Chapter Three
Ethan
It was hot. Even this early, it was too fucking hot. I was sweating already and I hadn’t even reached the Turtle Pond. I had been close to waking her up and burying myself in her again this morning, she looked so fucking sexy as she slept. But I didn’t do morning sex. So I left her there, looking sexy as hell, and now I was running off my hard-on.
Wrong choice, bud, my dick whispered to me. No morning sex was a rule of mine. I liked that she had rules, too. I grinned as I remembered her trying to think them up on the spot. Mine were set in stone and no morning sex was at the top of the list—Number One. Number Two was no sleepovers. Everything looked different in the morning. More real. And I didn’t do real. Not with women. It was only ever sex. Great sex. Lots of sex. Lots of women. But nothing more. More than that was too complicated, and rule Number Three was I didn’t do complicated.
I wasn’t sure who fell asleep first but I hadn’t gotten around to leaving the hotel. I’d booked the suite earlier in the day. I didn’t bring women back to my place—rule Number Four—and I was tired of schlepping over to bridge-and-tunnel land. Did no one live in Manhattan anymore? The Mandarin Oriental always impressed, and besides I loved the view from the Oriental Suite.
My cell rang and I took it, pleased to have a distraction. “Scott,” I answered.
“Hey. How’d you do last night?” It was Andrew. We’d known each other since college and we had a healthy competition between us in everything we did.
“Good. I’m out on my run.”
“Man, I’m sorry you didn’t score.” He was baiting me and I wasn’t biting. “Maybe you’re just too old for the young, hot girls these days. You should think about settling down before the quality of women who will fuck you dives too low.”
“You have me bent over double from laughing, you prick.”
He knew she was hot. He knew I would have fucked her, just as I told him I would when I first caught sight of her across the bar last night. When I went over to her, Andrew had left to go home to Amanda. His wife. Of five years, although they’d been together since college. Ten years fucking the same woman. Or not fucking her, as Andrew so often complained. Jesus. I knew I couldn’t do it. I didn’t even pretend it was a possibility. I had rules and I didn’t keep them to myself. I was clear with the women I fucked. I didn’t pretend it was anything other than sex. There were no broken promises, no ambiguity. They never wondered if I would call—I never took their number.
There were a few women that had my number and I saw semi-regularly. And when I say saw, I mean fucked. Joan, who called me whenever she was between boyfriends. I was happy to help her out. Phoebe who lived in Boston but came to New York once a month and was a fantastic lay. And Fiona, who hadn’t called in a while, maybe she got married or something. But I never called them. Not ever. That was rule Number Five.
“Mandy wants to know if you’re still coming up to the Hamptons this weekend. I think she has a friend she wants to introduce you to.”
“Fuck, Andrew. I’m not fucking one of Mandy’s friends again.” Mandy had introduced me to Susie last December. I’d been clear—very clear—with her that I didn’t date. She seemed to be cool with that and she had great legs, so I’d taken her back to her hotel. The sex had been very average and then she tried to give me her number, which I politely refused, and she had gone bunny boiler crazy. Mandy was pissy with me. Andrew had tried to talk me into going to dinner with her. It was a fucking disaster.
“If I come to the Hamptons this weekend, I won’t be fucking any of Mandy’s friends under any circumstances. Can you tell her that? Can you make it clear that it’s not a case of not having found the right woman? It’s that there are too many right women for me to limit myself to one. Tell her, bud, or it’s going to get ugly.”
“You’re a dick.”
I grinned. “Likewise.”
“Later.”
I hung up.
“Anna” had been anything but average last night. She had been exceptional. Feisty, demanding, hungry, responsive. My dick twitched at the images invading my head. I picked up the pace to try to shake it off. When women understood that it was only ever going to be one night, it was better. They let go. Unusually, last night, it had been Anna who had made it clear that there was going to be no follow-up. That had never happened to me before. I found myself grinning. Her accent was cute. Her ass was better. Perfect—round, smooth, firm. I felt stirrings again. She was on vacation, right? Only stateside for one week. Enforced no strings. I’d already broken the no sleepover rule. I might as well use it to my advantage. I stopped dead. She would be naked right now. It was still early. I looked at my watch. I’d only been out fifteen minutes. I’d been planning on running for an hour, giving her time to get out before I got back. If I ran back now, she’d still be there and I could wake her with my tongue between her legs.
Fuck.
Morning sex didn’t count as real if you knew they’d be 3,000 miles away within a week. I started the run back to the hotel.
Anna
I awoke sore. I could feel the half-formed bruises on my neck, on my thighs, on my breasts. I smiled at the cause and then froze. Shit, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I had been about to get dressed and head back to Daniel’s place when Ethan had carried me back to bed, and true to his word, he had fucked me all night. Oh god. I’d never had so much sex in one night, never had such amazing sex, and never begged for it, as he told me I would, over and over. I squirmed, feeling myself dampen at the memory. Was he still here? I couldn’t bring myself to look. I couldn’t hear him breathing, but the bed was as big as a small country, so that was no wonder. Did he live here? In a hotel? I had so many unanswered questions. But, I told myself, I came here for fun, not answers.
I rolled to my side and swung my legs off the bed. The bed was empty. I held my breath, trying not to make a sound, so I could hear if there was any noise on the other side of the door.
Nothing.
I grabbed the robe that had been discarded beside the bed and pulled it around me, wincing as the movement brought my attention to my sore back. I headed to the bathroom and lowered the robe, angling my back at the mirror, to see if I could see the cause of the pain. My back was grazed. Oh yes, that was from the part of last night where I was up against the wall, my legs wrapped around Ethan’s waist as he pounded into me, pushing me farther and farther up the wall. Friction burns. I blushed and tried to suppress a grin.
Tentatively, I opened the door to the bedroom into the living room. Not a sound. He was gone, but his suit was still strewn across the living room. I felt disappointed, and then embarrassed at my disappointment. It was just sex. I gathered my clothes, took them back to the bedroom, and dressed quickly. Should I leave a note? What was one-night stand etiquette? No, it was just sex—no note required.
I called Leah and she answered on the first ring. “Don’t even speak to me. I know I’m a slut.” I said before she’d even said hello.
She screeched. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re just having yourself some fun. I want to hear all about it but we’ve got to have some culture with our booze. Get yourself back here to change. I want to go to that place you said was around the corner.”
“You want to go to The Frick?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“We’re going to talk about fucking in The Frick? That doesn’t seem very appropriate.” We laughed.
“You can tell me all about it and then you can tell me again over lunch and cocktails. Let’s go somewhere fancy. Get the concierge to book something on the way out.”
I slipped out of the suite, down the elevators, and without a single shred of embarrassment, despite my evening attire, spoke to the concierge who booked lunch for two at what I supposed was a very expensive restaurant. I headed out into the humidity of a New York morning in July. It was only just 7 a.m. but it was already stiflingly hot. Once I orientated myself, I realized I was about ten blocks from Daniel’s apartment, but I couldn’t walk, not in these heels. Ten blocks was a long walk of shame. Except I wasn’t ashamed. I felt great, like I’d scrubbed a layer of something unpleasant from me, and I was now fresh and ready for my next chapter.
* * *
“So, I bet he was amazing. He looked like he would be amazing,” Leah rambled as we strolled through Central Park, coffees in hand, taking in the morning parkgoers, killing time while we waited for the Frick to open.
I grinned. He was amazing. The sex. The sex had been amazing.
“I have no complaints.”
“So, you see, you should take your own advice—it works!” she bumped my shoulder with hers. “Are you going to see him again?”
“I told you, Leah, it was just sex. No kissing on the mouth.”
“Eww, you didn’t kiss him on the mouth but you let his penis inside you?”
“No, I mean figuratively.” He’d been an excellent kisser. An excellent everything. “You know, no emotional involvement.”
“Oh, like from Pretty Woman,” she said. I nodded. “What is it with you and that film?”
I shrugged.
“So, what if he calls and asks you out again?”
“We’ve not been out to go out again, and anyway, he doesn’t have my number.” Should I have left him my number or a note or something? No, it was just sex.
Leah raised her eyebrows at me. I didn’t know if it was disbelief of disapproval. Both, probably.
“It should be open now. Let’s go.” I wanted the subject changed. I was in New York! I wanted to enjoy it. I picked up the pace as we headed to The Frick. The streets seemed relatively peaceful. The commuters were all behind their desks, leaving the streets to people who had to endure the July heat—tourists like Leah and me, couriers, students, nannies pushing strollers, schoolchildren on trips away from home.
“So you’re going to marry Daniel?” I asked. She’d accepted his proposal weeks ago but I’d heard no mention of it since.
Leah didn’t respond straight away. “Yes, but there’s no rush.”
“I thought when you know, you know. You know?”
We laughed. “I know,” Leah answered. “I can’t imagine being with anybody else. He makes me happy and I want to make him happy, forever. It doesn’t matter if we’re married or not.”
“That’s nice,” I said. I meant it.
“It will happen for you.”
I smiled at her and shrugged my shoulders. “It’s all about fun for me now. I’ve tried to find ‘it’ or ‘the one’ and it hasn’t happened, so I officially give up. I want fun. Nothing complicated.”
The air conditioning in the museum was a godsend. “Shall we just stay here all day? We can be cool and cultured at the same time.”
“No doubt our very expensive restaurant will have A/C and we can get a cab. It’s too hot to walk.” Leah always looked perfectly beautiful, but even her glossy straight hair had the start of a frizz around it. I’d long since given up with mine. The humidity took the hint of a natural curl and turned me into Diana Ross.
“Ok, as long as I can day drink, I’ll let you take me to lunch.”
“I’m honored.”
“You should be.”