The words struck me in ways that I never could have anticipated. They got at the deepest part of me—this part that a girl who had been called trash and worse by every man she had ever known needed to fulfill.
I was beautiful. Somehow, this man—this man—thought I was beautiful.
Shortly thereafter, I came without intending to. I came underneath him, because of him, and in spite of the fact that I had vowed not to come unless he had first.
I didn’t want to get anything out of this; I didn’t deserve to get anything out of this.
Tears filled my eyes as my orgasm subsided, right as Davis followed me. He groaned out his climax, saying my name as he finished into the condom with his cock still inside of me.
Spent, he rolled off of me, but immediately took me into his arms and held me close to him, breathing heavily.
“That was amazing,” he murmured, laughing a little as he spoke. “Was that okay for you?”
“It was amazing,” I agreed. It wasn’t a lie. Not even close.
He held me tighter, tucking my head down into the curve of his neck. The heat of his body had me snuggling up next to him, wishing that I could just enjoy this.
“I have to take this condom off, but I don’t want to leave.” He clicked his tongue. “Just thirty more seconds. I swear.”
So adorable. I hated that he was so frustratingly, undeniably adorable—and a marvelous lay at that.
He pulled back from me slightly so that he could bring my hand up to his lips. Eyelids low, he began to kiss the pads of my fingertips. Dotingly. Affectionately. Thumb, index, middle, ring, and pinky. He kissed each one before he wrapped his hand around mine and settled his cheek down against the pillow. Then he pulled our bodies together once more, letting his breaths align with mine.
Much more than thirty seconds passed before Davis reluctantly disentangled his arms from around me, planted a kiss on the top of my head, and walked over to the bathroom.
With a door between us, I breathed out and forced myself to sit up. My body was still tingling from my orgasm, and that jelly-like, unparalleled feeling still coursed through me.
I needed to get the hell out of here.
Naked, I headed to the bedroom door and poked my head out into the hallway. The suite was quiet, so I padded over to the door where my purse was hanging and grabbed my phone.
There was a message from Kieran waiting for me, a concise Did you do it? that he sent an hour ago, around the time that Davis and I bailed on dinner.
Me: Yes.
When I heard the toilet flush. I hurried back to the room and got onto the bed so that I was waiting there when Davis opened the door.
“Free if you need it,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder as he walked back to the bed.
I stood up to go to the bathroom, but he stopped me in my tracks. Tall and certain, he stared down at me as he carefully brought me towards him. Another kiss—another soft, reverent kiss. I lost track of time—how long we stood there naked, kissing tenderly in the middle of the room.
My phone fell from my hand as I gave into the kiss, knowing it would be the last one that we would ever share. The thought was painful, but paled in comparison to the hurt that came from the knowledge of what I had done.
He kissed with everything he had. With every inch and crevice on him. He swept me up in it, making me lose track of where I ended and where he began and how it was possible for us to have been two different people for so long, when we were clearly made to melt into each other.
Stop it, Olivia. Stop doing this to yourself.
“Bathroom,” I declared as I broke away from him abruptly. I was breathless and fighting a losing battle to put space between us. “Just give me a minute.”
In the bathroom, I paced back and forth to the sound of the faucet running, not daring to look at myself in the mirror. My reflection was more than I could handle—more than I could stand. I feared who I would see in that mirror: a girl that I wouldn’t be able to recognize or accept.
My body was a living, breathing contradiction: satisfied and abhorrent all at once. With my hands trembling the tiniest bit, I washed them in cold water with the bespoke soap bar by the sink. The symbolism meant jack shit; I left the room with guilt still hanging over me like a storm cloud.
The first thing I saw back in the bedroom was the stoic expression on Davis’s face.
“Why is my brother sending you money?” he asked, holding up my phone.
Exit guilt, enter mortification.
My silence didn’t help the situation, but I couldn’t do much more than stand there naked in the doorway to the bathroom, feeling exposed in my skin.
Davis was sitting calmly on the edge of the bed, wearing his boxer briefs and holding up my phone as evidence. He clicked a button on the side and the screen illuminated. “You got a notification about a money transfer from Kieran Ridgeway. Why is my brother sending you money?”
“Davis, I can explain,” I asserted as I moved forward, but that was a lie. I could tell him the truth and describe the situation, but none of that would explain how I could have been so callous as to hurt him—all for money.
“Then explain.” He tossed the phone to me.
Sure enough, a notification from my banking app about a five-thousand-dollar transfer awaited me on my phone’s screen.
“Did he pay you to sleep with me?” he asked, drawing my attention back to him.
When I looked up, I found his expression still uncharacteristically stoic, practically made of stone.
“Davis—”