aching all over again to go balls-deep into her. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman this badly in my life.
Last night, sitting in my den, thinking about all of this, I realized this undertaking with her is probably not the best idea I’ve ever had. Something about this woman knocks me off balance.
I’ve never seen such a lack of artifice in a person before. The comparison between my family and her, the way she just opens up and lets me in without any real reservations, is something that leaves me questioning everything.
Emme doesn’t seem like the type to be into a friends-with-benefits situation. No emotions, just raw, fleshly pleasure. And I know for sure I’m not ready for anything more serious than casual sex right now.
I prop my elbows on my desk and rub the back of my neck hard enough to make the skin hurt. If I’m not careful with Emme…I get the feeling she could crack my chest open and leave me bruised. I don’t think I can risk that.
My phone rings. I let it go to voicemail. Outside my office I can hear the morning sounds picking up as people come in, mingle, ask about weekends and brew coffee. I should be out there, being friendly, being boss-like. But instead, I’m holed up in here, trying to avoid the one woman I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
There’s a knock on my door. I’m tempted to pretend I’m not here, then chastise myself for the ridiculous impulse. For fuck’s sake, what am I, a teenager? I’m not going to hide out in my damn office all day in an effort to keep from feeling up my personal assistant. This is stupid.
“Come in,” I say in a tone that sounds far too close to a growl.
The door cracks open in a hesitant manner, and I see curly brown hair, then Emme’s lovely face peering in. “Hi, are you busy?”
Something in my heart squeezes at the soft hesitation in her tone. “No, I’m fine.”
She comes in and closes the door behind her. Today she’s wearing slim-fit black pants with a bold red dress shirt, open at the throat. The color is striking on her, bringing out the delicate flush in her cheeks.
Again, I’m amazed at myself, how I went so long before noticing the genuine beauty standing before me. How could I have been so blind?
I square my chin and lean back in my chair, attempting to shake off the hunger threatening to burst forth. “What can I do for you?” My tone is cool, not belaying the heat humming just beneath my skin.
She flushes and clears her throat. “Oh. I wanted to go over your schedule, since…I believe you’re double booked this afternoon. I was wondering which conference call I should reschedule.” She steps toward me, and the light scent of flowery perfume hits me. I find my lower belly clenching in response, my dick stirring just a touch.
No, I order myself. Before I let myself get lost in her taste again, I need to cool the fuck down and make sure I don’t lose myself in the process. And yet…before I realize it, I’m leaning in toward her, my fingers sliding toward her hand, which is resting on the top of my desk.
I hear her draw in a shaky breath, and her green eyes lock on mine. Her lips part, that delicate pink tongue licking the seam, as the flush on her cheeks grows darker. All the blood in my body rushes right to my cock. If I don’t get that mouth on my dick soon, I might just die.
“Did you think about me this weekend?” I find myself asking. I can’t seem to control myself when it comes to her.
She nods, her breasts rising and falling in a jerky rhythm to match her breathing. “I did.” Her voice is airy.
I stand and turn to face her. She’s inches from me, and her breaths puff on my throat. She’s turned on already, and we’re only talking. “Did you finger yourself?”
There’s a throb at the base of her neck that pulses with her heartbeat. It kicks hard. She nods again, eyes locked on mine without shame, without remorse of the secret she’s revealing.
A groan slides from my lips and before I can stop myself, she’s in my arms, my mouth hard on hers, prying those lips open, tongue sliding in. She tastes like coffee, like the sweetest sin I’ve ever craved, and her breasts arch as she rubs against me.
Her hands slide up my neck to finger my hair, and one thigh presses between my legs. I reach down and caress her waist, then the swell of her ass. I grip her hard, pull her tight against me, and her breathy moan against my mouth makes me want to bend her over right here and right fucking now, just rip those pants off and take her.
“I want you, Dane. So much,” she whispers in a tone that makes me feel a hundred feet tall, like she too has this dark hunger that keeps growing and growing.
I move one hand to her front, stroke her pussy through her pants. She shudders against my searching fingers. My mouth slides down her jaw, along her delicate flesh to nip at her throat. Emme is so fucking responsive, not shy about letting me know how turned on she is. It’s heady, makes me want to break her into a thousand pieces and swallow them all just so I can stay full of this feeling.
“Dane,” she says into my ear, her tongue reaching out to lick the shell. Her body has melted against mine, and a sweet feeling of possessiveness fills me. I might come in my fucking pants if I don’t have her right now—
A knock on the door makes us both go still.
Shit. I freeze up, one hand gripping her ass, the other against the scorching heat of the apex of her thighs. It takes every ounce of strength within me to remove my hands from her hot and willing body. I smooth down her shirt, her hair, then my own clothing.
Emme steps away from me, keeping her eyes locked firmly on my desktop. Her cheeks are still glowing, but her back is straight, and she’s standing tall.
What the fuck am I doing? I didn’t lock the door; I didn’t even plan to kiss her. Instead, I got too caught up in her and lost my senses. That’s so unlike me.
Carl walks in after I tell him to enter, a half smile on his face. His pants are slightly too tight, and his belly is pressed against his strained white dress shirt. The sight of him is like a bucket of ice water splashed over my head, enough to help my dick deflate. “Morning, boss man,” he says in a false jovial tone. “Wanted to drop off that important stuff we talked about on Friday.” He plops a stack of papers on my desk like he’s presenting me with the Holy Grail.
“Got it, thanks.”
Carl shoots a sideway glance at Emme, one brow raised. It’s clear he wants me to tell her to go, so he looks like he’s more important, like I’m booting her out to make time to talk to him.
“I’ll read this over sometime today and talk to you later, Carl,” I say firmly. I give a purposeful nod toward the door.
His lips thin and he huffs, but he turns around and leaves. Thankfully, Carl’s too wrapped up in himself to notice the sexual tension between me and Emme, which is strong enough to slice with a butcher knife.
When he’s gone, her shoulders relax. “I…guess I should go too,” she says. “I’ll email you about the schedule conflict.” Then she’s out the door before I can respond.
Probably for the best anyway. I’m starting to lose my careful control with her, and that can’t lead to anything good.
Emme
My legs are shaking like crazy as I make my way back to my desk, and my heart is pounding super hard. I don’t know what just happened in there, but that was utterly unexpected. Not that I mind, of course—I want so very much for him to touch me every damn chance he can. But one minute we were talking about work issues, and the next I was practically begging him to
take me on his desk. Startling how fast that escalated.
If only Carl hadn’t come in…maybe I could finally have shown Dane how badly I want to make him come. Despite appearances, he’s still controlling these moments we’re having together. And there’s something about it that frustrates me. I need to touch him, to make him explode the same we he’s done to me.
I want him to think about me long into the night, the way I do about him.
The craziest thing is, I haven’t written about what’s happened between us in my journal. In fact, I haven’t written in it at all. For some reason, I feel like putting it down on paper takes away the essence of what’s happening. Words can’t quite capture the depth of my feelings, the sensations, the sensory details the way I want them to.
This thing with him is moving way too fast, and yet I can’t seem to muster any desire to stop or even slow down. I’m in a free fall, and I know it’s gonna end hard, but right now I don’t see the bottom and I’m not even looking for it. Just that delicious rush of weightlessness that makes every nerve ending in my body hyperaware.
I stare blankly at my computer, my lips almost bruised from the hardness of his kiss. I can still feel him imprinted on me. It takes Herculean effort to shake off the distraction and focus on work. I type up an email to Dane, careful to keep my wording professional, and let him know which two clients are double booked.
Then I move on to answering other client email.
After a few minutes, my inbox pings with a reply from him.
Keep Sanderson on the books and reschedule Bateman’s call to next week whenever I can fit him in.
~D
Will do, I respond, then start to send the email but pause. I add another sentence: How was your weekend? And hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
