I continue moving, savoring the friction between our bodies. It’s better than I ever imagined, so good I know I won’t be able to last much longer. Judging from the sounds Violet is making and the way she’s clinging to me, neither can she.
I grab her feet from behind me and put her heels in my hands. I rock her body back and forth on my cock so I can bring her over the edge first. Sure enough, she starts to tremble. Her body arches as she throws her head back and lets out a cry.
“Fuck!”
As she starts to tighten around me, I grip her hips once more and thrust my cock inside her. I only manage a few thrusts before my balls start to feel hot and heavy and my muscles start to coil. I clench my jaw and let out a few grunts as I bury myself deep inside her and release all of my pent-up desire.
I wait until she’s milked me of every drop and I’ve regained enough air in my lungs. Then I pull out. I leave Violet for a minute to dispose of the used condom in the trashcan, making sure it’s buried under scraps of paper. When I turn towards her again, she’s sitting in a chair, putting her panties back on.
Why is it that I find even that sexy?
I fasten my belt as I watch her put on her bra and then her dress. She seems to be having a hard time with the zipper so I help her.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
I realize it’s the first thing she’s said in the past several minutes—well, not counting the curse that escaped her lips when she reached the climax of pleasure. I feel like I should say something, too. But what? I normally don’t have conversations after sex. I just put on my clothes and leave.
Before I can say a word, Violet leaves the room without so much as a backward glance. I frown.
I’m glad we had sex. I’m glad Violet didn’t run away in the middle of it. And yet, for some reason, I don’t feel as satisfied as I normally do, which is strange because I did enjoy every second of it.
I run my fingers through my hair and scratch the nape of my neck.
What the hell is wrong with me?Chapter FourteenViolet
I can’t believe I did everything wrong.
I had a plan for the first time I had sex with Asher. I was going to be in lingerie, fresh from a shower. We were going to do it in his apartment. Afterwards, I was going to tell him that it was never happening again, that it didn’t mean anything and that the two of us should move on and try not to be a pain in each other’s asses any longer.
Instead, I made a grave mistake in assuming his house manager was his lover—seriously, what was I thinking?—we had sex in the conference room at the office—unbelievable—and then worst of all, I forgot to talk to Asher afterwards to clear things up.
Actually, I didn’t forget to. While I was putting my clothes back on, I felt like I had to say something to fill the awkward silence. I knew I was supposed to say something. What I forgot was what I was supposed to say. I just couldn’t remember any of it. Maybe it was because I was tired. Maybe it was because I was shocked that I just had sex in a conference room. Or maybe it was because my head was still spinning from that sex, that fucking amazing sex that I’d dreamed of for years. At any rate, my mind went blank, or more accurately, stayed blank—because let’s face it, my coherent thought processes turned off way before that—so I didn’t get to say anything.
Now that I’m home in my apartment and I’ve had a shower and dinner, my mind is clear. I remember what I wanted to say and I realize I still have to say it. I have to wrap things up neatly. Years ago, Asher and I didn’t have any closure. We just went out and then we didn’t go home together and we just stopped talking to each other. Maybe that’s why I haven’t completely been able to get over him. This time, we have to talk. I have to tell him that it’s over.
My mind made up, I grab my cardigan and head next door. No need to put on lingerie. I’m just going to talk. I ring the doorbell twice. No one answers. I ring it a third time. Still nothing.
I step back to check if there’s light beneath the door. There is. I press my ear against it but don’t hear a sound.
Maybe Asher’s not here. Maybe he left the lights on or they’re automated, but he’s not here. It’s Friday night, after all. Asher could still be at the office finishing work, or at the club. Or at a hotel sleeping with another woman, which for some reason makes me furious. How can he have sex with another woman just hours after he did it with me?