She says she’s ending things with the lawyer. She says she wants to be with me.
God, she felt good. It took every ounce of integrity I have to stop myself from fucking her against my hotel room door. It took every ounce of willpower not taste her pillowy lips.
Thank God she left when she did, because my self-control was a weak thread that was about to break.
I flick off the lights, pull off the shirt she made me put on, and walk toward the window with my bottle of Macallan as my only companion.
I must be a whole lot stronger than I realize, which gets me thinking.
I need to talk to my father. I need to tell him the truth—that I don’t want to be CEO. It’s too much responsibility for someone like me. I should be thankful that I’m being handed a prestigious position and the reins to a multibillion-dollar company.
It’s not that I’m not thankful; it’s more that it’s just not for me.
I do love my work, really, but it has consumed me for the better part of the last eight years. It has turned me into a monster in many ways. I think back to the legend Sylvie brought up. My great-great-grandfather didn’t make time for a woman in his life. He worked hard, dedicating all his time to his job almost until it was too late.
I’ve done the same thing. I take women for a fun ride for one night because I haven’t wanted to invest the time it takes to cultivate a meaningful relationship. I wonder if great-great-grandpa King was a player in his day. I wonder if he got what he could wherever he could get it and moved on to the next one in line. I wonder how he knew my great-great-grandmother was the one.
I wonder if the man from Denny’s would be proud of me tonight.
I shake my head.
I wish she’d come back. I want to kiss her. I want her soft, satin skin beneath my fingertips. I want to slide my hand up her thigh as I embark on a quest to see if she was telling the truth about not wearing panties.
I need to do something about this enormous boner she gave me. I hold the bottle in my left hand, take another sip, and unbutton my jeans with my right hand. I reach in and fist my cock. I want Sylvie’s hands wrapped around me, want to be in her mouth, but it’s not the way tonight was meant to turn out.
I move my hand up and down slowly while I think about her, feeling like I’m going to explode. I tighten my grip on the bottle in my left hand. This feels so good, stroking myself while I imagine it’s her, wanting it to be her. I haven’t had sex in way too long. I miss sex…but I don’t miss the women I was having it with. I miss the closeness, the pleasure, that feeling when my balls tighten up and I’m about to lose myself. I miss the intimacy, the softness of a woman’s skin, the taste of a cunt. Sylvie’s must taste like heaven.
My balls tighten, the sure signal that I’m seconds away from coming, and seconds before my release rips through me, a knock sounds at my door.
Fuck.
Do I finish?
Who the fuck is here?
I tip the bottle back for another sip and set it on the table then tuck my aching dick back into my jeans and button them back up. I need this release, and my balls throb as I walk across the room to see who the fuck had the nerve to interrupt my one-man sex show.
I peek through the hole in the door, and there stands Sylvie, looking as anxious as she did when she arrived earlier.
My heart lifts and my balls burn.
She came back for me.
And I’m about to come for her—or inside her, or on her. Whatever.
I throw the door open and don’t wait for her to walk in. I grab her by her bicep and yank her into my room before slamming the door shut. I trap her against the door aggressively. “You’re back,” I whisper.
“Yeah, I…uh…” She trails off nervously as I run my fingertips up her arm and simultaneously attack her neck with my lips. She came back for me.
Fuck integrity. Fuck doing the right thing.
I need her. I need to be inside her. She will be mine.
All I can think about is sex. Sylvie. Sex with Sylvie. Sex. Relieving the searing ache in my balls.
I nip at her neck and kiss my way up to her chin. I’m centimeters from her mouth when she puts both hands on my chest to halt me.
I stop immediately and take a step back from her heat. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you wanted to wait.”
“That was before you came back.”
She holds her left hand up, the back of her hand facing me.
I look at her in confusion. “What?”
“I left my ring on your dresser.”
My heart drops somewhere into my stomach. Not only do I feel like an idiot for completely misreading the situation, my balls still ache and apparently she’s not here to take care of that for me.
I take another step back. “Oh.” It’s all I can manage to say.
“I’m sorry.” She lowers her voice. “I want this. I want you. Those things you said before? About needing to kiss me? Needing to…fuck?”
I look at her, and I can’t help it if my eyes are filled with need for her.
“I need all of that too, but you’re right. I’ll be back for you the second it’s over with him.”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I want. I don’t want to be the sloppy seconds, the consolation prize of your breakup. I don’t want to be your rebound. I want you to take your time, to get over him so you’re free to be with me.”
“You will never be a rebound. I’m doing this for you, for us, so we can see what this is—because it’ll be worth it. We’ll overcome this mess together.”
I nod dejectedly as I turn my eyes to the floor.
I feel her fingertips on my jaw and I lean into her touch as I close my eyes. “Hey,” she says. I look up at her. “We’re gonna make it. Just give me a little bit of time.”
I ache to kiss her as she walks past me to get the ring off the dresser. She holds it in her hand instead of sliding it back on her finger. She walks back to me. I feel her fingertips on my jawline before I feel her lips there, and then she heads for the door.
“Don’t go,” I whisper.
“I have to. Please don’t ask me again. I’m only human, and I’m weak. I can’t stay. Tonight the hardest thing to do is the right thing to do.”
I nod. She’s right. She slips out the door, and it’s just me and my bottle of whisky once again.
Before I can change my mind, I text my father. It’s late in New York, so he’ll get it when he wakes up. It’s time for me to prove I’m an adult, not a scared little boy afraid to confront his father. It’s time for me to tell him the truth.
Me: Are you free for a late lunch this afternoon? I need to talk to you.
I send it and toss my phone on the dresser, knowing it’s Sylvie’s strength that led me to this moment.