Come Undone (The Cityscape 1)

“Does it hurt?”

I puckered my lips and cocked an eyebrow at him. “No, of course not.”

“You flinch when I touch it.”

“A reflex, I guess. I can’t control it.” The room quieted, the only sound a pair of mirrored breaths.

“To protect you from your own mother,” he said finally. “I don’t know anyone who can do that.” It was an odd statement, and I wondered what he meant by it. Did he also have problems with his parents?

“Well, it was a long time ago. It never happened again. My dad left her the next day, and I went with him.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart man.”

“He is,” I agreed. “But she never got over it. She thinks we abandoned her.”

“What is it?” he asked gently, noticing my change in cadence.

“It’s weird to talk about. I haven’t in so long. I guess since it happened.”

“How? What about . . .” He hesitated. “What about Bill?”

I looked down at him. “Now you can say his name?” I let out a laugh, which promptly turned into a yawn. “No, you’re right, I forgot. Of course I told Bill.” How could I tell him that that wasn’t true without scaring him? That Bill had never asked? That I’d just shared with him one of the most personal things about myself that I hadn’t even shared with my husband?

CHAPTER 24

WHEN I AWOKE, I FELT the puffiness of my eyes, the unfamiliarity of the silky sheets under my skin, the raw stickiness between my legs. Hard, strong arms clutched me from behind, locking me to a strange body. Guilt flowered within as I remembered, but my muscles clenched at the memory. Before I could fully recall, David stirred behind me. His hand lifted my hair, and he touched his lips to the curve of my neck, causing my eyes to flutter shut and a moan to escape.

“Perfect,” he whispered into my skin.

My body tensed instantly and my eyes flew open. In the cruel sunlight, the darkness had lifted and all that lay there was the truth.

“Oh,” was all I could say as I lifted my body onto weak arms, carefully avoiding his stare. My eyes stung with lack of sleep, but my weariness was only physical. I looked at my watch, wondering how anything on my body could have survived the night before. Six o’clock. The shame weighed on me so heavily, that it had woken me up, not allowing me to forget for more than a few hours.

“I have to leave.” It came out coarser than I’d intended, but all I could think was that my husband would be flying back later. That, and the fact that I didn’t know how I’d be able to leave David in that moment. I was torn between this thought and wishing I had never come.

I let myself look at him then. The white sheets were pulled up to his muscled stomach, and his head rested back against his arm as he watched me. Matted hair fell over my shoulder, and I imagined that eyeliner had smeared around my eyes. He looked perfectly unaffected meanwhile.

“Stay,” he said, no pleading, just flat. I knew that if I allowed myself, my worries, my fears, my inhibitions would melt away under his gaze. I would melt away.

But I no longer felt adventurous or sexy. I just felt wrong. A dull pain began to throb behind my eyes as I looked for something to cover myself up. I heard David get up and when I turned, he had put his underwear on. His muscular body, now that I could see it in the daylight, was robust and ridged, and it took every shred of my willpower not to drag him back into the bed. He gathered up his side of the sheet and offered it to me.

Wrapping myself in it, I stood, and we stared at each other from across the bed. I might have expected that the electricity between us would diminish, even slightly, but it didn’t; if anything, it amplified as my body recalled the night before. I longed to submit myself to him again, to feel the weight of him on top of me. I knew without words that he felt the same; by the way he looked at me and by his twitching but restrained erection.

“Bathroom,” I said, shifting on my feet. He nodded. I quickly glanced around a bedroom that was all sunlight and whiteness, except for a wall of grey-shaded stone behind the bed. In the bathroom, I shut the door behind me. It was just as beautiful and immaculate as the bedroom, with more rock and a glass shower that overlooked the water.

I sat on the toilet and ran my hands over my face. I’d actually gone through with it. I’d betrayed, deceived, lied. And with someone like David, who’d probably done this a thousand times before. I wondered if he normally let women spend the night. At the thought, I pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes until I saw white. It didn’t matter; he’d gotten what he wanted. And hadn’t I? It was a moment I’d furtively fantasized about, yet my daydreams were nothing compared to the reality. The reality of his skin on mine, his length stretching and filling me. The reality of him working my body as if he owned it.

I shook my head hard. No. I’d done so much more than acted out a fantasy. I had a husband, and a family, and a life to answer to. What had I done? Something profoundly wrong. Something bigger than myself. Something that could never been undone.

I stole a quick glance at my reflection as I washed my hands. I was right about my smeared make-up, red eyes and tangled hair. The bruise on my face was ripe, but it didn’t shock me anymore. Did I look different? How did adulterers look? Would a scarlet ‘A’ appear, branded into my skin somewhere?

I wet my thumb and wiped the smudges from under my eyes. I raked a hand through my hair, starting at the roots. I needed a brush, I needed my hair to cooperate. It was the only thing within my control at the moment. My fingers stuck on several tangles, and I bit my lip to keep my crying out; underneath a slight wave had developed from my sweat.

When I opened the door, David was waiting on the edge of the bed in those disarming sweatpants. I leaned against the doorway.

“I liked the bedhead,” he said, jutting his chin at me.

“Nah. Left to it’s own devices, my hair would put me in an early grave. It does not know how to cooperate,” I said, tossing it over my shoulder.

“Well I like you that way. Disheveled.”

“David, last night was . . .” I let the sentence hang, wrapping the sheet tighter under my arms.

“It was,” he said, his head bobbing slowly. And then, “I meant what I said.”

“About my hair?” I joked.

“No,” he replied seriously.

“Then what exactly?”

“Everything. That I want you in my life. That I have feelings for you. That you’re incredible,” he said, a lascivious smile forming on his lips, the perfect partner to his tousled inky hair. “I want more, Olivia.”

My mind raced. Our connection only intensified once we’d given into it. For the first time, a question I had been battling broke through: does he actually care for me?

“And I meant what I said.” I needed to cut off the flow at the source. The conversation could not continue; too much damage was already done. “I’m not good for you. I’m, I don’t know . . . broken and - and married. Trust me when I

tell you, there is no other way.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then whipped them open. “You’re broken?” he asked with a look of disgust. “And you say you have nothing to give? How the fuck can you say that to me after last night?”

“I understand. Being with you last night was,” my voice hitched as I tried to find the words. “A release, and I don’t just mean sexually. But that doesn’t change the fact that I belong to someone else.”

He stood from the bed.

“Don’t.” I held up my hands, stepping back instinctively. His eyes narrowed into a closed face, and my heart tightened in response. He took a measured pace. “This isn’t how this goes,” I explained. “It can’t happen again.”

“Olivia.” It was a command; he must have known what it did to me. He reached for me confidently, gone was his moment of hesitation. He gathered me in his arms and kissed my wounded cheek, my neck, my shoulder. I cherished the feel of his lips on my skin, knowing it would be the last time. With that, I began to weep silently in his arms. This time I cried for what I was losing, not from guilt or regret. He held me closer and let me cry into his chest, his large hands caressing my back as the sheet fell to my hips. My nipples tightened against him, and I felt his equal desire hard against my stomach.

“Shh,” he whispered in my ear. He bent and kissed me full on the lips, pressing my wet face against his and sharing the tears. The slow and sensual tempo of his kiss turned urgent and deep. His hand slid down my back and under the sheet, massaging my ass and inspiring the fervor again. My legs quivered instinctively.

I’d been with boys before; I’d been with boys I’d thought were men. But this was different. David kissed like a man. He tasted, he smelled and he fucked like a man. It would take all the strength I had and then some. I understood now that I was the one who would have to be strong for everyone; for David, for Bill, for myself. It had been unfair to ask him to be. It was all on my shoulders.

“No,” I said resolutely and pulled away, drawing the sheet over my shoulders, hiding in it. I felt so small, looking up at him from under wet lashes.