by Laura Carter
“I guess your folks are pretty pissed,” is what I choose to say, of all the things I could say.
He laughs, hard. “I’m not exactly flavour of the month with most people I know.”
When I’m done laughing at the sorry state of affairs, I put my own mug on the floor and prop myself up on my elbow, resting my cheek on my fist. “Thank you. For telling me, being honest. I think I’ve waited a long time to hear it.”
He shuffles his position to mirror mine. “Don’t thank me for something I should have had the backbone to do years ago.” He reaches out to take my hand, and his fingers lock into mine.
“My head and my heart are having a battle of wills,” I tell him.
He takes his hand back. “Tell me about Little Princess. If you want to. I know that I have no right to ask, but I wasn’t there for you back then. If you’d like to tell me, I’d like to listen now.”
I bite my lip, unsure whether I want to open that box, but I close my eyes and tell him everything, from getting off the helicopter to the conversation with my father about him. From the first rumbling of pressure to jumping from the blazing rig.
“Eleven people died that night. Ten men, one woman. Their husbands and wives, their children, waved them off to work and never saw them again. Millions of gallons of oil spilled, wildlife killed, shorelines ruined. The company was on the hook for millions, which meant inevitable redundancies, and more lives and families ruined.”
My eyes are frosted with tears. I fight to keep them from falling. “My father set everything in motion to minimise the damage — clean-up, safety measures. He settled claims as quickly as he could to help the families that suffered. But it wasn’t enough for him. He only saw the ruin he’d caused. I don’t need to tell you his name was like mud in the industry. SP was on its knees. I was worried about him, so I left Rachel and moved back in with him. I’d been moving my things all weekend. I met up with Rachel for lunch, something nice after a manic couple of days. If I’d just stayed with him…” I can’t hold the tear that slips from the corner of my eye and rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “When I came home from lunch the house was so quiet, it was strange. I think on some level I knew it was off. Dad’s keys were on the kitchen bench so I knew he was home. I kept shouting for him, hoping he’d call out, but he didn’t. I checked his office and it was empty. I think I decided to take a bath, but I don’t know if it was something else that drew me to the bathroom.” More tears fall. “The door wouldn’t open; there was something stopping it. I started to panic, and I slid through the gap.” I hold my throat as it starts to tighten. “He was there, hanging from the shower rail.” I look at Clark. His red, clouded eyes make my heart ache even more. “I tried to take him down but I couldn’t. I held up his weight for as long as I could, but he was already gone. He killed himself for the pain he caused everyone else, and he didn’t think about how much he’d break my heart. Part of me hates him for it, and that… that hurts me more than anything.”
“God, Dayna.” Clark wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. There in his safe arms, my cheek against his chest, I let go. He kisses my scalp and strokes my hair until I’m ready to sit back.
“I loved working with my dad. It made everything so special to me, but now, the industry isn’t the same without him. It’s lost that lustre it used to have. Maybe one day it will come back.”
I go in search of tissues and come back to the sofa. Clark hasn’t moved at all.
“You should be my therapist,” I tell him with a sad, short laugh. “It cost me a lot of time and money to get to this stage with her.”
“You’re an amazing woman. Do you know that? You’re strong and smart.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Beautiful.” I watch his lips move and lick my own. “If I could turn back time…”
I dart forwards and press my mouth to his. He kisses me back, brusquely at first, then he grabs my wrists and holds me back from him. “Don’t do this because you’re upset, Dayna.”
“That’s not the reason.” My words are a leaden whisper. “I just want to be with you.”
I know I could wake up tomorrow and he’ll be gone. I know, therefore it’s my decision, my risk. I’m in control.
He kisses me so passionately my world spins, thoughts and feelings gone, replaced by only the awareness of his lips on mine. He lifts me, shifting me quickly and easily across his lap, my knees either side of his thighs. With my legs wide, my labia part, a small movement that generates an urgent need in my sex. I remember how he feels, how we feel together, and I want it back.
Or do I?
I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to think about waking alone tomorrow, or about his almost-wife.
Whom he left two weeks ago.
“Stop. Stop. We can’t. I can’t.”
We’re both panting as I sit back, a shift that rolls my pelvis against his stiff crotch. The bulge of his jeans is coarse even through my thong, deliciously so.
Jesus, I want him.
“Why is it the most fucking sexy women are the most goddamned smart?” Clark grates, dropping his head back and staring at the ceiling. The muscles of his neck are pulled taut and he looks… desperate. Desperate for me.
It’s one night.
I lunge at him, pressing my mouth to his. His hands move to my hair, fisting in the long locks at my nape.
It’s so wrong it feels right. Or maybe it’s so right it feels right. Whichever, I give myself over to him. In my kiss, I show him how I want to be taken. How he can take me. The kind of hot sex no other man has come close to giving me.
“Clark.” His name leaves me on a groan, straight into his mouth. He lifts my hips, pulling me further onto his crotch.
I grind against him, swirling my tongue around his in the same rhythm. A low, animalistic growl comes from him as he hoists me up. I grip his hips with my legs as he stands, his hands squeezing my arse cheeks, my hands holding his face as I stare into his magnetic silver-blue irises. My chest swells and my stomach does somersaults as he carries me to his room.
I’m crazy. It’s official. I don’t just need a therapist; I need pills, lots of pills. Or maybe even electroconvulsive therapy. Yep, that should do it.
He kicks the door shut behind us and presses me back against it, lowering my legs to the floor. I’m not in control at all, I’m completely out of control. He’s bad for me, but I can’t resist him. I can feel my eyes widen and fear set in. Even with the lights dimmed low, I can tell by his face that it registers with him.
I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but I’m not expecting him to stroke my temple and gently take hold of my cheeks. I’m not prepared for the tender look in his eyes. A look I know is reflected in my own. A look that slows my pounding heart.
“Stop overthinking, baby,” he whispers. And it’s just like him, the old Clark, the Clark I’m in love with. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear I’ll never hurt you again.”
“You’re making it extremely difficult for me to walk away.” My words are hoarse and betray the torture I feel inside, the complete contradiction of emotions.
“Good. I don’t want you to go anywhere.” He kisses me, slowly, with affection and strength, in a way that tells me I’m cherished.
I melt into him, my body moulding to his. He lifts me again, my legs around his waist, and rolls his erection against my cleft. My back arches, pushing my pelvis against him, raising my breasts towards him. He pins me to the wall with his body and squeezes my breast then bites me over the material of my dress.
Fuck it. I’m beyond help at this stage, anyway.
I lean in and bite his neck, partly because I want to have him, partly because I’m so fucking annoyed at my body’s ability to overrule my mind. He nibbles and sucks back, his lips delicious against my flushed skin.
“I forgot how good you smell,” he says, his breath hot, his words heavy.
He lowers my legs and takes my hands above my head, pinning me to the wall with ev
ery part of him as he rotates his hips against me.
I’ve lost all reason. I have no sense. Not even a little bit. None at all.
He turns me quickly so I’m facing the wall and rolls down the zip of my dress, trailing his mouth down my spine as he moves, bringing my breaths thick and fast. He pulls down my dress, letting it pool around my feet, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, drags my thong down to join it, bending to the ground and encouraging me to step out of both. He runs his fingertips from my ankle, up… up…
I gasp when his fingers stroke my centre. He presses his chest against me and puts his fingers in my mouth. I suck them, taking my own juice.
“Now tell me you don’t want to do this,” he says, before turning me roughly and ramming my back against the wall.
I yank his hair in my hands angrily and drown in his taste, the flick of his tongue against mine, the drag of his teeth against my lip. I push him back, peeling myself from the wall, and watch him as I undo each of his shirt buttons and draw my hands greedily across his lean body, which looks better than ever.
He unbuckles his belt as I push his shirt back across his shoulders. I reach into his jeans and cup his hard length, savouring the carnal growl that leaves his chest. He grabs my waist and turns me so I’m facing his king-sized bed. He moves behind me, his bare pecs against my back, and bends me over, my hands on the bed, my legs wide. Cool air caresses my sex and all I want is to be filled by him. He rams his fingers into me, making me cry out.
“Feel yourself, baby. Feel your clit. Let me see you come.”
It’s scarily easy. Just like it used to be. There’s no awkwardness as he moves his fingers in and out of me and I roll my own fingers across my wet clit. Everything I used to feel, the intensity, the fire, it’s all still there.
My legs start to tremble. My muscles clench, aching for more than just his fingers.
“That’s it, baby. Let go.”
I give in and let the orgasm I’ve been fighting take over my body. He holds my waist as my knees soften. “Clark.”
“You. Are. So. Fucking. Hot.”
He leaves me for a moment, and I stay in that stance, feeling bereft, my lungs falling back into steady breaths.
He takes off his jeans, and I hear the foil of a condom packet tear. It’s a sound that saddens me a little. We got past this once. But my body is too charged with the knowledge of what’s to come to dwell on it.
He holds my hips. His huge shaft rests against my arse, teasing me. “Are you okay?”
He’s not asking if I’m okay, he’s asking permission. “Yes.” The word is heavy and lust-filled, almost begging.
He drives into me with a noise that’s close to a roar. His cock strokes my G-spot as he finally fills every desperate inch of me.
God, no other man. Never. Not like this.
My mind starts to cloud, my thoughts incoherent, my breathing erratic. He moves a hand to my clit. I flinch at first, the bundle of nerves too sensitive, then I relax and let him take me back to the brink.
“Clark, I’m there. Come with me. Please.” I need it. I need him to be in the same place as me, with me.
He quickens his thrusts but keeps his depth. Each hard pound hitting exactly where I want him to be. “Clark!”
“Dayna, Jesus!”
He barks expletives and drives harder, once, twice, before my climax rips through my body. I feel him thicken and pulse, his fingers digging into my hips as he releases.
He slides out of me and gets rid of the condom then guides me onto the bed. I’m in a daze, unable to get a handle on what I’m feeling. Overwhelmed.
He lifts my chin and presses his lips to mine. It’s so familiar it cuts through my wayward thoughts and makes me smile. As he kisses me, he takes us both back up the bed, coming to rest over me, his weight between my legs a welcome presence. He hovers his torso above me, resting on his forearms, and his lips curl up, his eyes bright.
I’m afraid of what he might or could say. Whether it’s good or bad, I’m not sure if I want to listen, so I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. I get lost in his kiss, in him. And soon I’m squirming beneath him, wanting him again.
He moves down my body, nibbling my breast then sucking the end, pulling the tight tip through his teeth. My back bows, my shoulders pressed into the mattress, my fingers fisting his bedsheets. As he moves, I feel him harden again, and I roll my pelvis up, showing him that I want him. That I can’t get enough of him.
It occurs to me he should probably get protection, but I’m on the pill and… it’s Clark. Whether he thinks it too or not, he moves his fingers to my entrance and, satisfied that I’m ready to go again, he nudges my hole with the head of his rock-solid penis.
“I want to come inside you, Dayna. Nothing in the world feels as good as you.”
I nod, braced, but he surprises me. He slides into me slowly and strokes my hair from my face, watching me as he makes love to me so tenderly it threatens to burst my heart. I’ve been here before. I know the risk. I’ve felt the pain of withdrawal after succumbing to his potent drug. But this is right. It’s so right it couldn’t possibly be wrong.
I WAKE WEARING only a smile. The room is bright because we didn’t close the curtains, but so bright it must have snowed overnight. Fresh, glistening flakes. It’s hard to say which comes first, the dull throb in my head, the dry mouth, or the realisation that I was stupid enough to go to bed with Clark. Again.
But.
This is… unexpected.
His arm is wrapped around me, pinning me to his firm, warm chest. His nose is nuzzled into my neck. I touch my lips, pleasantly sore and plump from hours of being bitten and sucked. I think about the way he looked at me, not the first time, but the second and third time, when he made love to me.
But he’s looked at me like that before. Right after those looks and the feeling of falling irrevocably deeper comes the sight of his back running away.
He’s only just left his wife. Fiancée. Same difference.
God, I’m an idiot.
I peel his hand from my skin and place it gently on the mattress as I slip out of the covers. I can’t resist a glance at his fine torso. His hair is mussed from my fingers and the hours of rolling around in bed. If only it could last.
He stirs when I open a drawer and take out a pair of his lounge pants and a t-shirt. I tiptoe into the en-suite and take a shower. I can smell him on my skin. His usual scent mixed with sex. Hot and dirty.
I tip my head back under the spray and wash my hair. He slept with me. Not the sex part but the actual sleeping. He was open when we talked last night, more honest than I think he’s ever been with me. Okay, he loves Connie. But he’s not in love with her. That’s what he said.
Maybe? Just… maybe?
I’m smiling again as I towel-dry my hair in the mirror. I consider the lounge pants and t-shirt and think better of it. My intentions don’t require clothes.
I pull my hair across one shoulder and open the bathroom door, naked.
If it were possible, I’d think my stomach just fell out of my body. I should have expected it. I did expect it. But I let myself hope for a nanosecond, and staring at the empty bed hurts so much more because I did.
I only have myself to blame.
I’M GRINNING LIKE a kid who just found a pound coin from the Tooth Fairy under his pillow. I should probably be dwelling on a hangover or icing my stiff hand, but I couldn’t give a shit about any of it.
The jug under the coffee machine is almost full. I take out two cups and wait. Last week I felt like I was on the very edge of the cliff of sanity. I’d thrown so much away and couldn’t have the one thing I truly wanted. It was like I was standing on the tips of my toes and looking down to the rocky crash-landing below, knowing there was no way out. Trapped. But now…
As if on cue, my phone beeps again as I receive a text.
CALL ME.
I don’t want to hurt Connie; I never did. I just want to have this moment, not thinking about
the shit I’ll have to deal with when Dayna and I go back home as a couple. Jay will probably kick ten bells out of me. Or try. Connie, there’s no way around it, she’ll be sick over it.
I shake my head as if it might physically rid me of everything I’ll have to face. Right now, all I want is for this goddamned coffee to hurry up so I can go back to my room and the angel who is currently taking a shower. Hopefully, for a breakfast of that very same woman.
It’s almost comical how I’ve screwed this up so many times. Not this time.
Impatient, I pour what coffee has already brewed into the two cups. A drip hisses as it touches the hot plate. I head back to my room, coffee in hand.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
Dayna charges out of the room right at me. I rock back, saving the coffee but confused as hell.
She stands in front of me, her eyes clouded with tears that haven’t fallen. She stares at the cups I’m holding, then at me.
She thought I left.
My words don’t come quick enough. She runs upstairs, wearing my bottoms and a t-shirt, her hair wet. My mind is stuck in an incoherent frenzy. I just fucking stand, gormless, turning left and right, not knowing what the hell to do.
When my brain finally kicks into action, I dump the coffee back in the kitchen and bound up both flights of stairs to the top floor, three at a time, desperate to set her straight.
I tap a knuckle on the door to her bedroom, as if she’s going to invite me in. Then I go ahead and open the door. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed in front of the window, her back to me. She looks small in my t-shirt, and I have an overwhelming need to hold her. But that’s not Dayna. She’d take it as pity, and she wouldn’t want that.
I suddenly wish I’d put on a shirt with my jeans. I feel crushed enough without physical exposure. God, why didn’t I just wait until later for coffee? Of course she thought I left. That’s all she knows.
“Dayna.” I make a move into the room but stop short of going to her. “I went to get coffee. That’s all. I didn’t leave. I had no desire to leave.”