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Brianna
M ichael’s body is still on mine, warm and smooth. He’s still inside of me, right where I want him. I’m spent, but part of me wants him again. Part of me is already getting hot thinking of his hands shackling my wrists, his strong body slamming into me, taking what he wants.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, lips close to my ear.
“All the other ways we can do that. Repeatedly.”
He groans. “You’re going to kill me, Brianna. But at least I’ll die a happy man.”
I smile. “I’ll take it easy on you at first. Until you get used to it.”
“I didn’t know you had such a healthy sex drive,” he says.
My smile fades. “Me either.”
Michael pulls out of me, taking away his warmth. He walks to the bathroom at the side of his office and returns with a wet washcloth. I reach out to take it, but he holds it away from me. When he wipes me to clean up our mess, it’s probably the most intimate thing I’ve ever felt. I’m moved with tenderness for him suddenly, and in a way that makes me feel a little uncomfortable.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“What?”
“The frown.”
It’s hard to focus with him rubbing me like that. I wait for him to finish, and then accept his shirt when he passes it over. I slide my arms into it, breathing in the smell, before leaning into the arm he puts around me.
“It’s nothing,” I say quietly. “Just remembering.”
“Remembering what?”
I don’t want to bring up Chet. It seems like a bad idea. But that’s what I’m thinking. “I didn’t realize what I was missing when I was with Chet. I wanted him to want me—to show me he wanted me. Like you just did. But I guess…I wasn’t enough for him.”
Michael grips my chin and turns my head to face him. “Chet is an ass, okay? If he didn’t show you he wanted you every single night, he had a problem. I can barely keep my hands off of you. You’re sexy, Brianna. I want you and I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.”
I blush, but it’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. I rest my cheek against his chest. “Thank you.”
“It’s the truth. I left work early because just the sound of your voice when I was talking to you earlier turned me on. I couldn’t focus.”
I grin. “I feel the same way.”
“I’ve never had sex in my office before.” There’s amusement in his voice.
“No?”
He shakes his head. “I always keep work separate from pleasure. Makes things easier.”
“Things aren’t separate now.”
“No, they aren’t. I kind of like it.”
I smile to myself. I kind of like it too.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“A little.”
“Let’s head home. We can order something and then see how strong your sex drive really is,” he says.
I sit up, and then straddle him, making his lips curve. “Thank you.”
His hands rest on my hips. “For what?”
“For coming here. For being patient with me.”
He kisses me and then takes my hand. “Of course.” He runs his finger over the ring on mine. “You’re wearing this.”
“I was going out and I thought it would be a good idea.”
“Ah. I see.”
It sounds like he’s disappointed, but before I can question him, he stands with me still on his lap. “Let’s get home.”
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Michael orders Chinese food but when I try to sit at the counter in the kitchen, he takes my hand and leads me to the coffee table in the living room. From here I can see the city lights, the subtle coloring of the clouds as the sun slips the rest of the way down to the horizon. We’re only six blocks from my old apartment, but it might as well be miles. And in fact, I’m only a month away from my old life, but it might as well be years.
So much has changed…and the more I think about it, the more it freaks me out.
“Where are the forks?” I ask when we sit side-by-side in front of the open containers.
There’s something very intimate about sharing food from the same container, sitting close enough our elbows touch, in the living room. Our living room.
At least for now.
“No forks allowed,” Michael says. “Damn, I forgot to put that in the contract.”
I glance over with a smile at his joking tone. “A prerequisite?”
He nods. “You have to be able to use chopsticks. I like women who are good with their hands.”
“What else?” I ask.
His lips curve and I smack his arm.
“What else is a prerequisite?” I ask instead.
He angles his head, considering. “Dimples.”
“Dimples?”
“Yes. She has to have dimples. Or at least one. Like this.” He touches the corner of my lips on the right side. “Just a small one.”
“That’s not a dimple.”
“It is when you smile.”
I frown, making him laugh.
“I said smile,” he says, “not frown.”
“What else?”
He digs into the kung pao chicken. “She has to like puppies, hate black licorice, and love horror movies.”
Yes, yes, and yes. That’s all me. And all scary to think about. But those are just surface things, I remind myself. Everyone likes puppies and hates black licorice. Most people like scary movies. Most people have dimples when they smile.
“Kind heart,” he continues, not meeting my eyes, “and a creative soul. A forgiving nature and a sense of humor.”
The more he continues, the more the unease builds in my stomach. I feel like he’s no longer listing general traits. I feel like he’s talking about me. That should make me feel good. And maybe in another circumstance it would. If we were two regular people. Dating. Then it would feel right. But we have an agreement, and I know it’s not going to last forever.
I force myself to grin and make a joke. “Damn. So close. But I can’t use chopsticks, so…” I shrug. “Guess you’ll have to add that to your contract for next time.”
Michael sets down his chopsticks and turns to face me. His knees bump mine, but when I move to give him space, he catches my hands. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Brush me off like that?” he asks.
Words catch in my throat. “What do you mean?”
He runs his fingers over the ring again, the engagement ring I’m already getting used to wearing. “I mean, I’m trying to get to know you. I’m trying to make this work. And I feel like you’re…holding back.”
“Holding back?”
He frowns. “I think you know what I’m talking about, Brianna.”
This is my cue to take a step back. To tell him the truth. Hey, maybe even run. This is a dangerous talk because it addresses all my fears. I don’t want to hurt Michael, but I don’t want to be hurt either.
“This is…” I swallow. How do I say this without hurting him? “I’m not trying to hold back from you. But this is an arrangement. It’s not—we’re not supposed to be a real couple here.”
His jaw shifts. Damn. I didn’t do it right. I said the wrong thing.
“Then what was that this afternoon in my office?” he asks.
My throat dries. Sex. But I can’t say that because it isn’t true. It’s more than that. It wasn’t just sex and I probably wouldn’t have let it happen if it was.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
He releases my hands and goes back to eating. I’ve lost my appetite now. I don’t know what to say or to do to make this better, but I have to try.
“It’s not you,” I tell him.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” Michael says. “Yes, I’ve heard that’s a good excuse to use when there really is something wrong with the other person. I get it.”
“Not, it’s really not you—”
“Then what?” He shifts to face me again. “Is it what happened the other night? Me blaming you for the article? Because I thought we moved past that.”
“No. I mean, yes. We did move past that. It’s not that at all—”
“Then explain it to me.” His eyes soften just slightly. “It’s Chet, isn’t it?”
I exhale, my heart aching. “What do you mean?”
“He hurt you and now you’re afraid to trust me. You think I’m going to do the same thing he did.”
My mouth opens in surprise. How does he know that? Am I that easy to read?
“You’re worth more than that,” Michael says. “And I want the chance for this to be something more between us. I’ve never said that to anyone before, but I’m saying it to you.” He stands quickly, but I don’t miss the hurt in his voice. “I want something more. But you clearly don’t, and now it’s too late to take back what happened this afternoon. I’m sorry for pressuring you, and from now on I’ll just stick to the contract.”
He walks away before I can respond. Before I can even think of how to respond. I’m left in front of our spread of Chinese food, my heart hurting more than it did when Chet left me.