One More Night

by Henry, Max

  I fell in love with Corinne the day she offered to pour Chase and I a drink one particularly hot spring after school. I thought I’d hit the jackpot, finding friendship when most kids shied away from me. But damn, I knew I’d struck gold when I saw her beaming smile.

  I watched her, never understanding why I was fascinated with the girl with the golden hair. She made me feel something I wasn’t used to: emotion. I actually felt. Mom and Dad? They provided, but they never taught me much about anything when it came to how to deal with the feelings that tumbled inside of me. Crying was forbidden in our house—a sign of weakness—and love was shown with material things, rather than anything as basic as a goddamn hug, or heaven help them, praise.

  I was rewarded with three solid meals a day and a roof over my head. I don’t disrespect what my parents did to provide me with that, one little bit. But when I saw Corinne, when I heard her laugh? I knew there was more to life. I knew I’d been missing out.

  Darkness settled over the house an hour ago, yet I opt to keep the lights off as I wander through to my office with only my towel to keep me modest.

  Why dress when I’ll be in bed naked later anyway?

  I followed Corinne through college and into her career with completely different intentions to those I hold now. Sure, I wanted to make her mine. But I also wanted her to suffer.

  I planned to ruin her. Same as she ruined me when she laughed at my invite out one Friday night, and then started dating that douche, Aden, when she got to college.

  She broke my heart after showing it how to love, and I planned on tearing hers to shreds in reply.

  But that smile. She gave it to her friend across that goddamn bar, and the whole plan went to hell. Nine years of planning, and suddenly I was fifteen and dumbstruck all over again.

  Have a little fun, I reasoned with myself. Fulfill my fantasies on the road to ruin, I justified.

  Just don’t fall in love again.

  Might have been easier to do if I’d ever actually fallen out of it.

  The glow of my monitor casts an eerie glow over the desk as I bring up Corinne’s Facebook page. The little indicator shows she was active almost a day ago, which brings me some satisfaction. It means she’s clearly still thinking of me—in whatever capacity—if she hasn’t sought out idle entertainment. Her mind is too busy.

  My cursor hovers over her albums, and like the goddamn fool I am, I click through to her videos. Her laughter fills the room, the sound warm on an otherwise cool evening. I watch as she dances across the screen, flitting in and out of shot while she interacts with the person taking the video. Her hair floats around her as she moves, the golden locks framing her face as she smiles wide and utterly carefree.

  I study each clip with the same self-flagellating fascination, my dick growing harder by the minute. Every expression, every laugh and smile, every time I get a glimpse of those curves … that ass … one more time can’t hurt.

  Maybe I’m a little sick, and a whole lot perverted, sitting at my desk jacking off to shared videos of the woman I’m obsessed with. I’m pretty sure her goddamn brother has locked people up for similar invasions of privacy, but hell, the videos are there to watch. Who’s to judge how I use them?

  I ease the towel undone as I take my dick in my other hand. The clip ends, so I hit replay and run my palm up the length of my cock with a moan.

  She’s going to be mine. She’ll stay with me, even if she hates it to start with. Given a little time I can show her heaven, prove to her that there’s no other place to be but by my side.

  My movements quicken as Corinne dances to some cheesy tune, laughing as she shakes her hips side-to-side. My cock thickens, my fist punishing as my balls draw tight. So fucking close. To having her, and to finding release one last time before I turn in for the night.

  That smile.

  That ass.

  That goddamn woman.

  I come with a grunt, the warm jets painting my stomach as the goddamn doorbell chimes throughout the house.

  Who the fuck?

  Jaw tight, I wipe myself off with the edge of the towel while I navigate to my security app with my clean hand. Goddamn, Chase.

  I stand, pulling the towel from beneath me and wipe the last of the cum from my stomach. My dick is still semi-hard as I head for the door, butt naked.

  Who am I to give a fuck? It’s my house. He’s a friend, albeit an old one. We’re both men comfortable with our sexuality.

  Fuck—we’ve seen each other naked in the change rooms before.

  “Bit late for a visit, isn’t it?” I stand with the edge of the door covering my softening dick.

  “Do you need a moment to take care of yourself?” He lifts an eyebrow at my state of undress, folder clutched to his side.

  “Just did. But thanks anyway.”

  He sighs, shaking his head as he pushes inside.

  “Come on in,” I jest, closing the door behind him.

  He wanders through to the living room while I head for at least a pair of boxers. I’ll sort the towel in my office later.

  “Something you wanted to add to what you said earlier?” I call out.

  “Yeah.”

  I tug the cotton over my legs, and adjust myself before heading back to the living room. “I’m all ears.”

  “I told her everything.” He holds my gaze, daring me to challenge him.

  “Good,” I state indifferently. “Saves me doing it.”

  He drops the file on the coffee table with a loud whack.

  “How did she take it?” I cave. I need to know.

  “Surprisingly well.”

  Good girl.

  “Didn’t even put up an argument when I told her to stay the fuck away from you from now on.”

  Goddamn it. Why did he have to go and do that? “Is that so?”

  “That, right there.” He points to the folder on the table. “You might want to take a look at it. If you think you can blackmail me with our history, you better check again.” Asshole makes a line for the door. “Stay the fuck away from my sister, Jordan. Don’t test how serious I am about this, because if you thought it was a goddamn miracle that I pulled to save your ass, then you better buckle up when I show you how I can ruin you.”

  The front door slams behind him, much the same as my fist slams into the lamp on the side table. The ceramic base shatters when it hits the floor, the remnants left strewn for my cleaner to sort out in a couple of days while I settle into the armchair with the folder he left behind.

  My hands shake as I turn the pages, but not with fear or worry.

  With rage.

  Every goddamn dollar I’ve paid to keep him quiet all these years has been promptly redirected to no less than ten charities. The file comes complete with statements showing my total donations for each tax year, all the necessary paperwork to write this off. He’s made it look as though he was the go-between for my philanthropic endeavors.

  Fucking sneaky devil.

  I should have looked a little deeper when he seemed to roll over too easily. I should have questioned why, after all this time, he didn’t drive a better car, or spoil his wife with a larger house.

  I figured it was purely because showmanship was only for the field, when it came to Chase. But maybe I had him pegged wrong all these years? Damn it. He’s a lawyer. I should have known nothing would be as it seemed at face value with him.

  He’s played me, and goddamn won.

  I spent a decade setting up my own downfall. How beautifully tragic is that?

  SEVENTEEN

  Corinne

  I’d like to say that a night spent at home lounging in my pajamas brings with it some clarity, or at the very least, an epiphany on how to move forward with this.

  All I know for sure is that, one, my brother will never accept Jordan or what he’s done, and two, I’m not prepared to accept this is the end of our journey either.

  I didn’t spend years longing to know more about the man, yearning to understand how he fi
t into the picture, only to baulk at the first sign of trouble.

  The tendrils of steam that rise from my coffee carry the delicious scent of a new day as I cradle the mug before me. I had my night to think things over, to process what I was told, and I feel more resolute now than ever to let Jordan have his three months.

  I threw the rejection at him yesterday afternoon out of fear, not because I don’t want that time with him. I do. I was merely hurt at the truths he spoke. But is that his fault? Not necessarily. No, he shouldn’t have brought my uncle up in such a way, but those are my scars to bear, not his. I shouldn’t put my inability to resolve things that happened in the past between us. Good relationships are built on the couple’s ability to overcome hurdles together, and like he says, that’s what we can do over the next twelve weeks: work through the demons of our past as a team.

  The plan forms in my mind as I eat breakfast, solidifying on my run through the shower, and cementing itself as I put the final details into place. I smooth the dress over my hips, checking myself in the mirror to make sure that not a hair lies out of place in preparation for the most defining moment of my life.

  I coasted through my teenage years and into college on the safe path, doing what was expected of me and what would draw the least attention. I found myself a job in an industry that wasn’t going away anytime fast, hoping for a safe and stable career while I saved toward that fabled white picket fence. I even found myself a man I could envision in camel-colored slacks, driving our minivan, when I dated Aden.

  But as the years passed the emptiness inside of me wouldn’t shrink, no matter how many uniform and cookie-cutter life choices I threw at it. The void only grew.

  Meeting up with Jordan last week? I found the piece that fits. I found the antidote for the poison I fed myself.

  I found the chaos I secretly craved.

  I found everything I knew deep down I had been missing.

  Fifteen minutes later, my ride pulls up outside Jordan’s property as my heart lodges in my throat. If there was ever a final moment to back out of this, to fall into old habits and aim to please my family, this is it.

  Instead, I pay the cabbie and take my first, albeit shaky, step toward the giant home. My palms tingle with anticipation, a coil of excitement tight in my gut as I press and roll my lips a couple of times to make sure my deep red pout is as perfect as can be.

  The security cameras give away my approach, much as I expected, and the door is open for me by the time I reach the front stoop. Strangely, though, he’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Jordan?” My heels clack loudly as I step into the foyer.

  The sound irritates me in the otherwise eerily quiet house, so I kick them off and push the pair aside with my toes. Fuck the outfit. The knot of worry in my stomach tells me how I look is the least of his worries.

  I head further into the house, the lack of any indication on where he is disturbing me to the point of panic. What if the door wasn’t open for me? What if he’s been broken into?

  Don’t be so silly, Corinne. A man with this much surveillance having the front door kicked in? Unlikely.

  “Jordan? Where are you?”

  A stack of paper spread messily over his coffee table pulls my focus to the middle of the room. I may have been here only twice, but one thing I can say without a shadow of doubt is that Jordan enjoys order. Papers left so haphazardly like this makes no sense.

  I step closer and read the top of the first few sheets. Emails. I should look away and respect his privacy, yet something tells me they were left here for me. As I scan the pages, it grows increasingly clear what this is: an admission.

  Laid out before me is every little thing he chose to withhold from me: conversations about credit card fraud, large monetary transactions, and evidence of where and how he got his empire.

  The strangest part of it all? He did all of this for other people. What he spent on himself? It wasn’t much. His cars: gifted. His house: sold to him for an absolute steal.

  He bartered his black market skills for what he has.

  “Ask me anything.”

  I suck a sharp breath as I spin to find him behind me, hesitant where he stands in the entryway to the hall.

  “No more secrets, Corinne.”

  I return my gaze to the paperwork on the table. “You laid this out so carefully, for me, right?”

  He nods as he moves into my periphery. “If you hadn’t come, I would have brought you here anyway.” There’s no need to look at him to know the hunger in his eyes. “God, you’re downright sexy in that dress.”

  “It was the look I was hoping for,” I tease.

  His eyes hold mine when I finally dare myself to look at him again. “I gave you your night.” He frowns, hands slung in his pockets. “Do I take the dress as a good sign?” The formal shirt he wears sits partially unbuttoned, as though he’s pulled the tie off moments before and decided to kick back after a long day. It’s disheveled, yet dangerously suggestive.

  “I was told to cut you loose.”

  “I know.”

  I tip my head. “Chase?”

  “He thought he’d drive the nail into the coffin one more time with a visit last night.”

  Damn him and his meddling. “He has good intentions,” I reason in an effort to defuse any possible war brewing between the two.

  “As do I.” Jordan sighs, the action making his wide chest rise and fall against the restriction of his shirt. “You were eighteen when I finally found the courage to ask you out. I was twenty.” He rolls his lips between his teeth before continuing, the slightest drop to his head. He’s nervous, telling me this. “You laughed at me. Told me to stop being such an idiot, and then closed the door in my goddamn face.”

  “I forgot about that.” The memory comes back, hazy yet true. I did laugh at him. “I thought you were playing a joke on me with Chase.”

  Jordan shakes his head, hands seemingly twitching in his pockets. “My best memory of you was at that party, but I saw you before that, Corinne. I just didn’t know I loved you until Chase’s birthday.”

  “Love?”

  “Obsessively.”

  The intensity should scare me, but instead I’m drawn like a moth to the flame: aware of the danger, yet unable to pull myself from the beauty of it all.

  “You were at the bar the night I celebrated graduation,” I say.

  He nods, one hand slipping free of his pocket. “I was always there, baby. Always watching.” His fingers brush the side of my jaw with such reverence I’m almost brought to my knees. “Every step.”

  “And yet you waited until last week to make yourself known.”

  “If I had made a move earlier …” He shakes his head, stepping away. “I wanted you to hurt for what you did turning me down that day. I would have accepted you saying no. I would have respected your choice. But you laughed at me. Fucking mocked me. You made me think you cared about me, and then you sniggered at my most vulnerable moment.”

  “I’m sorry I did that.”

  “No.” His jaw clenches. “Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have to. My vendetta?” He laughs at the word. “It was so wrong. So… mad.”

  “But?” I prompt sensing he leads somewhere with this.

  “But what I am now—obsessed…” He closes the space between us, his scent a heady aroma as he captures me against his hard body, one hand punishing as it holds my chin steady. “God, Corinne. It’s so much worse.”

  My head screams yes, it is. My heart says give him a chance. And my gut says, run.

  “It’s not madness.” I whisper. “It’s how you love.”

  I see it now. The way he works, the single-minded focus he applies to anything he does. It was there as a kid, it was there years later, evident in the hours I got before he vanished yet again only to turn up last week with the same intensity shining through.

  Jordan is obsessive by nature. And I’m sick for desiring that kind of focus be put solely on me.

  But I want it.
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  I crave it.

  I ache to be the center of his world, and God save anyone who steps in the way of that.

  “How I love?” He chuckles. “You have a funny concept of love if you think this fixation is healthy, baby.”

  “I don’t.” I know it’s downright dangerous. But isn’t anything that gives you a thrill? How is this any less madness than skydiving, driving too fast on the freeway, throwing caution to the wind and living life without regrets? “But I also wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

  “Corinne …” His breath ghosts my face, his lips so painfully close to brushing mine.

  “Make me the queen of your empire, Jordan. Put me on a pedestal beside you.”

  “It’s the only place you belong.”

  He claims me with such conviction, such passion, that he lifts my feet from the floor. I’m crushed against him, his arm around my waist cinched tight as she moves us to the nearby sofa and lays me down across the cushions.

  The dress is yanked up my thighs, partially by him, mostly by me.

  “I want you inside of me so badly,” I utter as he forces my breasts free of the dress. “One night was hell.”

  “I know.” His mouth leaves a hot trail across my flesh as he kisses a line from my throat, between my breasts, and then skips the covered expanse of my body directly to the warm flesh between my thighs.

  I cry out, my head pressed hard into the cushions as his rough hand palms my breast, his warm breath teasing my willing pussy through the thin barrier of my panties.

  “Every day,” he growls, easing the satin aside. “I’m going to feast on this every goddamn day.”

  And damn it, I’ll let him if he continues to do it just like that. Long, firm sweeps of his tongue. The gentle flick of the tip across my clit before he pushes the muscle inside on the next sweep, coaxing my juices free.

  Not that they need any help.

  This man… the way he turns me on. I’ve never been so easily aroused in my life. But then again, I’ve never had a man with such sexual intensity as Jordan between my legs before, either.

  Everything about him leaves me buzzing for more: his mess of dark hair that has him looking on edge, his piercing brown eyes, and that deliciously sculpted body.