by LP Lovell
“I hit her.” I blurt. “Your wife approached me, and I hit her.”
His eyes go wide before a slow smile makes its way onto his face. “Seriously?”
I slap his chest, and when he starts laughing, I slap him again. He grabs my wrists, pinning them together against his chest with one hand. “Fuck you, Landon.” I say, my voice trembling.
His expression becomes serious, and he ducks down, trying to force me to look at him. When I don’t, he grasps my chin and tips my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Don’t go falling apart on me, kitten.”
“I can’t do this anymore.” I whisper. And I can’t. I’ve tried to keep things simple, but they’ve become more and more complicated. I don’t like complicated. I don’t like this knotted feeling in my stomach that replicates the tangled threads of my life all jumbled together in one fucked up mess. I just need to be free of it all. I’m going to walk away, and that’s so much harder than it should be. I’m here to tell him that. I just need a minute, just one more minute of him.
He releases my wrists and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I bury my face in his chest and inhale the smell that is all him. It comforts me when I know it shouldn’t, but fuck it, what does it matter now? I fought so damn hard against him, and yet I’m still going to lose it all. And not because of him, because of me.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll fix it.”
“No. She said she’s going to take you to the cleaners.” I mumble into his solid chest.
“So you hit her.” His chest vibrates under my cheek.
“No. She called me a whore, and then I hit her.” He cups my cheek, pulling my face out of his chest and focusing his gaze on mine. His dark eyes dance with amusement. When he looks at me like this, I feel invincible like nothing can touch me, all because Landon Banks wants me.
He strokes his thumb over my jaw as he cups my cheek, and then he leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a whisper of a kiss. He kisses me as though I’m everything to him. He kisses me like he would move mountains and conquer countries for me. It might all be a lie, a beautiful lie, but I want to believe it. I want to let my cold heart feel just a flicker of warmth for a fleeting moment. His thumb strokes rhythmically over my jaw as his lips linger over mine. When he starts to pull away, I grasp handfuls of his shirt, pulling myself closer to him and slamming my lips to his so hard that our teeth clash. He strokes the hair off my face, his touch gentle but firm as his tongue traces over my bottom lip. I want what he gives me, that sense of security. I want him to make me feel as though the world starts and ends with us, one last time.
Before I can overthink it, I start unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers working easily down his body, parting the material as I go. I don’t know what I’m doing; I just know that I need this. My palms press against his bare stomach, the skin like fire beneath my touch. He groans against my lips when I rake my nails over him. His hand slides to my back, lowering the zip on my dress. The kiss becomes more frenzied with my desperation. He tears his lips from mine and grabs a handful of my hair, wrenching my head to the side. I gasp when his lips hit my neck, sucking, licking, kissing as I try desperately to drag a full breath into my lungs. His fingers work beneath the material at my shoulders, shoving the straps of my dress down my arms until it pools at my waist.
I push his shirt off his shoulders and drag my hands over the thick muscles of his chest. Everything about him makes me want to fuck him. Just the sight of him has my stomach clenching, my heart hammering and my lungs feeling as though they’re paralysed. And when he touches me like this, the world falls away, everything focusing on the point where his skin meets mine. Nothing else exists.
He wrenches my tight skirt up over my thighs and then steps back, pulling the entire thing over my head. He pauses for a second, taking in my black lace lingerie and thigh high stockings. A devilish smile pulls at his lips as he shrugs out of his shirt and steps up to me, his bare torso pressing against mine and sending sparks of electricity rippling over my skin. His fingers brush over the strip of lace that surrounds my thigh at the top of my stockings, a low growl slipping past his lips.
“Fuck, I want you like this all the time.” He groans, before his fingers grip my thighs roughly, lifting me until my legs are either side of his waist, my lace covered pussy pressed against his lower abs as the heat from his body makes me wet and needy. He moves, and there’s the clattering sound of objects hitting the ground as he swipes everything off his desk including the computer. My back hits the desk, and his body is arching over me as I wrap my legs around him, pinning him to me.
“I’ve pictured you on this fucking desk so many times.” He breathes against my skin, working his lips over my jaw. This is the one place I swore I’d never be, on his desk like a slutty secretary. But what does it matter now? This, us, our secrets and lies, it’s all done. I just want him, not the guy in the mask—him. Just this once.
I fist his hair with one hand, bringing his face back to mine and thrusting my tongue into his mouth as I work my hands between us and unfasten his belt.
His trousers are pushed down and then his hand is diving beneath the slip of material covering my pussy, yanking and tearing it away. My heartbeat is skyrocketing, and my skin is over-heating with each passing minute.
And then there’s a pause. He touches his forehead to mine as one strong hand grips my hip, the other cupping my cheek. I’ve been fucked every possible way by Landon, but this is different, this is something else entirely. Our breaths intermingle, our hearts beating in sync as he slowly slides inside me. I clutch the back of his neck, holding him close.
This right here is what I’ve been running from so hard, so why does it feel so right? Why now, of all times, does he have to feel so vital to me?
He moves inside me slowly, his strokes long and deep. I feel like I’m sinking into him, falling into oblivion where everything is perfect and safe, and nothing else matters. He kisses me while he fucks me, dragging everything out of me that I have to give, and when I come, I cling to him as though he’s a raft in a stormy sea because truthfully he is right now.
He stiffens above me, groaning my name against my lips as he comes. I lay there with my eyes closed and his dick inside me, and I know that the second I open them this is over. This was goodbye. Truthfully it tears at something inside me, something that I didn’t even know existed.
“Kitten.” He presses a kiss on my forehead before he pulls away leaving me empty and alone. I tear my eyes open and sit up. Without looking at him, I walk across the room and scoop up my dress, sliding it over my head.
My hands are shaking as I try to fasten the zip. My eyes are prickling as tears threaten to form. I will not fucking cry! Landon has shattered me and put me back together again, and the worst thing is, he’ll never even know. He’ll never know how much he meant or how he made me feel. He’ll never know how close he came, how close we came. But sometimes you have to know when to walk away.
I like Landon. Hell in a different world I might love him, maybe I do love him in as much of a capacity as I have, but whatever this is I feel for him, its has too many complications. The bottom line is: I now face being unemployable because I hit his wife. I never thought I would be that girl. There are a lot of things I would never have done before him, but here we are.
His hand brushes over mine, pushing it away from the zip and easily zipping the dress.
“Thank you.” I whisper, afraid that if I speak now, my voice will crack.
“I’ll fix this, Georgia. I promise. Isla won’t be able to touch you by the time my attorney is done with her.”
I turn to face him, plastering a smile I don’t feel on my face. “Okay.” I feel like a shitty person right now, pretending it’s all fine when in reality I’ve already given up.
His brows pull together in a frown as his eyes lock with mine. “Please just trust me.”
I wish I could, I really do. “I have to go.”
His hand wraps around my ne
ck, his lips brushing over mine gently. When he breaks the kiss, I turn, and I walk out of that room as fast as my legs will carry me. It’s only once I’m inside my office do I allow the tears that I’ve been fighting so hard to fall. I only have myself to blame.
That night I pack up my desk into a little cardboard box and take one last glance around the room. I take a piece of paper and fold it in two staring at the blank white space, the pen in my hand hovering over the paper. What do I even say to him? I think I’m in love with you, but your wife is a bitch, so bye? Shit, this shouldn’t be this hard. I bite my lip as tears sting my eyes. You can spend your whole life obsessing over the details, planning everything to the letter, but nothing could have prepared me for him. For this. I always knew this would end badly, but I never imagined that walking away from him would feel like I was slamming a knife into my own chest. I press the pen to the paper and write the only thing I can say because anything else is nothing more than a pathetic excuse, and he knows better.
Landon,
I’m sorry.
G x
I pop it on the desk, pick up my box and leave. I don’t look at anyone as I leave, and I don’t stop until I’m at my car.
In the next few hours I email an immediate resignation to Angus, simply telling him to ask Landon why. That might seem like I’m being a bitch, but I’m not. Landon can tell him whatever he wants, but it’s his choice how much he wants to tell. After all, he’s the one who still has to work with Angus. Personally, I think Angus deserves the truth. Then I change my phone number and my email, letting Quinn and Eva know the new ones. It might seem extreme, but I need a completely clean break from him. But I know him, he’ll want an explanation. I could be wrong. For all I know he just moved onto the next, but I don’t think so.
The next morning my doorbell rings, and when I open the door, there on the doormat is a manila envelope. When I open it, I find that I just got served by Isla Banks’ attorney.
Life changes in the blink of an eye, and the best you can do is dust yourself off and get the fuck up. I can’t apply for any jobs until I resolve this shit with Isla. The last thing I want is to get a job and then a couple of months in, I’ve suddenly been slapped with an actual bodily harm charge. Because that looks so professional.
Quinn has been over here going through things with me. We made Isla an offer of twenty grand to settle outside of court, she turned it down and made it very clear she doesn’t want to settle. So I don’t think there’s any way out of it, but Quinn seems to think it will be a slap on the wrist. Probably an anti-social behaviour order and court fees. That doesn’t help me, though; I wouldn’t hire someone with an ASBO.
It’s now Thursday evening, and we’re drinking wine and watching re-runs of Game of Thrones because the girl has a serious obsession.
“Are you okay, George?” She asks out of the blue.
I smirk. “As okay as you can be when your life is ruined.”
“Have you heard from Landon?” The sound of his name causes an ache in my chest, like an old injury flaring up after you think it’s healed. I’ve blocked him out, all thought of him, all trace of him. I’m good at denial.
“No. Why would I?” I say, focusing my gaze firmly on the TV screen.
“I just wondered whether there’s anything he can do.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want his help. I’m the one who hit her, and I’m the one who will deal with the consequences.”
“But…”
I turn my head and lock my eyes with hers. “I don’t need him, Quinn.” I snap. “Landon is not an option anymore.” I rub at the spot over my chest where it feels like a blade is wedged between my ribs. Every time I her his name it’s like someone is twisting it. She watches me for long seconds before she nods slowly. She’s as bad as Eva, who insists on calling and telling me everything that Landon does. He’s asking about me, he’s left the country, he’s pushing through the divorce. I don’t need to hear it.
It has taken everything for me to stay away from him. I spend hours sometimes staring at his number on my phone, fighting with myself not to call him. Realistically though what would I even say? My life is spiralling out of control. I feel broken, and I so desperately crave his implacable strength, for him to put me back together and hold my shattered pieces in place. But that’s exactly why I won’t go to him. You can only ever rely on yourself in this life. I did before him and I will now.
It’s late on Saturday night when there’s a knock on my door. I put my laptop down on the coffee table, getting up to answer it.
Eva and Quinn are on my doorstep wearing dresses and heels, short dresses and high heels. “Uh, hey. Did we have plans?”
“Nope.” Eva pushes past me, in a scrap of red material so small I’m pretty sure it’s actually a top. She waltzes into my living room and glances at my laptop screen. “Oh my god, G. It’s a Saturday night, and you’re doing work for clients that are still with a company that you don’t even work for anymore…”
Even Quinn cocks a judgmental eyebrow at me. “I’m just helping Angus. I left with no notice.” I defend.
Eva rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Go. Wash. Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Why?” I ask.
They glance at each other. “We thought you might need cheering up with your job and the case and everything.” Quinn says.
“You need to get back in the saddle. The best way to get over one man is to get under another one.” Eva pipes up.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Yes.” Eva grabs my shoulders, spinning me in the direction of my room.
“Really? This is so unnecessary.” I argue as she forcibly pushes me into the bedroom. “Can’t we just stay here?” She grabs the hem of my shirt and starts lifting it, but I snatch the material away from her.
“Don’t make me undress you!” She points at me, raising her eyebrows. Jesus, she’s scary sometimes. She’s like an evil, angry little ginger.
“Fine!” I grumble as she leaves the room.
“And shave your snatch!” She shouts from the living room.
Oh, my god.
Eva drags us to some dive bar that she knows. The music is loud; the floors are questionably sticky, and the drinks are bright colours, but no one knows me, and that’s good.
“You girls need to learn how to let loose,” Eva says as she approaches our table, placing three tequila shots down before going back to the bar and bringing me a martini. She places a Cosmo in front of Quinn and has some bright blue concoction with an umbrella in it for herself.
“Bottoms up.” She says, lifting a tequila shot. Quinn and I glance at each other, picking up the shot glasses. We all clink glasses and then I’m pouring what tastes like paint stripper down my throat. Oh god.
Two tequilas and two martinis later and I’ve decided that getting drunk is a great way to get over my entire fuckery of a life. I mean, why not? It’s not like my reputation isn’t fucked anyway. A fist to the boss’ wife’s face will do that for you.
“So….” Eva starts. “You fell for the big boss, then hit his wife, and now you’re jobless and soon to be in possession of an ASBO?” She asks, sipping on a bright blue cocktail. I shrug and nod, necking half of my third martini.
“And now you’re becoming an alcoholic.” Quinn slurs. “And apparently like any good captain I’m going down with the ship.” She giggles.
“How am I the ship?”
She shrugs one shoulder as she takes a sip of her Mojito, shivering and glaring at the drink as she puts it back down. “This tastes like shit.”
I pick up my martini and neck it, before signalling the bartender for another.
“Shit.” She groans, gulping back the Cosmo and making a face.
“You guys wanted me to get shit faced.” I point at the two of them. “So I’m dragging you down to my level.”
She flashes me an exasperated look before getting up and walking to the bar.
Two hours later I’m clinging to Eva�
�s arm and attempting to look sober as we approach the door for Q.
“Stop stumbling.” She hisses.
“I’m trying.” The bouncer eyes us up and down, probably because we’re dressed like hookers. I have on skin-tight black leather trousers that I bought ages ago but haven’t been brave enough to wear, and my stomach is exposed by the tiny white lace top. I don’t even care. I’m drunk.
I flash the guy a smile, and he waves us on through dismissively.
“Let’s dance!” Quinn shouts from the other side of Eva, throwing her hands in the air.
She forces her way through the crowded dance floor, stumbling against people as she does.
Q is in what used to be one of the council buildings before they moved to one of the skyscrapers. The dance floor sits beneath a massive domed ceiling, surrounded by a circle of marble pillars. The VIP section is an overhanging second level that runs around the outside of the building. There’s actually a lift that comes straight up from The Mayfair Club into the VIP, but The Mayfair club is not a place you go when you’re in the state I am.
Quinn pulls me with her and starts grinding against me, her hips moving in time with the music. Eva ducks out, heading to the bar for another drink.
A few minutes later and a guy moves in behind Quinn, gripping her hips as he dances with her. His eyes flick over my shoulder just as another pair of hands touch my waist, because of course, men come in pairs. I’m drunk, so I’m okay with it. I dance, I laugh, I press my back against the guy. I don’t know what he looks like, and I don’t care right now, he’s just someone to dance with. His hands move down until he’s griping my hips and pulling me back against him. Warm breath blows over the sweat-slick skin at my neck, making me shiver, and for a moment, my drunken mind pretends its Landon. I lean into him more, bowing my back and pressing my arse against him. His hand moves up my front, brushing over my boob, but it’s not possessive, it’s tentative. It’s not Landon, and it never will be.
