by Noelle Adams
“Yeah,” he huffed, his hips working urgently. “Yeah. Come. You can come for me. Fuck, you’re always so.... So good. So good. So good.”
I was right on the edge now, and I was chasing it eagerly. I was riding him from below with all my strength, shamelessly taking what I needed.
And Sean was giving it to me. In his motion, in his words, in the way he’d poured himself into this one act we were sharing.
My body clamped down around his penetration as I fell over the edge.
I cried out loudly as I came—no inhibitions left, not even the ones that recognized that we were in a hotel. And Sean was right behind me, as if he’d been holding out just for me. His exclamation of release was as raw as mine, and his body jerked and shuddered as he rode it out to the end.
It took a while for us to come down, and even then we still didn’t move. His body was hot and relaxed and heavy, and for some reason I wanted to feel it that way, feel how he’d taken his pleasure in me, found release in me.
But almost as soon as my body had softened deliciously, that knot in my belly tightened even more.
For the first time in the three months I’d been spending these nights with Sean, I wondered if I should have been doing it.
I hated myself for even asking the question. Sean and I had always been open and honest about what this was.
But John was who I’d always loved.
I’d been with John just over an hour ago.
And it was Sean who was panting against my neck, nuzzling my hair, pressing his weight into me, still buried inside my body.
There was something inside me that couldn’t be torn in two like this.
It wasn’t in my nature.
It might not have been wrong for everyone, but it was wrong for me.
I shifted uncomfortably until Sean finally heaved himself up and rolled off me.
I got up immediately and stretched out my hand toward him. “I’ll take that if you want.”
He took care of the condom and handed it to me, but his eyes were studying me closely, far more sober than he’d been before.
I escaped into the bathroom.
I sat on the toilet for a long time, rubbing my face and trying to pull myself together.
It felt like I’d made a decision.
It felt like something had ended.
Something I didn’t want to end.
I still had no idea what I was going to do when I stood up, washed my hands and face, and then went back into the bedroom.
Sean had put the bathrobe back on, but he was still stretched out on the bed.
He sat up as I approached.
“You okay?” he asked, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Yeah,” I told him with a smile. Until I could work things out in my own mind, I couldn’t tell him anything. “I’m good.”
I didn’t know if he believed me when he stood up and went over to his mostly empty glass of wine. He filled it back up with the bottle, and then he gestured toward my glass, which was sitting beside it on the table.
I shook my head. “I’ve had enough.”
He pulled his eyebrows together in that thoughtful frown I’d already seen several times this evening. “Really? You didn’t even finish your glass.”
“Yeah, I know. But I had a couple of drinks earlier.”
The words lingered in the air for far longer than they should have.
You see, there are these moments in relationships, in regular interaction with other people, where you say certain things. And on one hand, it’s just a normal thing to say, everyday conversation. But on the other, you know what you’re doing in the very back of your mind.
You know what’s going to happen after you say it, and you say it anyway.
Because part of you—even if it’s a tiny part of yourself you prefer to believe doesn’t exist—wants it to happen.
That was why I’d mentioned so casually that I’d already had a couple of drinks.
Because I wanted to say something.
Because I wanted Sean to know something.
Because I knew where this night would ultimately end, even though most of me didn’t want to actually go there.
Sean had grown very still, the bottle of wine still in his hand. “When did you have drinks earlier?” he asked at last. “Didn’t you come straight from work?”
“Y-yeah.”
He shot me a quick look.
I gave a little shrug, feeling surreally like I was reading lines that someone else had written a long, long time ago. “I had a couple of drinks at the bar in my building after work. What’s the big deal?”
“Why did you have drinks when you were coming here?” Sean still hadn’t put down the wine bottle. He was gripping it so hard his knuckles had whitened.
I gave him an exasperated look. “Am I not allowed to have drinks when I want to?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I had a couple of drinks with John,” I bit out. “Is that what you wanted to know?”
Slowly—very slowly—Sean put down the bottle. “You had drinks with the jackass. Before you came here.”
I made a frustrated sound. “His name is John. You know that very well.”
“And you had drinks with him. After work today.”
“Yes. I did.”
I was starting to feel a little guilty, and it made me furious. I could acknowledge to myself that it didn’t feel right for me to love John and fuck Sean at the same time. I was allowed to make that decision for myself.
Sean wasn’t allowed to make it for me.
Sean wasn’t allowed to have any say at all in who I loved or what I did with my body.
Sean wasn’t allowed to make me feel guilty.
We weren’t in a relationship.
We had a fucking contract.
I stood up and glared at him coolly. “What exactly is your problem? Am I not allowed to have drinks with who I want?”
“That’s why you were late?” Sean’s voice was still soft. Too soft. Unnaturally soft. As if he were reining in something powerful by nothing more than his self-control.
“I was only a few minutes late. You’ve been late too. So tell me exactly what your problem is.” I was clenching my hands at my sides and—ridiculously—I wanted to pound on Sean’s chest.
I’m a fairly even-tempered person, and I seldom lost control. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so angry.
Sean said, “My problem is that every other Wednesday you’re with me.”
“I’m here with you.”
“But you were with him earlier.” His green eyes had narrowed into something hard and fierce and breathtaking. “Did you fuck him?”
I gasped. “It’s absolutely no business of yours if I fuck him.”
“On these Wednesday nights it is.”
He meant it. He seriously believed that every other Wednesday evening was somehow sacrosanct, somehow belonged to him.
And it made me feel even angrier and even more irrationally guilty.
“No, it isn’t,” I snapped. “We signed a contract that states very clearly that we have absolutely no say in what the other person does outside this room. I can fuck whomever I want, whenever I want.”
“So you are fucking him?” There was an edge to his voice that was utterly terrifying.
“You’ve known I was in love with John from the very beginning. You liked that. You liked that I was in no danger of falling for your irresistible self and wanting more than you could ever give me. You liked it. That was why you wanted to do this with me and not with someone else. So don’t you dare act like I’ve sprung something on you or treated you unfairly.”
He just glared at me, breathing heavily.
“You can’t have it both ways!” I burst out, at the very end of my patience. “You can’t have a casual affair at your convenience and still act all macho possessive if I spend time with someone else.”
“I’m not trying to have it both ways. You can do wh
at you want, except on every other Wednesday night. These Wednesday nights are mine.”
Ridiculously, the last words and the rough texture in his voice made me shiver in primal pleasure. But I didn’t let it distract me. “Nothing about me is yours.”
These Wednesday nights are mine.
The words were still shuddering through me, even as I made my decision.
I released an exasperated sound in my throat at Sean’s frozen figure and angry expression. Then I reached down and picked up my skirt and sweater set from the floor where we’d dropped them earlier.
I was still wearing my bra and panties, so I pulled my top on over my head and then yanked up my skirt.
“You’re leaving?” Sean asked, his voice soft and rough as he watched me get dressed.
“Yes, I’m leaving. What do you expect?”
“So we have one argument and you decide this is over?”
“It’s not just one argument. It’s you acting completely unreasonably. It’s proof that things have gotten too complicated between us to keep fucking the way we’ve been doing. Neither one of us wants a serious relationship with each other, so there’s no reason for us to keep going through the motions.” I was bending over to put on my shoes as I talked.
“Going through the motions.”
For a moment it sounded like I might have hurt him, so I straightened up and gave him a quick look.
He looked nothing but tense and angry, which relieved a new sort of tension in my heart.
“So that’s it?” he demanded as I smoothed down my skirt and reached for my bag.
I sighed and let go of some of my anger. “Yes. That’s it. I think it’s pretty clear that this is over.”
As if he were responding to my release of anger, his expression relaxed slightly too. “Is that what you think?”
These Wednesday nights are mine.
“Yes, it’s what I think. It’s what’s going to happen.” I was more tired now than angry, and I was trying to hold back what felt like a loss. “I’ve had a good time with you. Seriously. But I think this thing has run its course.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think it has.”
That was all it took for me to tighten with resentment again. “It’s not for you to decide. I’m saying it has. I won’t be here two weeks from now.”
“I will.” Something strange had happened to his demeanor. I’m not sure how to describe it, but it was like he’d managed to swallow up all the passion raging inside him and put it back in its place. He was almost smiling now, ironic and confident and just slightly bitter. “I’ll be here, for when you change your mind.”
I let out a little burst of uncontrolled sound. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“We’ll see.”
These Wednesday nights are mine.
I couldn’t stop hearing those words in my mind.
I would have given him a proper goodbye and thanked him for the good time I’d had—for three months now—but his smug attitude was just too infuriating.
He thought he knew me.
He thought I was at his beck and call.
He thought I couldn’t do without the hot sex he offered.
He was wrong.
So I didn’t say anything at all as I slung the strap of my bag over my shoulder and walked out of the room.
Sean didn’t follow me.
He didn’t say anything.
His posture felt tense to me, but his expression was nothing but relaxed and arrogant.
And he called John the jackass.
I rode down the elevator feeling sick to my stomach and a little sore between my legs.
It had only been a few minutes ago when Sean had been moving inside me. We’d been as close as two people could get.
But only physically.
And that just wasn’t enough for me.
I wanted love. I wanted a real relationship. I wanted a man who could give me everything, not hold back his heart because it had been wounded in the past.
Sean could never give me what I really needed.
And I was tired of settling for second best.
Six
TWO WEEKS LATER, ON our regular Wednesday evening, I was resolved not to go to the hotel to meet Sean.
I’d told him last time that I wasn’t going to show up, and I was determined to hold myself to that decision. I’d even taken the precaution that morning of wearing my most unattractive underwear, ones I’d never want Sean to see me in, to ensure I would stay strong.
It wasn’t as easy as it should have been.
I wanted to go.
No matter how obnoxious and territorial Sean had been that one time, I had many more nights of his being smart and funny and sensitive and sexy to compare it to. I had very tangible memories of how good we were together—in bed and out of it.
Those evenings with Sean had been the most enjoyable times of my weeks, and after two weeks had passed, I was ready for another night with him, even though my mind and my heart knew it wasn’t good for me.
He’d said he’d be at the hotel like normal.
He’d said I would change my mind.
I could see myself doing so. Even as I sat in my office—an hour after I normally left so I wouldn’t be tempted to make a detour to a certain hotel—I could visualize myself getting up, walking the block over to the hotel, riding up the elevator, knocking at the familiar door.
Sean would tilt the corner of his mouth up with that dry amusement. Then he’d let me in and maybe make a teasing joke about how he’d been right all along.
We’d pretend the whole thing had never happened.
He would make me feel so good.
My body craved him—like an addiction. It somehow knew that every two weeks it got very special treatment from Sean, and it was expecting the same thing to happen tonight. I’d only been seeing Sean for four months. All the rhythms and pulses of my body shouldn’t have transformed and shaped themselves around our nights together.
But that was how it felt.
I wanted to be in bed with him so much I could taste it.
I fought against the desire though. I wasn’t going to cave. This was better for me. Prioritizing love and a real relationship, not settling for empty sex and a man who could never be who I needed him to be.
I’d miss Sean for a while. I knew I would. But I’d get over it. And hopefully I’d have a relationship with John to fill the holes Sean had left—and eventually give me so much more.
Things had been going pretty well with John. We’d been getting together a couple of times a week after work for a drink or a quick meal. I knew it wasn’t really dating, but it felt like a step in the right direction.
And at least John had never acted like any part of me belonged to him.
These Wednesday nights are mine.
Tonight was one of those Wednesday nights that Sean believed were his.
He was going to be surprised and disappointed when I didn’t show up.
I tried to be pleased by this fact, but I wasn’t.
It made me feel kind of sick.
I blew out a frustrated breath and tried to focus on the contract I was writing, but the words blurred before my eyes.
I wanted to stay at least one more hour so it would be clear to Sean that I wasn’t going to come.
He’d probably leave the hotel by then, so even if I messed up and accidentally made my way there, it would be too late. Sean would already be gone.
This was my plan.
Stay right here in front of my computer for another hour.
“What are you doing here so late?” The voice came from my doorway and surprised me so much I jerked.
I turned to see a smiling, handsome John Cooper leaning on my doorframe. Smiling back, I said, “Just trying to get some work done.”
“Something urgent?”
“Not really.”
“You want to grab something to eat?”
My heart skipped happily at the casual invitation.
It was perfect. If I was having dinner with John, there would be no way for me to forsake my resolutions and go to the hotel after all. And I also wouldn’t have to sit here any longer to work. “Sure. I’m getting hungry.”
I shut down the computer and got my stuff together before I grabbed my bag and checked for my keys. I’d been wanting to try a new Thai place nearby and was just opening my mouth to suggest it.
“There’s a good sushi place down the block,” John said as we headed for the elevator.
I smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
I don’t actually like sushi.
I know. I know. It’s an embarrassing admission. I’m just one of those people who is always off trend, no matter how hard I try to do the popular thing. It’s not even the raw fish I have a problem with. It’s all the crafted combinations of flavors and shapes and colors with dips and sauces I don’t like and ingredients I can’t recognize. It’s intimidating, and I never end up enjoying it—even though everyone my age loves it.
But I didn’t want to go into all that with John, who clearly wanted sushi tonight.
It would have been nice if he’d asked what I felt like eating, but he had every reason to assume I liked sushi.
Nearly everyone did but me.
We chatted about work as we walked to the restaurant, and it was crowded so we had to wait for a few minutes before a table opened up.
I scoured the menu for something that looked simple and easy to eat and felt kind of stressed when the server came over and I wasn’t sure what to get.
I finally picked something out from the vegetarian section and hoped I’d chosen well.
If I’d gone to meet Sean at the hotel tonight, I could have had a steak.
I quickly brushed that thought from my mind.
John had been telling me—in great detail—about a client he was working with. I was happy to discuss work with him since it was something we had in common, but the story was getting a little boring.
I made myself listen, though, instead of letting my thoughts drift in inappropriate directions.
Sean’s hands on my body.
Sean’s lips on my skin.
Sean moving inside me.
Sean making me come.