by B. N. Toler
And there she was.
Humming with the music, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Didn’t she know I was hanging by a thread?
She was barefoot, wearing this green cotton dress. The material was worn and faded, making it practically see-through. Her back was to me as she shook out a sheet and began folding it. She line-dried her clothes—that’s where that clean linen scent came from that drove me fucking crazy.
I approached her slowly, but she turned before I reached her. She startled and placed a hand to her chest. “Is your goal in life to scare me into a heart attack, Paul James?”
As she caught her breath, I watched her as she continued to fold the sheet until she stopped and looked up at me. Tilting her head, she eyed me suspiciously. “What’s up with you?”
I couldn’t play coy with her. Not that day. I was too wound up. So I laid it all out on the line.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
She froze.
“I don’t know what this is between us. I go from hating you one minute to wanting to bash my brains in because I can’t stop thinking about you the next.”
Silence. She. Said. Nothing.
“I need . . .” I swallowed hard. She was probably going to punch me in the balls for what I was about to say. Don’t do it, Paul. Just leave. You haven’t damaged anything yet. Just. Leave.
I didn’t listen.
Of course, I didn’t.
“I need to feel you.” It was the politest way I could put it. Hopefully, she got the message.
Her cheeks turned pink as her gaze dropped from mine for a moment as she absorbed my words. Then meeting my eyes again, she said, “I’m not the kind of woman that just hooks up, Paul.”
Still wasn’t listening. I stepped toward her. Stop, Paul! I begged myself.
“I know that.” What the fuck was I saying?
Her chest rose as she sucked in a ragged breath. She was speechless. That was rare.
“If you don’t . . . if you’re not interested . . . I’ll go. No hard feelings.”
A few seconds passed where we just stared at one another. She seemed as if she didn’t know what to say, and, well, I’d said too much. Maybe.
Finally, she pulled her comforter from the clothesline and spread it on the ground. When she stood beside it, her gaze fixed on mine as she pulled the hem of her dress up and over her head.
No bra.
No panties.
Just Clara.
“Take your hair down,” I told her. And she did. No eye rolling or sassing. It was so unlike her. Her hair billowed down before she ran her fingers through it, trying to tame it. I tugged my shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground. As I unbuckled my belt, I toed off my shoes. Once I was naked, I took a few steps so that I was inches in front of her.
“You’re sure?” I questioned.
She nodded.
And so it began. I needed release, and Clara took it gladly. There, in her backyard, we took our time with each other. Even now, like an old song, I can hear it, and see it, too. But most of all, I feel it. The flashes of images against the memory of sounds. Crickets chirping in the background, the sound of the radio playing. Our hot breaths coming out in loud huffs, her moans, my grunts. The way she whispered my name with lust. My teeth biting into her skin, from head to toe. Her lips brushing across my body with tempered discipline.
That night, we clawed at each other, fingers digging into flesh, desperate, hungry for more. I wanted to soak her in, absorb her, take every drop of her. For every bit I gave, she met it with just as much gusto. It was beautiful. I felt like I’d been let in on a secret; I was privileged. This woman in my arms was not Clara Bateman, my business partner. This woman was committed to her pleasure and mine. There was no high-handedness. There was no who’s right or wrong. There was only this. Us. These feelings. This want. Nothing else mattered. When we finally joined our bodies, when I felt her clench around me, and heard her cry out because I’d found the deepest part of her, everything else disappeared.
It was just her and me.
And I knew my life would never be the same.
“He told you about that, huh?” I questioned, my cheeks heating. I can’t believe Paul gave Ashley so much detail about our first time together.
“It wasn’t explicit,” she points out quickly, a hint of disappointment in her tone. “He held back.”
“So should I just pick up from there?”
“Yes. I’m eager to know what happened.”
I had no idea that one night with Paul would take hold of me the way it did. I could never have imagined it would be that spectacular. But it was. So we did it again. And again. And again. It was cathartic. We were like two teenagers amped on hormones; addicted to each other.
We agreed to keep our relationship quiet, especially from Marcus. He wouldn’t have understood. Hell, we didn’t really comprehend, so how could we make him understand? So at the office, we mostly ignored each other. But when no one was looking, Paul would always find a way to touch me, some way to tell me he craved me.
At night, we were inseparable. He would cook for me while I worked on some kind of house project. Then, we’d spend hours in bed doing anything but sleeping. On the few days we’d have off together, he’d take me hiking or we’d go for long drives, getting lost in the middle of nowhere and ending up in the bed of his truck.
We didn’t talk about feelings or future plans. Everything was about the here and now. I’d spent months depressed, dragging myself through each dreary day, and suddenly it was as if the sun came out and fell upon my face. At the time, maybe I was in denial. I tried to tell myself my newfound happiness wasn’t because of Paul, per se. I mean, obviously he was a part of it, but I told myself it was that I realized there was life after Kurt. I could move on. I could be happy again. And even if Paul and I didn’t work out, I wouldn’t regret it.
That’s what I told myself.
We were living in a bubble. A big, beautiful bubble, and with each day, it grew and grew. But eventually . . . bubbles always pop. It was only a matter of time.
The day our bubble popped was a Thursday.
A typical, nothing special Thursday.
Marcus had left early, which meant it was my day to close. Switching off afternoons had really helped things between us only in the sense if we weren’t around one another, we couldn’t fight. Like I said . . . life was feeling pretty damn good.
I was in my office when Paul walked in, a devilish smirk on his face. “Hello there, beautiful,” he purred. Something in my belly fluttered with that look. Every. Single. Time. The moment we made love, the moment his naked body pressed against mine, it was like a switch was thrown; some kind of connection was made. I couldn’t help reacting to him. It was natural, something I had no control over.
“I thought you were heading home,” I giggled at the sight of him. Yes. I giggled. That should give anyone an idea of where I was in this. Clara Bateman giggled.
I was cleaning up my desk when he marched behind me and seized my hips, pulling me back against him. “I was, but I wanted to see you first,” he murmured in my ear before taking my earlobe between his teeth and biting.
I hissed as I leaned back into him, begging for more . . . for more of everything . . . for more of him. His hand slid roughly up my body, untucking my shirt, before he found my breast and groped it. My body was his. I was at his mercy.
“I’ve fantasized so many times about bending you over this desk and fucking you senseless.” On this particular day, I was wearing a skirt; a longer one that reached my knees. He began pulling the material up until he saw my ass.
“Damn, I love that ass,” he admired. “Bend over the desk, Clara,” he ordered me. “I want to see that perfect ass sticking out, waiting for me to slap it.”
I did as he said and lay down on the desk, my ass out and at his mercy. Being with Paul was unlike anything I had ever experienced. He was good at not letting me think too mu
ch about what we were doing. He was confident in a way the other men I had been with weren’t. Sex had been awkward at times for me in the past. There was always so much planning or overthinking. Mostly from me. I was an analytical person; my mind was always trying to move to the what-ifs and so on. Other men, and by other men, I meant two at that time, could never get me out of my own head. Paul did what he wanted and trusted that it was what I wanted. He trusted if he did something I didn’t like, that I would tell him. But until I did, he would keep going. That worked well for me. I liked everything he did to me.
His hand gently slid across my cheek before he slapped it firmly. I grunted with the sting, but stayed in position. I heard the office chair squeak as he rolled it back and took a seat. Then I felt his teeth on my flesh, that delicious bite of pain, before he kissed the same spot, soothing it.
With his finger, he gently tugged my panty aside, exposing me to him, before running his tongue over my wet skin. I moaned, my eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.
“You taste so fucking good,” he growled before licking me again. Damn, I loved when he talked dirty to me.
“Does she now?”
My eyes flew open at the question.
At the voice.
Fuck.
Marcus.
Marcus was standing in the doorway of the office, staring right at us.
Paul let my panty slide back into place before hastily tugging my skirt down and standing. My body felt like a wave of fire had brushed over it, and I knew I had to be bright red. Neither of us said anything. Paul stood a few feet away, and given the moment, the awkwardness of it, it felt off. Obviously off in the sense Marcus had just walked in on Paul’s face on my ass, but also how Paul had seemingly moved away from me. Did he think distancing himself from me would make what Marcus just witnessed look any less what it was? Did it really matter what Marcus thought? So what if Paul and I were together, if that’s what one wanted to call it, even though we never really officially said we were. Why should Marcus care? I felt alone and exposed in that moment. I crossed my arms as a silent stare down ensued between the two men.
“Banging your uncle’s sloppy seconds,” Marcus mused. “Classy, Paul.”
My blood pressure shot up like a rocket. “Fuck you, Marcus,” I seethed. “I did not have any sexual relations with Dennis. Get. Over. It.”
“Did he like bending you over desks, too, Clara?” Marcus jeered, ignoring me. He wasn’t going to let up. Not this time. He’d caught me with my pants down—or skirt up—and he was taking no prisoners. I shot my gaze to Paul, looking for some backup. But he said nothing.
Not. One. Fucking. Word.
He’d never really stood up for me. And in the few times Marcus and I went at each other in Paul’s presence, he danced around both of us on his tippy-toes like he was on a floor made of eggshells. My heart dropped to my stomach. Marcus was calling me a whore, basically. Again. And Paul said nothing.
His dark eyes were trained on the floor as he shoved his hands in his pockets. I stared at him. I knew he could feel it; there’s no way he couldn’t. But he stood silent and let Marcus’ insults hang in the air.
I turned and grabbed my purse. When the strap caught on the arm of the desk chair, I yanked at it angrily, my frustration rearing its ugly head. Keep your cool, Clara. Don’t let Marcus win. When I finally freed it, I slipped it over my shoulder and met Marcus’ stare. He was smirking. He thought he had me figured out. I wanted to smack that smirk right off his face. It took all of my strength not to. And that’s when I got petty. I was so angry and . . . well . . . hurt, I lost my way for a moment. Meeting Marcus’ gaze head-on, I gave him a tempered smirk.
“I guess you’ve figured it out,” I chirped. “Dennis and I were lovers.”
You could have heard a pin drop in that room. They were both stunned. I knew Paul’s eyes were trained on me now, but I refused to look at him. I couldn’t. I hated him in that moment. Marcus may have been the one that insulted me, but Paul’s mute stance hurt worse. It was the bigger insult.
“We did it right here on this desk a few times,” I purred. I shook my head as I sighed, “I was in one of those phases some girls go through, ya know, the ones where we’re so young but want to have sex with really old men.” My tone was dripping with sarcasm. I was saying it happened, but making sure they both realized how ridiculous it sounded.
“I have never had a better lover,” I continued.
Silence.
No one said a word.
I stared at Marcus as he stared back. Both of us glowered at the other.
But I wasn’t done. Not at all.
“I guess I should tell you a few other things, too,” I went on. “I have a superpower. When I sleep with a man, I can make him do anything,” I boasted, my eyes wide with exaggeration. “For example, I can make a sane man leave me half of his business.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “I can also turn a man into a spineless mute,” I seethed, directing my gaze to Paul. I flung my arm up toward him. “See!” I laughed with ridicule. “Look at what I can do!”
Paul’s expression was conflicted. He looked somewhere between angry, embarrassed, and guilt-ridden.
I moved toward the door, forcing Marcus to move aside so I could exit. Looking down at him, I sneered, “Just imagine what I could make you do, little man.”
He glared at me, but didn’t speak. It was a first. He always had a comeback; an insult. Always. I had won this time. This one and only time when it came to Marcus—I got the last word. But I didn’t really feel like I had won. Not at all. I marched out of the office and left Paul to sort it out with Marcus. As far as I was concerned, we were done.
Finished.
Over.
We’re meeting Ashley daily now. It’s hard to relive the past. It’s hard to remember the bad things. The good, too. Especially while Clara and I are still at odds right now. We’re not fighting. We talk, but only in regard to Neena. It’s very minimal. We take shifts sleeping downstairs with her at night. Our disagreement is silly. Really. I know she’s just frantic a lot of the time; concerned for Neena. I know that she tries to shoulder everything, like if she hadn’t left Neena with me that night, Neena wouldn’t have taken such a rapid turn for the worse. But I recognize that while she blames me, she really blames herself. Why is it when we’re hurting we always take it out on the ones we love the most?
“When Marcus walked in on you two and Clara left . . . that was a bad night,” Ashley notes.
“It was,” I agree.
“What happened?”
After Clara stormed out, Marcus cocked his head and pursed his lips in thought. “Okay. So maybe she wasn’t his lover.”
I clenched my eyes closed. Was he fucking serious? It took her losing her shit like that to convince him?
“So . . . how long has that been going on?” He pointed at the desk where Clara had been bent over for my pleasure just minutes before.
“Not long,” I grumbled as I shoved the office chair under the desk. I was fucking pissed. Pissed at Marcus for walking in and making a scene. I was pissed at Clara for calling me spineless. I was pissed at myself for being gutless. I should have stood up for her. I wanted to. But I didn’t know what to say. Marcus was family. Also, I didn’t want to imply she and I were casual . . . maybe we were, but I didn’t know. I didn’t want to make it seem like we were an item either. I wasn’t sure what we were, and in that moment, I felt like I’d piss her off no matter what I said. So I said nothing. I’d disappointed two people at the same damn time. Not my best hour.
“You . . . with her?”
“I don’t fucking know, Marcus, okay?” I spat out.
“Why are you pissed at me?” he asked angrily.
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Um, let’s see,” I began with a haughty laugh. “Why can’t you cut her some slack? I mean, seriously.”
He blinked at me, his expression unreadable.
“Our business is better than ever. She stays out of your way, for the
most part. She could fire you for acting like such an asshole and if she did, I couldn’t blame her.” I knew I was treading on thin ice.
“You’d let her fire me?”
“I’ve tried staying out of it. I’ve tried letting you guys work it out on your own. I love you, man, but you won’t quit, Marcus. She’s not going anywhere. You’re not going to bully her out of here and frankly, I don’t want her to go.”
His brows shot up. “You love her, don’t you?”
I turned from him and dropped my head. That’s what it sounded like I’d just said. Is that what I meant? Shit. I was confused. Maybe not confused, but definitely in denial. “It has to stop, Marcus. You have to stop goading her.”
When I spun around and saw him again, he was frowning. “I just . . . I don’t get why he left it to her and not me.” I felt bad for him, I really did. I let out a long sigh. That was what it all boiled down to. He was hurt. In a way, I was like Dennis’ first son. He helped raise me. With my career and skills, I thought he felt he had to leave me half the business. He knew I could run the jumps. But with Clara, it made no sense. She was working in orthodontics. She’d mentioned it once. What did orthodontics have to do with skydiving? It was a puzzle piece that just wouldn’t fit no matter how hard we tried to jam it in place. Plus, Marcus had always taken care of the office.
“Maybe if you try being nicer to her . . . she’ll tell you eventually. Dennis loved you. I’m sure there’s a good reason why he did what he did.” I wanted to know just as badly as Marcus, if not more.
He bobbed his head a few times. “I gotta go.”
“Marcus,” I called after him as he left the office. But he didn’t turn back. I paced in the office for a few minutes, trying to get my wits about me. This night sure went in the shitter fast. Marcus wasn’t pleased with me. But I knew better than to mess with him right now. He needed some time to decompress. Clara was pissed at me, as well, and rightfully so. With a deep breath, I steeled myself. It was time to try and fix this.
