by Olivia Chase
“So, you’re the one who fired my daughter and broke her heart,” Mom says coldly .
Bentley is standing there in a suit, carrying a massive bouquet of red roses. When he sees me, his eyes lock on mine, and I can see the dark smudges under them. He looks like he hasn’t slept for weeks. Despite all of that, he looks incredible and my ribcage tightens with want and sorrow at missing him .
My heart skips, and then I recall how callously he dumped me. I force myself to harden up. I’m not going to feel that kind of pity .
“I’d like to speak to your daughter,” Bentley says quietly. I can see the limo behind him, parked on the street. Neighbors are starting to come out of their houses. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in our neighborhood. The only time we see limos are for weddings or prom. And they know it’s not either happening right now .
“You don’t deserve to speak to her after what you did,” Mom says in a hot tone. “Do you know how many nights I’ve heard her crying ?”
My face burns. God. I know she’s trying to stand up for me, but it’s mortifying that she’s revealing my vulnerability to him. I push past them both and turn to face my parents. “It’ll be fine. I’m going to step outside and talk for just a moment. I’ll be right in .”
They must hear something in my voice that assuages them I’m not going to run and jump in his limo like a lovesick fool, because Mom gives me a heavy nod, and she and Dad turn and go inside .
I face Bentley, the man who has complicated my life so deeply, so strangely. “What are you doing here ?”
He hands me the bouquet. “I needed to see you .”
The fragrant flowers fill the air around me, and I can’t help but breathe in the delicate scent. These are lush, in the prime of blooming. I tear my gaze away from the roses. “Um. I…just found out about the tuition. You didn’t need to do that. I was applying for loans and scholarships .”
“Samantha.” His voice cracks, and I hear something coming through I’ve never heard before. Vulnerability. It catches in my own chest, and I find my breath lodging in my throat. Who is this person standing in front of me ?
He takes a deep breath and says the words I never expected to hear. “I love you .”
I just stay locked in place, utterly shocked. “What?” The words are rioting through my brain. He just… He said… All those emotions I wouldn’t let myself feel come screaming to the surface, and a part of me wants to tell him I love him too. Because I do. As crazy as it sounds, I fell for the man .
I fell for him, and he hurt me .
I swallow and say, “I…I don’t know how to believe you.” It’s honest .
Bentley reaches up and swipes a lock of errant hair from my face. His thumb grazes my cheek. “I missed you,” he says. “I can’t focus on anything without you. I know I fucked everything up. The tuition is just one small way to say I’m sorry. But I know it’ll take more than money to fix this situation. I want you back, and I’ll do whatever it takes .”
It’s like my body is starved for his touch. I even sway toward him, unbidden .
I am so stunned I can’t speak. Is this man really speaking these words to me? The roses are heavy in my arms, grounding me in this place. I’m here. But how can I believe what he’s saying? That he won’t just push me away again the next time he gets uncomfortable? “I’m not sure. I don’t know what to think about this.” My eyes start to burn with more tears, and I look away from the intensity in his haunted eyes. I can’t deal with this right now. Not with the chance of him damaging me beyond repair .
“I know. But I’ll show you that you can trust me.” He steps close and cups the back of my head, turning me to face him. The gesture is so painfully sweet that it steals my breath. “Samantha. I hurt you and I can’t change that. But I will make it up to you, and I will show you that I’ll take care of you. And your heart .”
“I…” I swallow. “I need some time .”
He nods and steps away, and I’m instantly aching for his presence near me again. God, I forgot how much he makes me feel. How intense our connection is. I’ve never seen him like this though—raw and real, more like the man he was the first night I met him than who he was after that .
“I’ll wait,” he says, finally. “And I’ll be here. I’m staying at a nearby hotel. I’ll be in touch .”
With that, Bentley turns and heads back into his limo, leaving me standing on my front porch, staring in disbelief. A couple of neighbors make eye contact with me and wave, then head back inside. I guess the show is over .
I shift the bundle of flowers to my other arm and go back inside. Mom already has a vase waiting for me with water. Her face is flushed .
“You heard, didn’t you,” I say .
She nods. “I was worried about you .”
I put the flowers on the coffee table and hug her. “I’m not going to rush into anything. If he wants me back, he’ll have to prove it.” It’s clear though that Bentley knows how much he screwed up. Is he serious, or will he get bored and stop trying ?
I don’t know, but I guess I’ll see .
S amantha ,
Last week on the street, I swear I saw you. A woman with hair almost the same golden-brown shade of yours walked by, and I couldn’t move for a moment. I was struck with a longing so deep for you that it rendered me immobile. When I realized it wasn’t you, the disappointment hit me anew, and I remembered why you were gone .
I remember that first night I met you, when you stood up to your boss for me and got fired trying to defend me. He was a total cocksucker. Didn’t see the value in you .
And then I went and treated you the same way. I didn’t see the value in you. How much you quietly supported me. Kept me sane during my busiest, most hectic days at work. The way you predicted my needs. Your steady, constant presence, right outside my door .
I could feel you there, you know. I could close my eyes and sit at my desk and sense you right outside, and somehow, that made everything good. Knowing you were just feet away from me .
At night, I lie in bed and crave you. I remember the curves of your body, the scent of you, your smile. The way you gave yourself to me so willingly, letting me take you the way I wanted to. Letting me own you. You offered your body and your mind and your heart .
And now I offer mine .
I know I’m messed up. There are many things we haven’t talked about. But truth is, you know me more than you think. You know how to make me laugh and smile. You know how to push my buttons—yes, I’m aware you did this on purpose. You know my goals. You know my strengths and weaknesses .
Well, weakness .
You .
I’m not the same person I was before. That person was a dick. That person protected himself at all costs. I can’t guarantee that being with me will be easy, but I can guarantee that whatever fragmented pieces are left of my heart, they are in your hands .
I love you. Endlessly .
B
I read the letter at least a dozen times, my heart bursting with so much feeling that it’s almost coming out of my chest. I never imagined that someone would be so open with me like this. And certainly not Bentley .
* * *
T he letters and flowers start coming Sunday, the day after his visit. Flowers carefully bunched to indicate meaning, explained on the inserts with the packages. Letters written by hand and delivered via carrier every morning .
Before long, seven sets of flowers sit on my desk and dresser. My bedroom looks like a floral shop. And it smells like one too. The mingling of scents sooth me each night into deep sleep .
I fold the newest letter up and put it with the other six .
True to Bentley’s word, he isn’t giving up. He’s going to keep on trying and reaching out to me. The first letter told me where he’s staying, plus his cell phone, just in case I’d deleted it from my phone—which I had, to avoid the temptation to text him when I was drunk or lonely. He asked me to text him when I’m ready to meet him for a drink. Just to talk
, no pressure, only what feels comfortable for me .
Over the last seven days, Bentley has poured his heart out about me. About the things he noticed, my behaviors, the flecks of color in my eyes, the way my hands move constantly when I talk. About how no one made him feel as much lust and passion as I did. About how he misses my wit and intelligence in the office .
Words of praise .
Words of love .
Can I trust in this? I’m scared, more scared than I think I’ve ever been. Because I know if I travel down this road again, I can’t hold back. And he has the power to utterly crush me for good. I’ll never be the same if he hurts me again .
But he’s spent the last seven days sending me letter after letter, receiving no reply but still pouring his own heart out .
Telling me in every letter that he loves me, even though I haven’t said it back .
Even though each day I’m feeling it come back to life in me, more and more .
I lie back in bed and think about how I’d feel if the letters stopped. If Bentley went back to the city and left me here. And I know from the rock in my chest that it would hurt. Badly .
I think that tells me what I need to know .
He’s put himself on the line to reach out to me, without expecting anything in return. I can meet him at least partway .
I pick up my phone and send a text. Are you busy tonight? I could meet you for a drink. If you still want. I don’t know why I add that last part. Maybe because I need to hear it in real time .
The reply comes through almost immediately. I do want. There’s a decent bar here at my hotel. I’ll send the limo to get you. Seven work ?
Yes , I write back. Then I stuff my phone away before I’m tempted to say more. We need to talk face to face. I need to see his eyes again. It’s been a week, and I’m missing him more than I want to admit .
Tonight will tell what is going to happen with us .
Bentley
T he minutes tick by today, and it feels like the clock is going backward. Samantha agreed to meet me tonight. I have to handle this the right way—if I blow it again, that will be the end. I know it as sure as I know anything. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this anxious .
Even work can’t distract me enough to stop me from feeling anxious. I stay on my phone and computer all day, sending missives to Kim, who’s at home and hopefully ignoring my demands. Setting up phone calls with our new French branch, the first of many .
My emotions are chewing away at me. I barely recognize myself anymore. Who is this man who isn’t numb? Who is feeling, who is scared? So much is on the line. I stand to lose everything—everything that matters, anyway .
I arrive at the bar at six-thirty and request a private booth. When I hand the manager a thousand dollars and ask that we not be disturbed except for drink service, he practically craps himself to make me feel welcome and promises to wait on us personally, and that no one will be seated directly by us .
I order a whiskey, neat, and sip. Not going to get drunk. I need to have my wits about me to present my case. I scoff at my thoughts. Case, like I’m in the boardroom. That kind of mentality won’t win Samantha. I’m going to have to face my fears and let her in. Emotionally .
She arrives, wearing a red strapless dress that looks like it was made for her sinful body, and my mouth dries up. I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful in my entire life. Her hair is swept off her neck in a loose tie, and she’s got that sexy red lipstick on, the one that sent us on this path .
“You look fucking gorgeous,” I say in a raw tone .
Her delicate flush spreads up her throat and across the upper mounds of her breasts. I want to touch her so badly I can taste it. I keep my hands in my lap. Not too fast. “Thank you,” she replies. “You look amazing too. As usual .”
I nod my thanks, then glance over at the manager, who scuttles right to our side. He tells what the drink specials are. Samantha orders a cocktail, and I continue sipping my whiskey .
“Um. Okay, so I’m here,” she says, her hands resting on the table. She’s fidgeting with the small napkin sitting under her glass of water. Condensation dribbles down the side and she watches it with seeming fascination. “What did you want to talk about ?”
“Did you miss me?” I find myself asking. I wasn’t going to ask that, but I have to know, from her own mouth. I need a better glimpse into her heart, because mine is cracking apart .
She jerks her head up and looks at me, eyes wide with pain. “Did I miss you? Bentley, walking away from you was the hardest thing I ever did. But I had to. I deserved better than the way you treated me .”
“You’re right.” I can’t help it. I reach over and grab her fingers to still them. She lets me hold them, and I stroke the digits. “You did. I can’t go back and undo the mistakes I’ve made. And I know I’ve made a lot. But I can tell you I see that now .”
Her eyes are asking me questions I can’t quite interpret .
“What?” I ask .
“What happened to your former assistant?” she blurts out .
Okay, that wasn’t what I was expecting. Where is this going? “Um. She developed romantic feelings for me and quit right before I hired you.” As I speak the words, I see the connection. What this woman in front of me is thinking. She frowns and tries to tugs her hand away, but I won’t let her. “She was a decent employee, but she got obsessive about me. I never led her on. I never touched her . I swear to you.” I stare into Samantha’s eyes, willing her to believe me .
“I… Have you ever done that kind of thing with anyone else before? I mean, what we did. The ordering around, spanking...” Her voice is so quiet, so unsure .
“You were the only one I was ever serious with,” I say baldly. “I fumbled around a bit with some kinky stuff in my early twenties but didn’t really do much with it. I never let myself have that kind of relationship because I was afraid of the kind of person it made me. Someone who could be seen as mistreating women .”
Her hand jerks in mine, and then she flips it over and touches my hand. Light strokes up and down my fingers. “I never felt mistreated. I felt …”
The manager comes over and brings her drink, and I kind of want to punch the man for interrupting. But he’s just doing his job, so I wait patiently for him to go away .
“I felt desired,” she continues in a breathless rush. “In a way I never imagined I could before .”
Hearing those words unlocks something in me I didn’t even know was locked up. I didn’t make her feel dirty or used. “You were desired. You still are. I want you so badly right now. I hurt for you .”
Her lips part in a soft circle as she stares at me. “No one’s ever spoken to me the way you do.” Her fingers are pressing on mine now, and she’s leaning forward .
“I want to make you feel how much I need you,” I tell her. I let my thumb graze the tender flesh of her inner wrist. “How much I’ve fantasized about tasting your beautiful pussy again. You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” I finish .
I don’t know how better to tell her how I want her. But my words seem to have an effect. “Do you…” Her cheeks flame. “You really have, um, feelings ?”
I stand up and take her hand, slide her out of the booth. Tug her against me, uncaring who’s watching. Samantha is my love, my life. I want everyone to know it. I’m proud to be seen with her. “More than feelings. More than what I can articulate. My words do poor justice to what my heart feels for you. I love you .”
Her whole face is still for a moment as she stares into my eyes. Then she presses up on her toes and offers a gentle kiss on my lips. A brushing of flesh, a momentary touch. But enough to make the blood pump in my veins. Enough to give me hope .
“I love you,” I murmur again as I kiss every bit of her mouth. I taste her, feast on her. “Come upstairs with me. Please. Let me show you .”
“Yes,” she whispers, and the last of my worry dissipates into the air .
I dig out money, toss
it on the table to cover the drinks, then take her hand and lead her to the elevator. When we get inside, I can barely keep my hands off her. Weeks without touching her…I’m starved for her. The indents of her waist, the flare of her hips. Touching her with the silky glide of her dress covering her just makes me harder, makes me ache to rip it off her and touch her naked body .
I press her into the corner and whisper in her ear, “I’m going to fuck you for hours. I’m going to make you come so hard that you can’t move .”
Her body shudders against mine. “I want you,” she says in a throaty voice .
“I missed you.” I can hear the raw ache in my voice, and I press a kiss to her brow .
Samantha’s soft sigh at the gesture, the way her hands reach up and wrap around my waist, makes me never want to move from this spot. “I missed you so much. Please don’t hurt me again .”
The ragged emotion in her words breaks me. I peer down at her. “I swear, I’ll never fucking hurt you again. It would kill me to do so .”
Then I kiss her, and she kisses me back, arms moving up to wrap around my shoulders. Here is my home, I realize. The thing I missed, the thing I’ve been looking for. The simple acceptance of this wonderful woman. The gentle care she gives me .
I can’t believe I almost lost it .
We barely manage to make it to my room before I’m stripping the dress off her. I want to worship her body, tease her, bring her to orgasm again and again. I crave her like I’ve never craved anything before .
I will show her how much I adore her, even if I can’t spell it out adequately enough .
I lay her back on the bed and sit beside her, still dressed, running my palms over her skin until she relaxes. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, and she looks like a fucking angel. I’ve never seen a human so beautiful in my life .
Samantha’s breathing steadies with my slow caresses. I move from head to toe, paying attention to every square inch, memorizing the feel of her flesh with my hands .