SIR

by R. J. Lewis

  “We go back, and it’s all the same again,” he suddenly whispers, breaking through the silence.

  “What is?” I ask breathlessly.

  He taps his thumb along the steering wheel. “Everything.”

  My heart is beating in my ears as I take him in. Aidan has the most haunted look on his face. I study him in the dark, chest squeezing tight because I want to erase that look. I know how to, but I shouldn’t dare attempt it.

  No, no, no.

  My fingers twitch, my body roars. Sympathy grows in the pit of me as I think of my Aidan hurting. He’s in there, and he’s hurting.

  My voice is winded when I utter, “Are you sad, Mr West?”

  His lips quirk up as he sourly replies, “That’s the thing. I’m not anything, Ivy.”

  I hear soft patters on the windshield, and I glance at the light raindrops streaking the windows. It’s a sign, isn’t it? It’s like that night again, the night in the rain, the night we held back even when we wanted more.

  It took remarkable strength then, but this time it feels infinitely worse.

  And, before, it was Aidan that held back, and I was weak.

  I give myself a sad smile because not much is different.

  I’m still weak. Still all feelings and little resolve.

  Slowly, I unbuckle my seatbelt before I can think of the many reasons why not to and climb over to Aidan. His body tenses as I settle over him—god, it feels good to feel his heat. His eyes are round and shocked as I sit on him, my center pressed into his lap.

  “Relax,” I whisper shakily. “I don’t bite, Aidan.”

  That shock wears off as I make myself comfortable in his lap, my movements uncertain, nervous. He doesn’t ask me what I’m doing—it’s obvious, isn’t it? He doesn’t tell me to get off, either. He stares at me, deeply and curiously, as I come a little closer and raise my hands. I’m shaking like a leaf as I rest my hands on either side of his face. My pulse quickens immediately at the contact. I rub my thumbs in circles along his stubbled cheeks, leaning in closer still. My center rubs against his cock—I can feel it through the pants—and his body stiffens again. His eyes flare as he looks into mine, and then his hands ever so slowly run up my bare legs. They stop at my ass and he grabs it, squeezing it hard in the palms of his hands as I drop my head and lightly brush my lips against his mouth.

  “Are you still nothing, sir?” I murmur,

  He doesn’t answer but his cock stirs beneath me. He lets out a soft groan, parting his mouth as I continue to brush my lips against him. They’re feather light kisses, harmless grazing of skin.

  There, I’ve touched him, kissed him, I should stop now.

  His grip along my ass tightens as he runs his mouth along mine in response. I part my mouth for him and trail my tongue along my bottom lip, wetting it. His lips make contact with my tongue before it slips back inside, and he lets out another groan in his chest, unable to hold back from kissing me harder. His tongue snakes into my mouth, tasting me, lapping mine in an erotic, languid dance.

  I’m sweating, feeling heat everywhere, and he’s stoking that fire by devouring my mouth, my sounds. One hand lets go of my ass and squeezes at my breast through my shirt. I let out a gasp at the contact.

  “Let me see them,” he growls, his voice feral as he pulls away to look at me through glazed eyes.

  “I want to see you first,” I resist, chest moving quickly.

  Aidan is too far gone to argue. He slides me down his lap just a touch and immediately unbuckles his pants. His breathing is ragged, heavier than mine as he unzips himself, removing his cock from his pants.

  Holy shit, I’m a goner.

  “Stroke me,” he demands edgily as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

  My mouth is dry as I look down at his length. I wrap my hand around his cock, fingers trembling as I stroke him slowly. I’ve hushed that chastising voice in me, focusing solely on this—us. He slides his shirt off and tosses it on the seat over. Then his hands are back on my body, gripping my hips to bring me closer. I drop my head back down and he ravages my mouth again, tongues clashing as he dips his hand beneath the waistband of my shorts and grips my bare ass.

  “Fuck,” he rasps out. “I want to see your tits, Ivy.”

  “Say please,” I retort.

  “Remove your shirt,” he demands, impatiently.

  I shake my head, stubborn. “You get to be bossy in the office, it’s my turn, Mr West. Say please.”

  He smacks my ass, sending a delicious sting of pain up my spine. “Please, Ivy. Fucking please, you infuriating creature. Please.”

  Wow, he said it three times.

  He isn’t playing about.

  I pause to peel my top off and throw it over his shirt. His entire body freezes beneath me. His hands come up to cup my breasts, and he holds them, his touch warm, fingers calloused.

  I eye him in a lust driven fog. “Was that worth the pleading, sir?”

  He grunts in approval. “Fuck, Ivy, you are perfect.”

  Then he drops his head to my chest and sucks each nipple slowly, tenderly. I jerk in response, letting out a soft moan as he worships my skin. I run my hand back to his length, stroking him. His hips jolt in response as he groans, holding me tighter still.

  The physical contact becomes frenzied and rapid. Our movements are awkward and desperate. I feel like a teen again, and I’m surprised that he isn’t as refined as he was before, like he too doesn’t quite know how to behave and is reacting purely on his urges. I grind against his thigh, stroking him quickly, and he plays with my breasts, running another hand down my body, rubbing at my pussy through my shorts.

  There’s a clear objective here.

  Getting there.

  I’m aching for release and he’s growing impossibly harder.

  I’ve adjusted to the darkness, but it’s still dark shadows and vague details. But it’s everything to me. It’s all that I want right now. To touch him. Feel him. Run my fingers down those familiar muscles, kiss his plump lips and taste him like it’s the first fucking time.

  No, taste him like I’m back in the car with him all that time ago, and this time I don’t plan on stopping.

  I’m weak.

  So fucking weak.

  “Fuck,” I groan, grinding into him faster, stroking him faster.

  Aidan.

  My Aidan.

  All mine.

  His hands come back to my ass and he helps me move. He slips his fingers under my shorts again and glides them along my clit, making me shiver in pleasure. Then he removes his hand and coats my juices on his cock, stroking himself with his hand wrapped around mine, helping me along at the pace he wants.

  “Fuck yes, Ivy,” he growls. “Fuck, I want you riding me…”

  I come impossibly quick, throwing my head back, the sensations overwhelming. I ride through the wave, vaguely aware of his mouth on my breasts, his cock swelling as he too stills in response. I feel hot come all over my thighs and hand. His groans are deep, ragged as he buries his face in my neck, teeth grazing against skin as he sucks at me feverishly.

  My body sags, my bones feel tired. I run a hand through his hair as he catches his breath. Aidan pulls back, looking up at me in the darkness, his hands finding my breasts again. He cups them, leaning back in his seat, unable to tear his eyes from my face.

  Now that I’ve gotten there, now that I’m sated and don’t have horny Ivy running the show, I feel extremely conscious. I’m extremely disturbed by my inability to control myself, too.

  I was desperate, like feeding an addict.

  Not my proudest moment.

  I lean over to grab my shirt, but his hand drops to my hip and he pins me in place. I sit back up as he grabs my shirt from the seat for me and helps me into it instead.

  “What was that, Ivy?” he asks, that sex tone of his making my skin heat up all over again.

  “That…” I pause, slipping my hands through my shirt sleeves. “That was me breaking through your apathy, Mr West
.”

  Yeah, sure, that’s what it was. I want to roll my eyes. That totally wasn’t me desperate for a taste of him—even if it was this form of him.

  I feel repulsed with myself.

  Did I just use him?

  Did I just imagine myself with the former version of him?

  What the hell was that exactly?

  “Did it work?” I ask just then, a gentle numb wave coming over me as I come to grips with what we just did.

  Even though it’s dark, I can see his face just fine. He looks relaxed, his face lighter. So much better than the glaring Mr West I’ve come to now know.

  “For now,” he answers vaguely.

  He helps me off him and back into my seat. Then he slips his cock back into his pants and buckles himself up. I toss the shirt at him, but he doesn’t put it on. He throws it on the dashboard and pulls out of the parking lot.

  We’re still breathing heavily, and as we get closer to the estate, the reality of what we did—what I did—sinks in.

  I chew on my nail nervously. This wasn’t the plan. What the fuck was the plan? I don’t even know anymore. I’m supposed to “bring him back” or some shit? But what kind of silly fucked up mission is that? I run a weary hand down my face. I feel like I’ve just put out to him, made myself easy, but fuck, he was hurting. I saw how haunted he was. He didn’t want to go back—he didn’t want to drown in his apathy.

  Maybe I helped him.

  I helped myself, too.

  Because I think I was trying to ease my own apathy at the same time.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he suddenly says, breaking through the tension. He glances at me as he drives up the driveway to the house, his tone soft, reassuring. “I took you for a ride, we stopped at a diner, blocked the world out and we got to enjoy ourselves for a little while. Don’t make it anymore complicated than it has to be, Ivy.”

  I don’t respond.

  How do I shut off? How do I just take it as we enjoyed ourselves? My emotions are involved. It’s not that simple. Maybe for him it was.

  This was a stupid mistake.

  Before he’s even shut off the car, I’m jumping out and making my way out of the garage.

  “Ivy,” he calls out.

  My steps waver as I look back. He shuts off the car and jumps out, hurrying to me. But when he gets to me, he says absolutely nothing. He wraps a hand around my arm and steers me out of the garage. The house is nearly quiet. Most of the people are gone as we slip inside.

  He lets go of my arm, his body still close to mine. I move to my suite, aware he’s on my heels, following me. I look once back at him—still bare chested, face in shadows—as I slip into the dark kitchen and stop at my door. I open it and step inside. When I turn, Aidan’s standing out front, a hand gripping the doorway, watching me, waiting.

  “What?” I whisper, nervously.

  “Invite me in,” he commands, voice as soft as mine.

  I gulp, conflicted. “I can’t—I’m tired.”

  “Are you playing hard to get?”

  “No.”

  “Teasing me?”

  “Absolutely not,” I retort.

  He’s silent, studying me in the darkness now, and the seconds drag. “Then that’s it?” he finally asks, his brows pulled together. “We had our fun?”

  The word “fun” stings. I blink several times, trying not to cry in front of him. I’m suddenly glad it’s pitch black in this pocket of the kitchen. That he can’t see how wounded that word feels to me.

  Stupid Ivy.

  You gave yourself over on a silver platter, quest completed.

  I suck in a breath, steeling myself. “That was more like a mistake, Mr West.”

  He continues to stare me down, his face turning cooler. “You sat on my lap, Ivy. I didn’t put a finger on you until you asked for it.” Then he adds sharply, “Begged for it.”

  “I did not beg,” I argue.

  “Your body did.”

  “It was one of us that said the word please, as I recall,” I retort. “Three times.”

  He casts me a cold smirk. “Is that how we’re going to be?”

  I don’t answer.

  I stare him down—or rather up because he’s just that much taller than me—as he icily looks me over, jaw tensing.

  “Ivy,” he says in warning, patience depleted as he tries once again. “Invite. Me. In.”

  And I could.

  And it would be so easy.

  But it won’t get us anywhere. Because this means nothing to him, while it would mean everything me.

  I swallow hard and say, “No.”

  His face slips, and I catch the confusion there as his brows pull together. He doesn’t understand—I’ve gone hot and then cold. I know how it might look—like I regretted what we did, and that’s true. Or he might think I’m being cruel and teasing.

  And maybe I should explain myself.

  “I can’t let you in,” I start. “I just can’t.”

  His gaze deepens. “Can’t?”

  “I…I had a weak moment. You were sitting there and looking sullen—”

  “Did you pity me, Miss Montcalm?” he bites out, jaw ticking. “Threw me a bone, is that what you’re saying?”

  “I felt bad.”

  “Ah.” He nods once, his face harder than I’ve ever seen it before. “So, you stroked my cock and let me suck your tits because you felt bad.”

  Shit. Not what I was trying to say at all, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth as I try to unbury myself from this epic hole of shitfuckery.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I try to say, and then he does something even more cringy. He waits. Waits for me to clarify. I do not have the gift of the gab, so I stand there, stumbling over my words. “What we did was a mistake—I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “What sort of girl do you think I mistook you for?” he asks curiously.

  “The kind of girl that can do something like this for fun.”

  “But you had fun. You enjoyed it. Or was it not as good as you hoped it would be? Did your pity soil the feeling?” There’s a bite behind the word pity, but he’s being careful not to show me the depths of his anger.

  “It was a good feeling,” I admit, hesitating. “Again, it’s not that I don’t want to touch you, it’s that…I can’t.”

  He still waits, giving me an expectant look like I should keep going, but I frown in response. “That’s all I have to say, Mr West.”

  He nods once more, this time to himself. The silence builds and it’s excruciating because he should be consoling me, telling me it’s alright and then leaving, but he doesn’t. And that’s what’s so fucking weird about this mess—he lingers. Aidan lingers, his body frozen in place, like he doesn’t want to leave, like it’s going against his instincts to do that.

  Finally, I see the hardness creep back into his features. He masks himself, jaw clenching as he nods one last time and steps back. He doesn’t say a single word to me as he turns around and leaves, his footsteps heavy and then distant.

  I stand still for so long, cringing at myself, wanting to bang my head against the nearest wall. I run a hand down my face, feeling pitiful. I think I’ve made this task that much more complicated.

  And just like that, I wonder something…

  What if that’s the boundary he waited for me to draw? I feel despair, like I’ve lost something. Like I could have let him in, and now I don’t know what sort of walls he will erect coming morning. How much harder will it be to get through to him?

  But…as I always say…

  “We have tomorrow, Ivy. Hang on.”

  Then I shut the door.

  Aidan

  I can’t sleep.

  My brain is quiet, yet my body is wound tight. What I did with Ivy took the edge off my yearning, but only for a short while.

  I wind up pacing the halls, trying to work a thought into my head, but all I keep seeing is her repulsion of me.

  She wanted me go
ne.

  What we did was a mistake, she called it. I feel a sting in my chest. Am I such a charity case that my assistant would go so far as to stroke my cock to help placate me? I made the mistake of revealing the depths of my thoughts for her—

  I look up, sensing presence nearby. I whip around, scanning the upper-level living room. I see a figure on the armchair. I feel his heavy eyes on me—the emptiness lingering in their depths in a way I am so familiar with. It’s ironic we have more in common than we care to admit. He will go so far to detach himself from me, as if spending my money is so appalling, he takes it as a form of weakness.

  Alex would rather live in the streets than take a penny off me.

  I approach him, shoving my hands in my pockets. I stand before him, and we stare at one another in the darkness. He will never speak first—he refuses to.

  “What are we doing, Alex?” I wonder, and I truly want to know. I want to get to the bottom of his hatred.

  “I am sitting, enjoying the quiet,” he mutters, vacantly.

  “That’s not what I meant.” I continue to study him. “Are we so estranged—have I damaged us to the point of no return?”

  Alex’s gaze hardens. “You remember what you were like, Aidan. Do you think one can look past that?”

  I frown, feeling a sharp tear in my being. “I would do anything to take it all back—”

  “Yet you’re still drinking, still being a jackass, still inviting women into your bed—”

  “I’ve invited nobody into my bed, and I’m not trying to be a jackass, Aidan. The drinking soothes me, just like it soothes you to invite countless women into your bed. Not sure why you’re admonishing me for the very behavior you partake in.”

  His lips twist. “How can you not know? How can you be so fucking oblivious?”

  I wait for him to expand, but he doesn’t. “How can I not know what?”

  Alex’s chest quickens, but he forces himself quiet, and I suddenly realize what he’s not saying. “Just tell me what I don’t know about my other life, so that I can stop trying to dissect these riddles. I’m in the darkness right now, can’t you see that? I’m confused—”