by JD Hawkins
“Anyway, it was always just sex. Even when I told her I thought we should stop, she seemed cool with it. Normal. I mean, it’s not like there wasn’t a line of guys waiting to take my spot. I moved on with my life. Back to working hard, having fun. A few more flings… And then…”
After a few seconds, I almost worry he’s drifted so far into his memory that he’s forgotten he’s telling a story.
“And then?” I say, gently urging him to continue.
“And then,” he sighs heavily, “the crazy happened. I didn’t even notice at first. I just thought work was getting busier—even though a lot of my clients had just disappeared. I thought I was just starting to lose track of my phone because I was getting overworked. I thought red Porsche Cayennes had just become really popular, and that’s why I was seeing them outside my apartment and everywhere I went… I was a dummy.”
“It was her?”
“It was her,” Colin says, grimly. “She’d been cancelling a lot of my clients—especially the kids with hot moms. Going through my phone, hiring a private detective to follow me. The worst was all the times she conspired to get herself alone with me. Private meetings, trying to haul me along on any business trip she could find, making me work late so that she could show up when everyone else was gone. She was all over me, all the time—and she had the power to justify it.”
“She wanted to get back with you?”
“No,” Colin says quickly, firmly, and with a raised finger to emphasize it. “She’d say that, perhaps. But no. She wanted to punish me.”
“Punish you?”
“Yeah. When I told her I didn’t want to continue ‘having fun’ at the workplace, it was the first time she had ever been told no. In business, in life, and especially with men—this woman had always had it her way. Connected parents helping her fly through the medical profession. Money and power allowing her to do what she wanted with people. Good looks letting her pick her men and how she wanted to use them… And then I come along and I commit the cardinal, unforgiveable sin of getting bored with her. You bruise an ego as big as hers and it doesn’t heal quickly.”
“What happened in the end?”
Colin breathes deeply and swirls his Coke around the glass like he can make it whisky via glaring at it alone.
“In the end…” he says wistfully, “I confronted her. Multiple times. Each time more heated than the last. Until finally I quit my job. And that’s it.”
Colin ends this by downing his Coke and slamming the glass on the table. He looks at me and smiles—except I can see how much he’s forcing it. His story might have ended, but his angst over it is still fresh.
“That’s really awful,” I say, as he turns and calls the waiter over. “I’m sorry to hear that. Couldn’t you have gone to HR about the harassment? Filed a complaint or something?”
“HR was wrapped around her finger,” he says. “My hands were tied.”
The waiter arrives with the bill and Colin hands his card over. I search my purse for mine. “Hold on a minute, we’ll go halves.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Colin says. “You can pay next time.”
I lift a brow. “There’s going to be a next time?”
Colin looks at me and then relaxes a little.
“Yeah. Okay.” He turns to the waiter and gestures at the table to indicate our specific dishes. “Can you put it on both our cards?”
The waiter goes off and gets the bill sorted while I awkwardly smile at Colin. Once we sign our checks, we get up and make our way outside. As he’s holding the door open for me, I step through and instinctively breathe the cool night air in deeply.
“Anyway,” Colin says as we walk slowly across the lot to my car, “the reason I told you all that was just so you’d understand why I maybe acted a little strangely. I suppose what happened just brought back a lot of bad memories for me.”
I laugh gently at it and shrug.
“I get it. Though I don’t think I’m anything like your old boss.”
“No,” he says, a new note in his voice. “You’re nothing like her.”
I can hear that he’s stopped walking, and turn to find him standing there a step behind me, looking at me like I’m a whole new person, as if he’s completely assessing me all over again. There’s a tight focus in his eyes that burns through me, making me feel a little dizzy.
I gulp so loud it’s audible in my own ears. A part of me wanting to shrink from his gaze but something about it forcing me to stand upright, to meet it head-on.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing like her at all…” he repeats, as he steps closer. “So what the hell am I stopping myself for.”
His hands move around my waist, pulling me into him, and though I put my arms against his chest, I don’t push him away. I close my eyes without meaning to, his touch bringing back muscle memories of last night, my body starting to melt and tingle. When I open them again, his face is so close the rest of the world disappears. His eyes intense and focused, the expression of someone letting their instincts take over.
“Colin…” I protest, but it’s so meek it only shows how little I mean it.
“One more time…” he whispers. A voice like the hard breeze before a storm. “Just one more.”
I can’t peel my gaze from his eyes.
“Just one more,” I answer, like I’m repeating a spell.
He moves his lips close to mine and I close my eyes, press mine forward, but he pulls back a little so they do nothing but brush. The faintest touch. Unbearable temptation. My breath quickens, and it mixes with his. Hot and harsh.
Our lips graze again and I lean into him, aching for full contact, desperate to taste him, to have him close the gap of my lust. My hands move up his hard chest, over his broad shoulders, sliding up the back of his neck. Fingers in his hair, trying to pull him toward me, only realizing how strong he is when I can’t.
His palms press against the curve of my lower back as he squeezes me in his arms, then drop down to cup my ass. My breasts against his chest. Quivering navel against hard abs. Hips to hips. I never like displays of affection in public—but this doesn’t even feel public, engulfed in his body, wrapped in his scent, consumed by his desire.
Our lips brush again, and I feel like I’m on a leash, hungry for more, what I want just out of reach. My tongue urging forward to taste, and then his mouth opening as he sucks my tongue against his. He tastes intoxicating, like sweet spice and testosterone. Now my arms aren’t pulling, they’re holding on as I melt into him, his hands sliding down into the back pockets of my jeans, pressing me so tightly I can feel his constrained lust.
Our mouths meet, tongues entwined, and I pull his hair, gasping as his arms squeeze me breathless. Our kiss deepens, the kind of kiss that satisfies and stokes appetites even more.
And then, in the middle of it all, a moment I could remain in forever, having set the fire raging inside of me, he does the cruelest thing he could do. He pulls away.
I open my eyes and see him a few paces away, smiling. He lifts his hand, dangles some keys, then starts walking to the car.
I push a hand through my hair as I come to my senses, aimlessly following him.
“What are you doing?”
He presses the button on the keys and it’s only then I realize they’re my own car keys that he swiped from my pocket. He pulls open the driver’s side door and winks at me before getting inside and turning the car on.
“Colin! What are you doing?”
He rolls the window down and leans out.
“Teaching you how exciting it can be to lose control, Doctor Taylor.”
“Oh no,” I say firmly. “You’re not driving my car.”
It’s my best school marm tone. One that usually gets everyone from unruly kids to overwhelmed parents in line. But on Colin it just provokes him further.
The car shoots out of the spot at high revs. I let out a yelp and watch him, frozen by shock as he spins the car at the end of the lot and tu
rns back, stopping with the passenger side door in front of me. Leaning over, a big mischievous grin on his face, he laughs like a maniac and says, “Come with me if you want to live.”
Maybe it’s the laugh, maybe it’s sense of illicit pleasure still vibrating my bones, maybe it really is just the rare thrill of giving up control, but I can’t stop myself from laughing along with him. He’s crazy, and reckless, and if I was thinking straight I’d tell him to get the hell out of my car and never talk to me outside of work hours again. But then… I’ve been thinking straight all my life, and this seems so much more fun.
“You’re insane,” I say, pulling open the door and getting inside.
The second my seat belt clicks, he pulls away—and now it’s his turn to show off, whipping the car tightly into the corners and revving it into the red. I grip the side of my seat, the car door armrest. I feel my heart race faster than the engine, a mixture of adrenaline and euphoria pumping through me as he attempts overtaking and turning maneuvers even I would only try when I was feeling ambitious.
My car, like an extension of my own body, that I know better than most of my friends, and he’s at the wheel, manipulating and pushing it as far as he can. Throwing both of us back into our seats with thrilling speed. My excitement tinged with lust, my lust lined with danger, doubling it, amplifying it, until I can’t tell where eroticism ends and the fear of it all starts.
My body tense, senses heightened, the knot inside of me being pulled, the beginnings of something sexual. A carnal fire rising from the parts of me I spend so long neglecting—until I realize his hand is only on the gearshift when he needs it. The rest of the time it’s on my leg, pressing up between my inner thighs, squeezing me through my jeans, stroking me until I feel swollen with built-up craving.
I’m helpless to it. Unable to pull my focus from the road ahead, my hands gripping the car to keep me steady. I’m moaning in the seat, head tilted back, grinding hard against his fingers. Overwhelmed by the excitement, the thrill, the feeling of giving everything to him, giving in completely to his touch.
I could come right now. My senses spinning out of control, the urges inside of me so intense it’s only a matter of time before they win the battle over my mind. The last dregs of self-discipline overheating to keep my own body under control. I hold on, and hold on, and hold on, until I’m closing my eyes tight and I’m not even sure why anymore.
And then we stop. My head spinning and my body burning, I open my eyes to find that we’re in an underground parking lot. Groggily I turn to Colin, who’s not smiling anymore—mischievousness replaced with purpose.
“This is my place,” he announces slowly, like a promise. “Come on up.”
13
Colin
I go around the car and open Mia’s door, taking in her dazed look, the way she licks her lower lip. She wants this just as bad as I do. When I reach out a hand, she takes it, stepping out with hungry anticipation in her dark eyes.
She’s incredible. The tatty jeans and simple T-shirt only make it more obvious. On any other girl they’d hide beauty, but on Mia they only accentuate the statuesque line of her posture, the delicate prettiness of her neck, the sensuality of her round, high breasts. The hurried ponytail hides her manic hair, but emphasizes the perfect triangle of her jaw, the tenderness of her ear, the straight line of her sultry brows.
I shut the car door and lead her by the hand to the elevator, looking back at her. The worst thing about getting this close to her, touching her, is that I can’t turn away, can’t maintain any semblance of self-control in all of her magnificent presence.
The elevator opens and I pull her inside. Her back to my chest, my arms around her front, my tongue tasting the skin of her neck as she bends back into me. Earlobe between my teeth and she hisses out a breath. Her hand raised to my face, scratching my stubble, clawing at my hair.
One more time I told her, but I was really trying to convince myself.
One more time because once wasn’t enough. One more time because the threat of losing everything is worth it. Because the danger of fucking my life up all over again is nothing compared to the taste of her skin and the sound of her moans.
She’s turning me into the old me. The reckless brute who acted before thinking. The animal who let his urges make the decisions his mind told him were bad. Her ass pushing back against my hard cock, her hands holding my palms against her breasts, making me unlearn all the lessons of my mistakes. Fuck it—she’s a mistake worth making.
The elevator doors open and I move to the door of my apartment. As I lean a little to unlock it, she runs her hands over my back and down my torso, tugging at my belt buckle. I push open the door and she follows me inside, eyes flickering over me as a slow smile stretches her perfect lips.
“Wow. This is nice,” she says, stepping into the living room and taking it all in.
My apartment’s big but simple. I’d hopped around a bunch of places before buying this one as a stopgap, and ended up staying here when the rest of my life fell apart. A big living room with a vaulted ceiling and a gas fireplace, small office, master bedroom in the back with an attached luxury bath, and a kitchen with top of the line appliances, though I don’t use it much. There’s Swedish pine furniture. A wall-mounted TV. A couple of Turkish rugs since I like to walk around barefoot, and windows with a decent view across the city, snow-capped mountains in the distance. I’m a minimalist, but what I do own is quality.
As Mia looks around, I use the time to study her body once more. I’m already hard enough to crush rocks, and feeling wild enough to shove her up against the wall and snatch my desire rather than satisfy it. It takes the last of my willpower to hold back and instead move to the kitchen where I pour myself a little whisky.
“You want anything to drink?”
“Colin…” she says, stepping to the other side of the counter. “Maybe we should—”
“Gin and tonic it is then,” I say, fixing it up for her as she settles on the stool by the counter.
Once I’m done I put it in front of her and she picks it up. I lean on the counter, she leans over the other side, and we clink glasses as we hold each other’s gaze and sip. I can see her smile in the crinkling of her eyes. There’s a moment of profound connection, a sense of utter lucidity as we look at each other. No bullshit. She doesn’t make another fake protest, I don’t say anything either. We look at each other in full honesty—two people who can’t resist, who have no reason to resist. Another sip. Another meaningful gaze.
I put my glass down and slowly reach across the counter. She stills as my hand goes around her head to the ponytail at the back. Gently, I pull out her hair tie, unleashing those red curls. She relaxes a little and smiles, shaking it all out. I push my hands through it a few times, letting it fall over her shoulders, her face, and then pick my drink back up and appreciate the view. She bites her lip, and though I don’t show anything, it drives me wild.
I’ve known many different types of women, from many different types of places, but none of them quite like Mia. She’s rare, not a type. Drop-dead gorgeous but unaware of it. Razor smart but not at the expense of compassion. Confident, determined, and talented—but only when somebody else is the focus. There’s too much there for me to have been satisfied with one night, and I knew it even as I was leaving. I’m breaking all the promises I made to myself right now, but somehow the idea of just letting her go, allowing our relationship to drift back into professional, sexless amicability feels even worse. When I’m with her, I feel…right.
“So…” she says, getting down to the last drops of her glass. “Do you really think that I’m a control freak?”
I can’t hide a little smirk as I fill her glass and mine again, then round the counter to be near her. I put my arm around her lower back as I lead her to the couch. Her arm goes around mine. We fit together well, move together like a couple of dancers who’ve spent a lifetime waltzing.
“I think…” I say the words slowly, with all
the time in the world, wanting to relish every second of tonight, “I think that…”
I settle on the couch and grab the remote to put some music on. Nothing complicated, a slow, gentle piano. She settles next to me, body facing me, knee up between us. I dim the lights until there’s just enough to accentuate the lines of her pretty face, to see the slight wetness in her lips.
“I think that… You need to let go a little if you want to really enjoy yourself.”
She sips through a smile, then says, “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” I say, reaching over to put my fingers in her hair again. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t even get her usual nervous stiffness. Instead she starts to press the side of her face against my palm.
“And what about you?” she says as my fingers stroke the back of her neck, thumb against her temple. “Always so smooth and confident. Always knowing what to say… You talk about me always having a grip on myself, but I’ve seen how women at the hospital throw themselves at you—you must have some pretty good self-control.”
“Yet here I am,” I say. I take a sip of my drink, and draw the back of my fingers down her neck, enjoying the little shudder in her skin. I shake my head slowly. “No. My problem is that I can’t control myself—your problem is that you can.”
Once again the air is thick between us, every movement and every small sound amplified a hundredfold, our bodies tuned in to each other, on the same frequency. She shifts, and I can tell it’s warm between her thighs, her body prickling with anticipation. I hear my own deep, heavy breathing now, and feel the hard desire inside of me manifesting.
Our faces draw closer unconsciously, inevitably, neither of us deciding to go for a kiss, but anything else seeming impossible. But it’s not like before. It’s not the passionate stealing of a moment, not a fever of furious desire. Our lips meet tenderly and softly, the slow tasting of something fine and delicate. Mouths heavy with alcohol and thirst. Lips meet, part, then meet again, and when we part once more she has my bottom lip between hers, sucking gently, until I come back and nibble hers.