Those words tip him over the edge. He falls forwards, his body covering mine, and then with one more roll of his hips he is done. I imagine him spurting hot and thick inside me, as his breathing thickens in my ear and his weight pins me onto the bed.
We lie there in silence, waiting for the world to right itself. And it’s then that I notice something. Lucas notices it too, and he pushes himself up on his elbows, staring down at me with shocked concern. ‘Meredith?’
‘It’s nothing,’ I say, but my voice comes out as a choked sob that says otherwise. ‘Really. I’m fine.’
‘Then why are you crying?’
I swallow, blink fast and hard. ‘Because you make me so happy.’
Chapter Seven
We spend the rest of the weekend locked in our own personal bubble of sexual happiness, and by the end of it we’ve fucked in every room of my flat and Lucas looks exhausted. He lies back on the sofa with a groan after we’ve eaten too much takeaway pizza. ‘You’ve worn me out, woman,’ he says. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it is trying not to come? And my arse hurts.’
‘I wouldn’t have had to spank you if you’d behaved yourself,’ I point out. ‘I told you not to do it, but you wouldn’t listen.’ We both know he got dressed on purpose, after I’d told him I expected him to stay naked for the entire weekend.
‘I’m young and foolish,’ Lucas points out. ‘I’ve still got a lot to learn.’
So have I, I think to myself, as he pulls me down onto the sofa and we snuggle up close. But I don’t say it out loud. It would spoil the moment, shatter the illusion of this game we are playing. Lucas accepted his desires a long time ago. I am still trying to come to terms with mine. I still can’t believe that I spanked him again, or that I enjoyed it, or that he did, or that I then rode him long and hard until we were both satisfied.
I can’t quite get my head around how normal all this feels. Or any of the other things that I am feeling, for that matter. It seems, despite my plans to the contrary, that I have fallen for Lucas Brady. I don’t know when it started, but I suspect that it was long before this weekend. All we’ve done over the past two days is make the feelings stronger, more defined, and quite possibly permanent.
Now I need to work out what the hell this means, and where the hell we go from here. What the hell are you supposed to do when you’ve fallen in love with a man ten years younger than you, who can’t possibly want all the same things you do?
Keeping it to myself is not an option, though. If I’d been honest with myself about my marriage, maybe it would have ended before my ex trampled my self-esteem into the dust. Maybe Lucas will run away screaming, but if he does, it’s better that it happens now than a month from now, when I am even more in love with him. I snuggle closer, loving his warmth and the clean, reassuring scent of him that makes me feel that what we’ve been doing is normal, not strange and dirty.
‘Are you going to get all weepy on me again?’ he asks. ‘Because I feel you should give me some sort of warning if you are, so I can put on a more absorbent shirt.’
I slap him on the thigh.
‘Ow,’ he says. Then there’s some tussling, and some more slapping, and some more happiness. A pair of discarded stockings and a little light bondage may be involved. Before I know it, it’s Monday morning and I am taming my hair and pulling on my suit, getting ready for the office. Lucas has gone home to do the same.
I suggested he could get ready over here, but as he pointed out, we do actually need to get ready, and not just play around. It pains me to say that he was the more mature one, but it’s true. I dress myself on autopilot, slick on mascara, spritz my wrists with perfume, then check my reflection in the mirror, wanting to make sure that I look like a professional thirty-something woman and not the complete ditz that I feel inside. Everything is as it should be, but something about me has changed. My skin looks pinker, my eyes brighter. I look…smug.
I wonder if anyone at the office will notice and then decide that I don’t give a damn if they do. I leave my building at exactly the same time as Lucas leaves his, and he crosses the street to walk beside me. He links his fingers through mine and we walk hand in hand, and it all feels so comfortable.
I never felt like this with my ex-husband, not even when we were first together, and certainly not when everything ended ten years later. I married him because he asked me, because my family approved, because he ticked all the boxes. Or at least, he ticked everyone else’s boxes. But being married to him did make me realise one thing. I want to be married. I want someone to share everything with, to make children with. I want all the things that I never had in that marriage, where I never felt this sense of belonging, of fit. I never felt like myself. But Lucas Brady makes me feel that way, even though he’s the last person I would expect to have that effect on me.
I wonder if he feels the same way. I glance across at him, wondering if I should broach the subject, but then I see him, with the sun shining off his dark hair, his bag slung across his back, his sexy take on smart, and I lose my nerve. I’ll get it back, I tell myself. Later, when I’ve got him completely at my mercy. Maybe I’ll make him kneel at my feet and paint my toenails as I gorge myself on chocolate. Or maybe I’ll tie him to one of the chairs in the kitchen and make him watch as I use my vibrator on myself. I spend the rest of the day distracting myself with increasingly outrageous plans, and when my phone buzzes at half past three, I’m only half paying attention when I pick it up.
‘Meredith.’
‘Mr Banks!’
‘Please, call me Martin. I hope you’re still on for our date tonight?’
Shit. ‘I…er…absolutely. Yes. I’m looking forward to it,’ I lie. I make a few more cheery noises, then I put down the phone. I rest my head in my hands. I’d completely forgotten about it. Now I have to find some way through it that will end up with Martin Banks being happy that nothing is ever going to happen between us. Preferably with him being so happy that he gives me a raise. After all, I’ve done a lot for this company. The previous receptionist wasn’t exactly what I’d call a hard worker. Judging by the disorganised mess that I took on when I first started working here, she answered the phone if she felt like it and occasionally scribbled illegible things on pink post-it notes and that was about it. Everything runs like clockwork, now. And it does so right until five-thirty, when Lucas strolls over to my desk and asks if I’m ready to leave.
He looks so gorgeous, so hopeful, that I am seriously tempted to send him straight to the stationery cupboard so that we can continue our erotic education here and now, but I don’t. ‘I can’t see you tonight,’ I tell him. I can’t look at him as I say it. I pick up a pen and fiddle with it. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Oh,’ he says, in that way that lets me know he thinks we’re playing.
‘No, I mean it, Lucas. I can’t, not tonight.’
‘Oh,’ he says again. ‘Right.’ I can hear the disappointment in his voice, and it crushes me. He lingers by my desk for a moment, as if he’s waiting for me to explain. I probably owe him that, but I can’t bring myself to tell him that I’m going out for dinner with another man. I don’t want him to think that I’m not serious about him, that I’m messing him around. It’s better if I keep it to myself. It’s not like it is going to be anything more than a one-off, anyway. I’m not going to go home with Martin Banks. I’m not going to fuck him.
‘I’ll see you later,’ I say to Lucas, dismissing him. I can see the door to Banks’s office starting to open. I have to get rid of Lucas before Martin gets here. I don’t want to have that conversation. Nor do I want Martin to know that I’ve been sleeping with Lucas, not yet, not until I know where Lucas and I are heading. The door to Martin’s office opens wider and I realise that I have two choices. I can either sit here and wait for the inevitable to happen, or I can take charge and take myself out of the equation. It’s five-thirty. My working day is done. I’m entitled to clock off.
So I do. I grab my bag and my jacket and with a qu
ick nod to Lucas, I’m gone. By the time I make it outside, I’m kicking myself for what I’ve done. But I’ll make it up to Lucas tomorrow, I swear I will. He’ll understand. Maybe I’ll even be able to persuade him that it was a game after all.
I go home, shower and change, put on a little black dress. When I go downstairs, I find an envelope on the mat. It’s addressed to me in a Lucas’s familiar black scrawl. I open it up, pulling out the letter inside right as Martin Banks pulls up in his sleek silver Merc. I wave, open the door and step out into the street. He leans across to open the door for me and I slide into the seat, tucking my bag between my knees. I’m so distracted that I even accept the kiss he plants on my cheek without question.
Meredith, the note says. I know that you’re going out with Martin Banks tonight, and I wanted you to know that I understand. He is a much better match for you than I am. I’m too young for you, for starters. I don’t have a decent car or my own house, and I haven’t been running my business long enough to call it successful. I just wish that you had made it clear that you weren’t serious before we got involved. I guess I was stupid to think we might have something special. I wish you all the best.
Take care.
Lucas.
Oh, god. Oh, my fucking god. I reach for the door handle but Martin is already pulling away from the kerb. I glance up towards Lucas’s building as the car moves swiftly along the street, and I can see him framed in his window, watching me go out with another man.
My heart cracks. I can feel it, an actual physical pain. I’ve hurt him, I know I have. I made too many assumptions without actually bothering to talk to him, to find out what was really going on. I spent too much time thinking about myself, about my wants, that I didn’t spend any thinking about Lucas. What have I done? I have to go back and fix this.
I glance across at Martin, ready to tell him to stop the car, and the words stick in my throat. I need my job. I have bills to pay, rent, adult responsibilities. I didn’t exactly walk away from my divorce with a house and a car and a generous monthly allowance.
But if I let this continue, I’m potentially sending Martin down a road I have no intention of ever following him down. He’s a nice man, reasonably attractive. He will make a reliable, sensible husband, I’m sure of it. But I don’t want him. I want Lucas. He is all I want. And I can’t do this to him. I won’t.
‘I’m sorry, Martin,’ I say. ‘I…I don’t think this is a good idea.’ Even though I’ve been carefully flirting with him for months. Even though this situation is entirely of my own creation, and a couple of weeks ago was exactly what I wanted.
Even though this could make things very, very difficult for me at work.
‘Excuse me?’ he asks, distracted by the traffic.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ I say again. I could feign illness, say I’ve got a stomach ache and can he take me home. But then there will be another day like this. At some point, I have to be honest about what I want. About what I really want.
He eases to a halt at the traffic lights, puts the handbrake on.
‘I’m sorry, Martin,’ I say. ‘But I’m not sure we should be doing this. You are my boss, after all.’
He turns to me, grins. ‘That’s makes it all the more fun, don’t you think?’
No, I don’t think. What I know is that it’s time for me to take charge of my life, to really take charge. Until I do, I’m going to keep on ending up in situations I don’t want to be in. I need to stop being afraid to say what I want. It’s what kept me in a miserable marriage for ten years. It’s what is keeping me away from Lucas right now.
‘I’m seeing someone else,’ I blurt out. ‘It’s new, but I think it might be serious. So you see, Martin, I can’t start anything with you.’
‘It’s only dinner, Meredith.’
But it’s not. Not to me, anyway. ‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to start anything with you, Martin. You’re a nice man, but I don’t think we’ve very compatible.’
‘You don’t know unless you try,’ he says smoothly, putting the car back into gear.
‘Would you let me tie you to the bed and spank you with a hairbrush?’ I ask him.
‘Pardon?’
‘Would you let me have complete control?’ I turn in my seat. ‘Because that’s what I require in a man, Martin.’
‘Oh,’ he says, choking out a laugh. ‘I didn’t realise you were such a ball breaker, Meredith.’
And that’s when I finally understand how much Lucas has done for me. How much he means to me. Because he doesn’t laugh at my desires, doesn’t turn them into a joke. He accepts them. Understands them. Encourages them. And I have to tell him how I feel about him. I have to fix the hurt that I’ve caused.
‘That’s me,’ I say. ‘Queen of the ball breakers. So while yours are still intact, would you mind taking me home?’
Martin raises an eyebrow. And then, to my shame and relief, he laughs again. ‘Wouldn’t want to argue with Miss Whiplash.’
He takes a left, starts back towards my street. So this is how my life is going to be at work from now on. A constant round of jokes. But jokes I can take. The thought of being without Lucas is unbearable. When Martin rolls to a halt outside my building, I am out of the car before he can even say goodbye. I slam the door shut, dash across the street to Lucas’s building and ring the buzzer for his flat.
I ring. And ring. And ring. Eventually, I am forced to accept that he is either ignoring me or he isn’t in, neither of which offers me any comfort. I have no choice but to make my way back over to my own flat. I stumble into my bedroom and sit down on the bed, facing the window, and wait.
I wait as the sky darkens and the streetlights turn on and the clock at the side of the bed ticks on. I wait as the traffic noise fades and the evening sounds of fighting cats and bins being wheeled out take over.
Lucas’s window stays dark. It stays dark until I fall asleep on the bed, still wearing my little black dress, my bag clutched tightly in my hand. In my dreams I can see him, sprawled out on his back as I straddle him. I can see the happiness so evident in his expression, and I wonder why I couldn’t see it then.
Why did I have to control everything? Why couldn’t I simply tell him how I felt and then let him do what he would with that information? I guess, in the end, it was just as my ex-husband said. I was too controlling. I held my own feelings back, not wanting to have that conversation until I was sure of the outcome, until I was sure it would go the way I wanted it to.
I wanted to get my own way, and I wanted it just a little bit too much. And in the end, I destroyed everything. The pillow under my face smells of Lucas, and I cry into it until it is a cold, soggy reminder of everything that I’ve lost. I cry until my throat burns and my shoulders ache. I hate myself for what I’ve done, for what I am. And most of all, I hate myself for hurting Lucas. I never meant to which only makes it worse, somehow. I don’t know where he is, when he’ll be back, if he’ll even give me a chance to explain.
I’m not sure I would give someone a chance to explain, if I’d bared myself to them, told them all my most indecent desires, and then found out they were seeing someone else. I’d be too humiliated, too disappointed, too…angry.
‘You’ve ruined it, you stupid cow,’ I berate myself out loud. I push myself into a sitting position. I don’t deserve to wallow in self-pity.
It’s then that I notice that the lights are on in Lucas’s flat. I scramble off the bed, move over to the window on legs that are shaky and unsteady. I press my hands to the glass, looking for movement, for any sign of him.
And then he moves into the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, buries his head in his hands, and in my desperation I hammer on the glass and yell his name. ‘Lucas!’
But of course he can’t hear me. He is too far away. The sensible part of my brain tells me to go straight over to his flat and ring the buzzer until he lets me in, but I can’t bear to have him out of my sight, not even for the few brief minutes it w
ould take me to get there. And what if he won’t let me in? I don’t think I could bear that either.
I have to get his attention somehow. I scoot over to the wall and switch my bedroom light on. The room is instantly illuminated and I know Lucas sees it, because his head jerks up. He stares at me. His face is cold, his cheekbones even more pronounced. He looks like he’s been crying.
I don’t know what to do. I stand where I am, my heart pounding too fast, too loud, my stomach in freefall. I did this to him, and now I don’t know how to make it right. I don’t know if I can make it right. Everything, now, is out of my control. Only Lucas can decide if he is willing to hear me out, to forgive me. There’s nothing I can do.
Or maybe there is. Something he did for me so many, many times. I scramble over to the window, and then I reach for the zip in the back of my dress and pull it down, my anxious fingers making slow, painful work of it. The fabric loosens its grip on my breasts, my stomach, and I slowly ease it down over my arms, my hips, until it meets the floor and I am left standing in only my underwear and heels.
It’s not even good underwear. An ugly strapless bra and big, belly-squeezing pants. And yet Lucas is moving over to his window, his gaze intent on me, watching me as I throw away my privacy and dignity. This is the only way I can think of to make him understand, to show him what is between us.
My bra is next to go. I drop it on top of my dress, an untidy pile in my otherwise tidy bedroom. Then I move over to the little table that sits beside my bed. I slide open the drawer, and take out the vibrator I’ve never had the nerve to use on myself. I used it on Lucas, and he used it on me, but I’ve never used it like this, purely to please myself.
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