The Forbidden

I grin to myself, watching him fly into authoritative action, shouting orders as he goes. God, what I would do to have him alone right this minute. I look down at the screen of my phone and start to count down the minutes to four-thirty.

* * *

I run up the steps of the hotel, nodding to the bellboy as I pass, checking my phone for the room number Jack sent me. When I reach the door, I knock as desperately as I’m feeling, and then start patting down my hair and brushing down my black shift dress. I don’t get nearly enough time to sort myself out after rushing here. The door swings open, Jack seizes my wrist, and he yanks me inside, slamming the door behind him. I yelp, startled, as I’m hauled into him. I’m yet to see him properly because everything is a blur from the speed of my movements.

“You’re two minutes late.” He snatches my bag and tosses it aside, then dips and grabs me under my thighs, pulling me up to his body. I yelp again, but it quickly transforms into a giggle when he runs through the sitting area and launches us into the air.

“Jack!” I scream, delirious, sinking my nails into his shoulders, which I now note are naked. We land on the softest bed I’ve ever been in, and his mouth is immediately on mine. I haven’t had the chance to indulge in his face yet, nor appreciate the fact that he’s naked, but when I find his lips on mine, I let the losses slide. I coil every limb around him and kiss him with everything I have, filling my sense of smell with his scent. I sink into the mattress on a happy sigh, shifting my palms to his bristly cheeks and holding his face firmly.

“Damn, I’ve missed this,” he says into my mouth, moving his lips to my cheek and pecking his way up to my ear.

I flex my hips, feeling his condition push into my thigh. “I can tell.” He bites my earlobe and gets himself to his knees, collecting my arms from around his neck and shoving them above my head, holding them there, his torso suspended over me. And now I have his face. His gray eyes could have fireworks exploding in them, and his smile breaks records in the brightest category.

“Hello,” he says simply, though low and husky and drenched with longing. Just one simple word.

We stare at each other for the longest time, Jack suspended above me, his thighs straddling my tummy, his hands holding my wrists down. And we just grin at each other, both happy to admire each other for a while. When he raises his eyebrows, I raise mine. When he teasingly pushes his groin into my tummy, I reciprocate by flexing my hips up. And when he seductively licks his lips, I lick mine. Both of our smiles stretch wider.

“Well done with the roof, baby,” he says, keeping me restrained.

I smile. “Doesn’t it look fab?”

“Amazing.”

“But I didn’t come to talk about roofs.” I make it clear. “How long have I got you?”

“How long do you want me?”

My eyes narrow, and the word forever tickles the end of my tongue, waiting to drop out. But I hold it back, unwilling to spoil our precious time together with the ache of the unknown. Besides, I’m certain he knows already. “Long enough to ravish you.”

He nods a little. I think it’s in understanding, not only to my voiced answer, but to the answer I’m holding back, too. “Before we get to ravishing, I have something for you.” He plants a chaste kiss on my lips and frees my arms, getting off the bed and strolling through to the lounge area. I prop myself up on my elbows and follow his path with my eyes, held rapt by his wide, naked back and perfect arse. “Come on,” he calls.

“But I’m comfortable here,” I complain, pouting.

Jack looks back to me sprawled on the bed and smiles, flicking his head in silent demand that I go to him. I do, now curious of what he has for me. Padding my way into the separate lounge area, I find him sitting on the couch. He pats the seat next to him, and I sit beside him, all the while keeping my questioning eyes on him. He produces a Selfridges bag and holds it out to me.

“What’s this?” I ask, gingerly accepting it.

“It’s for you.” He sits back and gets comfy. “Open it.”

I grin down at the bag and start to pull the bow loose, flicking my eyes between Jack and the yellow bag as I find my way in. Once it’s open, I peek inside, discovering something wrapped neatly in tissue paper. I pull it out, set the bag aside, and place the package on my lap, then start to peel at the stickers securing it all together. I pull the tissue paper open and find a small pile of black lace.

“You bought me underwear?” I ask, lifting the bra and holding it up.

“Do you like it?” He sounds apprehensive.

I look at the beautiful piece, the black, delicate lace of the balcony bra hanging from the fingertips of both of my hands by the straps. “It’s gorgeous.”

“And the knickers?” He reaches for them and holds them up, showing me. They’re low-rise lace Brazilian briefs with a pretty gold charm in the center of the waistband.

“Love them,” I confirm.

I can sense his relief, and I conclude that Jack has never bought underwear for a woman before. The notion fills me with satisfaction. I don’t care if it doesn’t fit, or the style doesn’t suit me. Jack bought them for me. “And now this.” He pulls a small box from behind his back and holds it out to me.

I bite my lip as I look down at it. “Is it a special occasion?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the box.

“It’s been four months since I found you drunk in a bar and licked you.”

I quickly look up at him. “It is?” I’m not sure why I sound so shocked. It’s flown by, yes, but I feel like it’s so much longer than that. I feel like I’ve known him forever. “And I wasn’t drunk.”

He chuckles, his gray eyes twinkling. “Of course you weren’t. Open.” He thrusts the box toward me and I take it, just as gingerly as I accepted the bag containing the underwear.

“I didn’t get you a gift,” I say, feeling a little guilty.

“You are my gift, Annie.” He reaches over and slides his hand onto my cheek.

My heart melts and I throw myself into his arms, unable to resist the urge to cuddle him tightly. “Thank you.”

He laughs lightly, holding me as he pushes his lips to the back of my head. “You don’t know what it is yet. You might hate it.”

“I won’t hate it,” I argue, letting him detach me and push me back to my side of the couch. I pull the ribbon tie and slowly open the box, blinking when shards of sparkling light shoot out from within. A small hitch of air catches in my throat as I take in the bracelet. It’s glistening against the black velvet cushion, and in the center there are two small diamond-encrusted words. One says “Me” and the other says “You.” The two words are separated by a tiny heart. I press my lips together as I stare at it, not wanting to cry all over him. I feel a little overwhelmed.

“It’s platinum and diamonds,” he says quietly.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, running the pad of my finger the length of the precious metal.

“I’ve had the fastener reinforced with a safety catch.” He points to the small clip that secures it. “So you never lose it.” Slowly and carefully, he drapes the bracelet over my right wrist and fastens it. It’s a perfect fit, not too loose and not too tight, with just enough room to slip two fingers between my skin and the platinum. Something comes to me, and I look up at him. “You were measuring my wrist,” I say, not meaning to sound accusing. “Last week when we lay in bed, you kept circling my wrist with your fingers.”

He holds his hand up, the tip of his middle finger meeting the tip of his thumb, forming a circle. “About two inches smaller than this.”

“Sneaky,” I exclaim, going in for another cuddle. “I love it.”

“Me and you, Annie,” he whispers, constricting me in his arms. “Me and you.”

The happy tears I was holding back win and a few stream down my cheeks, splashing his shoulder. I hope he doesn’t feel them, but when he starts pushing me out of his embrace, I fear that he has. I have no time to brush them away, especially when he’s holdi

ng my wrists. I drop my eyes in a vain attempt to hide my face.

“Why are you upset?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’m just so happy,” I confess, shaking my head, mad with myself. Because now my mind is going into overdrive, venturing into places that I always promise myself I won’t go. If I’m this happy settling for just a piece of him, then imagine how happy I would be if I had all of him. Yet I still can’t bring myself to ask him when that will be possible. I don’t want to put pressure on him. I’m dancing between two very fine lines, both of them blurred. Everything is so distorted and my mind confused. I’m not sure what is best for who and when.

This is exactly why I try not to think about it. It dampens my mood and has my mind going around in circles. I never ask about Stephanie or his home life. I don’t want to know, and I know Jack doesn’t want me to, either. All I know is that Jack works ridiculous hours and he never stops smiling when we’re together. What happens when we’re not together isn’t something I can bring myself to think about.

He takes my chin and lifts, forcing me to look at him. Then he leans over and rests his lips on mine. “Go put your new underwear on,” he orders. I smile on the inside, grateful for his intervention. I don’t get him for nearly enough time. The last thing I want to do when I do have him is talk about the crappiness of our situation. It’s easy like this. Our own private happiness that no one can destroy with judgments and devastation. Or suicide attempts.

Gathering up my new underwear, I give him a peck on the cheek and make my way back through the bedroom to the bathroom. The space is overrun with black marble and the huge tub, which is filled with steaming, bubbly water, has a television embedded into the wall at the end. We’re having a bath. Jack’s naked, wet skin all over mine. I shiver with anticipation as I strip down and slip my new bra and knickers on, finding they fit like a glove. Music suddenly begins in the bathroom, and I smile, listening to the intro of Klangkarussell’s “Sonnentanz.”

“Fuck me,” Jack breathes, appearing in the mirror behind me. His eyes are like saucers. “Your arse looks fucking amazing.”

I thrust my bum out cheekily and yelp when he slaps me clean across my left cheek. “Ouch!” I’m grabbed, whirled around, and thrust up against the mirror. My hair is yanked, my lips attacked. I meld into his body pushed up against mine, spreading my legs when his knee comes up and nudges between my thighs. I’m lifted up by my waist, my back sliding across the mirror with ease, the slight condensation coating the glass creating a slippery friction.

Jack’s kiss is relentless and hungry, his moans and growls desperate. My fancy knickers are yanked to the side, he levels up, and he pounds into me unforgivingly, pushing me up the mirror on a grunt. My hands go straight to his hair and grip, knowing I’m going to need the support. The feel of him buried to the hilt inside me sends my world spinning wildly. He’s too desperate to take it slowly. I am, too. I kiss him hard and he lets loose, smashing into me on constant shouts. I bite at his lips, pull at his hair, and scream on every hard pound. We’re loud and frenzied, fervent and messy. The depths he’s achieving are both pleasurable and painful. I throw my head back and shout at the ceiling, feeling his fingers claw into the backs of my thighs harshly. My back is repeatedly hitting the mirror, my skin squeaking across the glass when he withdraws, before crashing forward violently again and again. I close my eyes and focus on seizing my orgasm, feeling the pressure collecting fast.

“God!” I shout on a particularly brutal drive.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, not slowing in his pace, continuing to smash into me like a depraved madman.

‘”No!” I scream, dropping my head and dragging my lids open. I find his eyes are just as wild as his pace. I almost snarl, yanking at his hair viciously.

He grins and ups his stride, digging his fingers into my thighs further. “Are you close?”

“Yes!” My orgasm takes me by surprise, exploding between my thighs and robbing me of breath. My whole body starts to convulse uncontrollably, and my hearing becomes muffled from the pounding of my pulse in my ears. The muscles in my neck fail and my head collapses forward onto his shoulder, the waves of an orgasm so intense ripping through my body ruthlessly. It’s almost too much to take. I’m limp against Jack, still being pushed up the wall as the warmth of his seed fills me until he’s rocking gently into me, gulping for oxygen.

“Jesus, that was intense,” he pants, folding to the floor and taking me with him. I spread myself over him, my cheek against the center of his chest, my palm resting on his pec. We stay on the hard floor of the bathroom for an age, a tangle of arms and legs, both of us heaving loudly. I feel dazed and sucked dry of energy.

“Bath?” he asks on a labored breath, starting to fiddle with a lock of my dark hair. I hum my half-hearted agreement. I can’t move. “Come.” He wrestles me up from the floor and holds me up with one arm, removing my underwear with the other. Lifting me, he places me in the tub and I immediately sink down into the water, sighing my appreciation. The heat is an instant relief for my muscles. “Move up,” Jack says, stepping in.

Shuffling forward, I wait for him to settle behind me before reclining and coming to rest on his chest. His legs open and his arms come around and hold me, his nose falling into my neck. “That was good.”

I nod my agreement, still working to catch my breath. He laughs lightly and rests back, placing a palm on my forehead to encourage me with him. His fingertips glide up my wet thighs, onto my stomach and up toward my breasts. My nipples harden simply by the closeness of his touch.

“Happy to see me?” he teases, reaching them and circling the dark edges slowly.

“I’m always happy to see you.” I shudder atop him, resting my hands on his thighs and smoothing across his dark hairs. “This is nice,” I muse quietly, closing my eyes. It’s relaxed and peaceful. Totally blissful. “Thank you for my gifts.”

“And thank you for mine,” he counters, making me smile into my darkness. “I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?”

“About snatching a whole weekend with you.”

My eyes spring open. “How?” I ask, trying not to let my excitement run away with me. A whole weekend with Jack? I’m giddy at the mere suggestion.

“There’s a construction convention next weekend. I’m signed up, but I don’t actually need to be there.”

I turn myself over so I’m lying front down on his chest. He must see the exhilaration in my eyes. “Where?”

“Liverpool. Friday night through to Monday morning. Do you think you could come?” His hand meets my cheek and pushes some wet strands of my hair away from my face. I mentally race through my diary: nothing too important springs to mind. I can tell the girls and Micky that there’s some architect exhibition or something. They won’t check, and they definitely won’t volunteer to come.

“What will we do?” I ask, already planning it all in my head. We’ll be like a normal couple. No sneaking around or looking over our shoulders. I’m getting more excited by the minute.

“We’ll eat out, go shopping.” He mirrors my smile. “We’ll just be together.”

I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve. I’d happily hide in a hotel for two full days as long as Jack is with me. “Lots of affection?”

His smile cracks and he laughs, sliding his palms under my arms and pulling me up his chest. Our noses meet, our eyes hold. “Lots and lots of affection.”

“Then I’m in.” I seal our mouths and seal the deal, unable to wipe the huge grin from my face. “I can’t wait.”

“Me either, gorgeous.” Jack sucks on my bottom lip until it pops from his mouth. “Richard knows about us.” His declaration comes from left field, even though I wondered when I caught him watching Jack and me.

My heart jumps a little, suddenly worried. “Did you tell him?”

“I didn’t need to.”

My eyes drop to Jack’s chin and dart. “We haven’t been careless.”

Jack pull

s my chin up and smiles. “I work closely with him, Annie. I can’t hide my happiness when you’re around.”

I mirror his beam, only mildly. I’m worried. “He wouldn’t say anything, would he?”

“God, no.” He laughs at the suggestion. “He’s a good guy, and he knows…” Jack trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish. Richard knows what Stephanie is like. That’s what he was going to say. I remember a few occasions when Richard passed comment, or muttered something under his breath when Jack’s wife turned up on site in a deranged fit.

Jack takes a breath and kisses my nose. “Our secret is safe. Now, tell me about your week.”

Our secret. I so wish we weren’t a secret. I let Jack turn me back over, and he curls his forearms around my shoulders, keeping his face close to mine. We lie there for over an hour while I give him a rerun of my projects. He drains the tub a little every now and then and tops it back up with hot water to keep us warm. He listens and asks questions, and never once does he sound bored. I love how he can just let me ramble on about structures and technical stuff and he listens, speaking up when he has a suggestion or opinion. It works in reverse. I could listen to Jack reel off any old gobbledygook, just to hear his voice. Just to know he’s close enough to hear.

Once we’ve got out and dried ourselves off, we dress and the atmosphere noticeably changes. We’re not chatting easily anymore. I watch him while I blast my hair dry. He’s sitting on the couch checking his phone, but he’s not totally focused and there’s an air of despondency around him. I wonder what he’s thinking, seeing him look up blankly to the wall every now and then, lost in thought.

When I’m done and have gathered all of my things, I wander through to him. “Ready?”

He slowly stands. I can see it takes some effort, his body appearing weighted down by something. “Ready,” he confirms, slipping his phone into his pocket. He closes the gap between us and pulls me in for a hug, probably one of the tightest he’s ever given me. “I hate this part,” he whispers.

I smile sadly. Is he reaching the crossroad? Is he on the verge of making the move that will toss our secret, blissful bubble into