To Have and to Hate

by R.S. Grey

  “I’ll be late. I have a dinner meeting.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why does that upset you?”

  He looks like he loves the idea.

  Instead of stroking his ego, I do the world a favor and shrug indifferently on my way to his office door. “It doesn’t. I have work to do anyway.”

  He nods, though I think he can see right through my façade.

  I’m about to turn the knob and walk out when I look back to find him watching me, a knowing smile in place on his handsome face.

  Before he can see me taken in by him yet again, I rush out.

  Twenty-Three

  Back at the apartment, I stay in the library, focused on my work as I smooth out layers of pastels. Every now and then I’ll think I hear something—footsteps in the hall, the elevator doors opening—and I’ll look over my shoulder eagerly, disappointed to realize it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. The huge clock that looms in the corner of the library is horribly accurate, tick-tick-ticking the minutes away and reminding me that Walt still hasn’t come home. God, who invented time anyway?

  It’s only been a few hours, and already it feels like there’s a chasm between right now and everything that happened in Walt’s office at lunch. As if he did that to me years ago. I wonder if, after I left, he regretted how far we went.

  It was no small thing.

  My panties were on the floor of his office.

  Oh dear god.

  I toss my pastel back into its box and step away from the easel. That’s enough for one night.

  I clean up and prepare everything so I can get right back to work tomorrow. After, I shower and change into my silk pajama set, taking my time as I brush my teeth, stalling.

  How late do work meetings go?

  Are you really still discussing business if you’re out at 10 PM?

  These are the things I mull over as I lie in bed, trying for sleep on my right side, then my left side, then on my back even though I haven’t fallen asleep on my back…um, ever. My body is like, Nice try, roll over. So I do, and I stare out the window until finally sleep takes pity on me.

  I wake up when I feel the mattress dip behind me.

  Panic grips hold of me for a millisecond before I realize it’s Walt.

  I glance over my shoulder to see he’s sitting on the edge of the bed in his sweatpants and nothing else. He is very nearly the most wonderful sight I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Is that what you wore to dinner?” is the question my brain thinks to ask.

  He laughs and shakes his head. “I got home an hour ago and changed.”

  “Oh.”

  “I came to check on you then and you were already asleep, so I didn’t disturb you.” He shrugs. “But, apparently, I couldn’t hold out. Scoot over.”

  “What? Why?”

  “So I can lie down.”

  “In my bed?” It seems absolutely illogical.

  “Technically it’s my bed,” he says, shoving me gently to the side when I don’t immediately move.

  “That’s the pillow I like to hug at night,” I argue as he starts rearranging everything so he can situate himself beside me.

  “Okay well, I’m not going to just lie flat on the mattress,” he says, pounding the middle of the pillow before flopping his head down on top of it.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Why?”

  “Just…I don’t know. I just assumed you liked your space. I read a lot of books. Sometimes the surly men tell the heroines, like, No, sorry. I can’t sleep in a bed with you due to my deep-seated emotional problems. And then it becomes this whole thing.”

  “That’s…really specific. What kind of books do you read?”

  I blush in the dark. “Oh…just…the classics.”

  He hums and rolls over to face me. I can just barely make him out in the moonlight.

  “You can go back to sleep now,” he tells me.

  “As if.”

  He smiles, and his dimples slay me. Poof—I’m dust.

  “Are you going to stay way over there?” I ask.

  “I’m right by you.”

  “Barely.”

  With feigned annoyance, he reaches out and grabs hold of me, dragging me toward him until we’re all tangled limbs.

  “God, you’re like a furnace. Do you always run this hot?” I ask, sounding as if I don’t love it.

  “Do you always talk this much in bed? I’m starting to regret my decision.”

  I squeeze him like an octopus with every limb I’ve got. “Don’t leave.”

  “I’m not.”

  I force myself to settle in beside him and relax even though every nerve seems to be on high alert. I realize, slowly, that I’m touching him everywhere. One of my hands is resting on his naked bicep, which is nice and bulky. The other is pressed against his firm chest. My leg is sandwiched between his.

  “Doesn’t this feel so weird?”

  He groans and blinks his eyes open. “I was just starting to fall asleep.”

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll be quiet.” I turn and look up at the ceiling.

  He reaches out and nudges my cheek, getting me to look back over at him again.

  “Say it.”

  “Right. Well, it just feels so weird that we’re sleeping together.”

  “It’s simple, really. I wanted to be with you when I got home. It’s late. We need to sleep, so here we are. There’s nothing more to it.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t be quiet now if my life depended on it, truly. I’m buzzing. This is just totally wild to me. This morning I would have never in my wildest dreams imagined you’d be sleeping with me tonight.”

  “But are we? Sleeping, that is?”

  “Point taken.” I mime my fingers locking my lips and then I toss away the key.

  His eyes drift closed again, and I study him as my heart swells in my chest. I smile, realizing I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I think I could stay awake all night watching him sleep and still roll out of bed tomorrow feeling fresh as a daisy.

  I think I’m being sly about watching him, barely moving a muscle, right up until Walt groans in resignation, rolls up and over me, and pins me down onto the bed.

  I yelp in shock.

  He’s posed like a hungry lion who’s just captured his prey.

  “I could feel you watching me.”

  “I was about to close my eyes. Swear. Please don’t leave. Watch—I’ll sleep now.”

  I pinch my eyes closed to show my good-faith effort.

  The moment I do, his lips descend on mine.

  My eyes flare open again and he breaks the kiss.

  His gaze is narrowed, his brows furrowed in what looks like frustration.

  I don’t make a peep. It’s as if his kiss was a poison dart and now I’m paralyzed underneath him.

  Then, coming to some conclusion all on his own, he bends down and kisses me again, harder and longer this time. I part my lips and our tongues touch and sleep is officially off the table.

  Walt’s hands grip mine, keeping them pressed down on either side of my head as he leads the kiss, turning his head, deepening it until I’m softly moaning into his mouth. My hips buck up to find his, and he rewards me by pushing them down, pinning me to the mattress. My silk pajamas are the perfect complement to his sweatpants. The thin material is hardly a match for him as my thighs part and he settles between them, grinding and rolling his hips in a rhythm that pricks at all my suppressed desires.

  His mouth travels from my mouth, down my body, stopping on the side of my neck, then down to the dip of my pajama top. He uses one hand to tug the material lower, exposing more sensitive skin to his lips. I’m not proud of how weak I feel beneath him, how pliable I’ve become. I’m his in a scary way.

  He exposes one of my breasts to cool air and then hot lips, a roll of his tongue, and then I arch up off the bed, feeling so much all at once that
I cry out.

  He likes that. He likes to hear what he does to me, because he continues, moving to the other side, undressing me from the top down. My tank bunches at my waist as he shoves it out of the way, scraping his teeth delicately along the side of my stomach. Then, like he can’t help himself, he bites gently and my eyes squeeze closed. I’ll bear a light mark there in the morning from that. God, why is that so sexy?

  He talks to me while he moves down my body. Words spill from him almost like he’s forgotten I can hear them. Not complete sentences, just thoughts that will become branded in my memory.

  Beautiful.

  Fuck.

  Your skin…it’s velvet.

  Your thighs.

  This.

  His fingers dip down into my shorts, brushing right over the center of me. He finds my desire and it’s like a release valve; it makes him come unhinged. He sinks two fingers into me and his mouth finds mine again. His kiss is hot and impatient as he pumps his fingers in and out, picking up the pace, ensuring I’m ready for him. I could let him continue like this, and it’d be a repeat of what we did in his office earlier. I already feel my toes starting to curl, my body so anxious for another orgasm, but I want more this time. I want him to experience it all with me.

  My hand moves over his body, dragging down his spine and around his waist until I can brush past the hem of his sweatpants and boxer briefs and touch my fingertips to his hard length. He jerks in response and feeds a low groan into my mouth.

  I gain the courage to wrap my hand around him and start to slide up and down. His fingers still inside me for a moment as he lets me do all the work. His kiss breaks off and his eyes pinch closed, like he’s trying to focus just on what my hand is doing to him. I unfurl a victorious smile. I love this.

  He lets me work my grasp up and down him a few more times, pumping his hips to match my pace, and then, swiftly, he grips my wrist and stops my progress. His eyes open and his gaze snaps to mine. My smile fades slowly as he regains control of the situation, moving his hand out of my shorts and peeling himself up and off me. He towers above me on the bed as he drags his attention down my body. He acts like he’ll have me beneath him for the rest of eternity, like there’s absolutely no rush at all as he takes his time studying me. My skin flushes as he licks his bottom lip and drags his heated gaze down to where he’s pressed up on his knees, right over my hips. I follow his lead, taking in my flimsy top and hiked-up shorts.

  He starts to drag my clothes down over my hip bones and thighs, taking everything I’m wearing. I’m naked on the bed when he tosses my clothes onto the ground and steps back to look at me.

  I don’t cover up. I don’t even want to. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Not when I hold all the power.

  “I’ll be right back,” he tells me as he slips out of the room, only to return a moment later with a condom in hand. I watch him undress, tear open the foil, and fist his length, pumping it in his hand.

  I’m slack-jawed as I stare, completely and utterly turned on.

  He doesn’t even notice my reaction to him, though, too busy admiring me the same way. His gaze darts across my body like he’s a kid in a candy store, too overwhelmed to decide which treat he wants to lick first.

  He puts on the condom and then moves to crawl back on top of me.

  I gulp down a sudden frenzy of nerves.

  His gaze flits to mine with a question of consent. I reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck and bringing him down flush on top of me. It’s a yes spoken with my body, a plea for him to continue. His mouth presses to the side of my neck and then he drags his lips along my jaw and up to my mouth as he settles himself between my legs. I part my thighs gently, allowing him in.

  He aligns us and starts to press his length inside me.

  It’s more than I was expecting and my body tenses up on its own. He freezes and leans back to try to look at me. I don’t let him. I tighten my arms around his neck and kiss him again, relaxing my body, spreading my thighs more, giving in to the feel of him.

  He sinks in more and more, slowly, wonderfully, all the way to the hilt, and a deep moan rumbles out of him like he’s just found nirvana.

  He stays perfectly still inside me for a moment. I think he’s giving me time to adjust to him, and then finally, he starts to slowly roll his hips, pulling out a bit and then pressing back into me. He does it again, and again, each time building on the momentum more and more, until he’s thrusting into me harder and faster. His hand reaches down to grip my thigh and he moves my leg. He pins it down beside my stomach and looks down. It’s like he’s splitting apart at the seams—wholly overtaken by the sight of us coming together.

  I’m too primed from him touching me earlier to last long. I come once, all too quickly, tightening, squeezing around him. He curses and pumps harder inside me, dragging his fingers across my overly sensitive skin as if once wasn’t good enough.

  Once was a warm-up.

  He wants to coax another orgasm from me, and his thumb is working magic between my thighs, swirling and rubbing in spots that make me jerk with an onslaught of tingles. Then, as if driving his point home, his mouth lowers to one of my breasts so he can tease me with his tongue.

  And that’s it: the most delicious feeling on earth.

  I have no defense, no way to keep him at bay. A silent cry escapes as my body tenses and then breaks. I come again with my eyes closed tight and my nails biting into his biceps. I jerk with pleasure and Walt is right there, buried inside me, pumping hard and losing himself. We’re wrapped around one another, as if clinging on for dear life. His hot breath is on my neck, his mouth barely touching my skin. The blissful aftershocks linger as we catch our breaths, trying to piece ourselves together enough to let go of one another.

  He moves first, pushing up and off me, his gaze immediately seeking mine. He looks concerned for me, but he shouldn’t. That was…wonderful.

  I smile, and he responds with a lazy grin of his own.

  “Okay,” I say, with a friendly pat to his chest. “Now I’m tired. Good job.”

  Twenty-Four

  I’m smiling down into my coffee cup. Grinning like a fool, in fact.

  “Do you want some of these eggs?” Walt asks, drawing my attention to where he’s perched by the stove. He’s dressed in boxer briefs and nothing else. His hip rests against the counter. His abs are *chef’s kiss*. This is exactly what he ought to wear on a daily basis. No pesky shirts for this guy. Let’s burn all his ties right here, right now.

  “Elizabeth?”

  I stop looking at his abs and shake my head.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Toast?”

  I fight back a laugh. “You already made me cereal.”

  “And you’ve hardly touched it.”

  “I ate the first bowl you made me and then you added more.”

  “Right, well, if you’re hungry, let me know.”

  He turns back to the stove to tend to his eggs, and I return to biting back my smile.

  A moment later, he cuts the gas to the burner, loads up his plate, and comes to sit beside me. We’re side by side on the counter stools. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he scoops up some eggs onto his toast and takes a bite. He notices me watching him, and I smile instead of looking away.

  “What?”

  “I want a bite now.”

  He holds his toast out for me and I nibble off the corner.

  Last night, he and I both slept in my bed. I woke up approximately one thousand times, checking to see if he was still there. Once, I woke to find him sprawled on his stomach, half on top of me. Then again, hours later, I found myself tucked against his chest. At one point I was drooling on his arm.

  Once the sun crept over the horizon, I thought he’d insist on waking up and seizing the day, but we stayed in bed way later than either of us usually do, stretching and recoiling when an appendage would accidentally slip out from beneath the blankets.

  “It’s too cold,” I com
plained at one point.

  He groaned in agreement, burying us deeper under the blankets.

  Eventually, when his stomach was audibly growling, he left first, only to return quickly with one of his old college sweatshirts.

  “Does this mean we’re going steady?” I quipped, only to immediately hate myself for joking about something like that. What if he thinks I’m pressuring him for more after last night? What if he thinks this is my way of initiating “the talk”?

  Thankfully, he only rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Will you go to homecoming with me?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  I’m still wearing the sweatshirt, appreciating its warmth.

  His leg brushes mine and I don’t move away. In fact, I turn toward him just enough to ensure we keep that connection.

  It feels like we’re sitting here only playing at civility. Every now and then as he eats, I’ll catch Walt looking down at where the sweatshirt ends on my upper thighs. My pajama shorts are tucked under it, but if you don’t know that, it looks like I’m naked underneath. I adjust how I’m sitting, crossing my legs, and he clears his throat.

  On the flip side, I find it hard to stop watching him while he eats. Everything is beautiful with this man. The way he cuts through his food with the edge of his fork accentuates his arm muscles. His jaw flexes as he chews another bite. Oh my GOD, now he’s drinking his coffee like I’m not supposed to find that insanely attractive too?!

  I’m nearly panting by the time he finishes and pushes his plate away.

  I push my cereal bowl away as well.

  Then he sets down his coffee cup.

  I set mine down next.

  His eyes slice over to me.

  I turn toward him.

  “Should we—” I ask.

  “Let’s—”

  And then he’s dragging me up and off my stool and plopping me up on the edge of the counter like, Well, I’m done with one meal—on to the next!

  Our mouths connect in a passionate kiss and who fucking cares about coffee breath. I can’t even concentrate on any of that long because we’re already moving on. No simple make-out for us. We’ve been good for hours. We’ve slept like we were supposed to. We’ve eaten our breakfast and cleared our plates and now this is our reward. This. He breaks our kiss and starts tugging my pajama shorts down. At the same time, I yank off the sweatshirt and fling it clear across the kitchen.