by Kelly Myers
I don’t pull away. I don’t even consider it. Instead I lean forward and hold my breath.
And then he kisses me. Just a soft brush against my lips, almost as if he’s asking me a question.
The answer is yes. It’s like some other force has taken control of my limbs. I reach out and grip the front of his coat to pull him closer. Then I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him back.
I move my lips against him to make it clear that for once, I’m not questioning anything. I want this. I want him.
All the control seems to drain from Michael as he pulls me against his chest and crushes his lips on mind. He explores my mouth with his tongue and I eagerly let him. I move my hands up over his chest and wrap them around his neck.
One of his hands clutches the back of my neck, and the other grips my lower back.
He pulls his mouth off of mine, only to place kisses along my jaw and on my neck.
I suck in my breath because it’s not enough. He lifts his head, and his gaze is so searing that I know it’s not enough for him either.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he says in a low voice.
My knees nearly gave out, and if he hadn’t still been holding me, I would have collapsed to the ground.
Michael Barnes has wanted to kiss me like that for a long time? Every look he ever gave me and every teasing smile now mean something totally different. The fact that he’s been attracted to me makes my stomach lurch with desire.
Because of course I’m attracted to him as well. He’s not right for me, he’s not my type at all, and it’s against the rules, but at that moment, I don’t think of any of that.
I just think of his body pressed against mine.
“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says.
He turns and starts walking at a brisk pace, dragging me by the hand.
My breath comes in short bursts as we approach the hotel.
In the lobby, all the lights are too bright, and I can only peak up at Michael before looking away. He’s so tall and his face is so serious.
As soon as the elevator doors close, he has me pressed against the wall, and he’s kissing me with reckless passion.
We pull apart as the doors open, and he pokes his head out before we exit the elevator.
When he sees no one is in the hallway, he turns towards me and grins.
My heart lurches as he pulls me against him. He puts one arm beneath my bottom and lifts me off the floor so that my feet dangle.
I let out a little laugh as he carries me a few steps to his door.
We fall silent once the door is shut. We now have complete privacy, and it’s what I’ve been craving since the moment he kissed me, but now I am shy and nervous.
He sets me down and I take a step back so I can get my bearings.
He looks down at me and reaches out. He places one finger on my lower lip, swollen from his kisses.
“Zo,” he whispers.
And just like that, I’m lost. I’m undone, and there’s no turning back. Everything about the evening has been steeped in strange magic, and I’m willing to give into it. For once, I refuse to think about tomorrow.
I kick off my shoes, and his eyes sharpen at the movement.
He swoops down on me and in an instant I’m in his arms once more. My skirt hikes up as I wrap my legs around his waist. He holds me with ease as he walks across the room towards the bed.
Then I’m on my back, and his big firm body is above mine, pressing against my chest and stomach as he kisses me long and deep.
He pulls away and pushes a lock of my hair back from my forehead.
Then he stands and pulls me to my feet as well. He turns me around and starts to unzip the dress. I shiver as he kisses the bare skin of my back.
I didn’t know he could be like this. I didn’t know he could be so attentive and gentle. I didn’t know so much.
I turn back towards him as I step out of the dress. I stand tall in my black bra and underwear as his eyes ravish my body. He leans down to kiss me again, and as he does I reach for his belt buckle.
From there, we lose all control.
His hands are all over me. My stomach, my breast, my thighs. While he explores my body, I tear off his shirt and pants.
I’m reaching for his boxers when he unclasps my bra and nearly rips it off. Then he captures my nipple in his mouth, and I let out a mewl of delight.
Before all this, I would have guessed that Michael was all talk and no game. The type of guy who swaggered about and boasted but didn’t actually know anything in the bedroom. But I was wrong. He definitely knows what he’s doing. My whole body is practically shaking with the need to have him.
I slide my hand into his boxers and grip his cock. I slide my fingers over the hard length of it, and Michael lets out a gasp against my chest.
He pushes me back onto the bed, and I prop myself on my elbows and watch as he removes his boxers.
He’s gorgeous. His broad shoulders transition into a toned torso, and his chest is covered with hair, just a shade darker than atop his head.
Michael grabs my underwear, but he pauses. I nod at him.
“You can take them off,” I whisper.
That’s all the encouragement he needs, and soon my underwear are on the floor. I’m laying before him, completely naked.
He covers his body with mine, but instead of kissing me again, he presses his mouth close against my ear.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
I clutch his bare shoulders with my fingers and arch my own back so my breasts are pressed up against him. My thighs part easily when he reaches down there.
I close my eyes and moan as he begins to stroke me between the legs. His fingers work with steady patience around my folds, teasing and pressing against my clitoris. I gasp as he finds my most sensitive spot, and he grins at my reaction.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs.
“I want you,” I say, emboldened by the pleasurable tightness in my core.
“I want to see you come,” he says, and I spasm as he touches me just right.
“Oh God,” I cry. “I’m getting close.”
Usually it takes me longer to orgasm, but it’s like my entire body has been anticipating his every touch, longing for his hands. The whole evening, desire has been pulsing through my veins.
Michael situates himself between my legs, and I eagerly prepare to accept him. He continues to stroke my clitoris as he presses his erection against me.
“Please,” I beg. “Oh, Michael, please.”
Then he plunges himself inside me, and I let out a cry as he fills me with his girth. He moans in pleasure as well, and he begins to move inside me, touching some spot deep within me, all the while moving his fingers against my clitoris.
I can’t hold on any longer, and I go careening over the edge. My orgasm makes me scream as it racks through my entire body. I lose myself in the sensations as wave after wave course through me, all originating from the spot where Michael and I are joined as one.
I can only see his face above me, and I can only feel every inch of his sizzling skin.
I still manage to register the moment he climaxes. He cries out and looks down at me as if I am everything. And in that moment, I almost believe that I am.
When our gasps of pleasure fade, he rolls over onto his back. My whole body feels heavy and warm and totally satisfied.
I stare up at the hotel ceiling and sink back into the pillows.
Then a strong arm wraps around my torso and pulls me. Michael holds me close against his chest with one arm as he pulls up the blankets to cover us with the other.
“That was amazing,” he murmurs into my hair.
It was crazy. And stupid. And definitely not what I had planned.
But I can’t seem to bring myself to care.
Instead I just nod in agreement as my eyelashes flutter closed and I start to drift into an all-consuming sleep.
9
As soon as I wake up, I know I’ve fucked up.
I didn’t have any dreams, but everything about where I am is all wrong. The smell is too masculine. It’s a mix of Axe deodorant and sweat and something else, something totally Michael.
Michael Barnes. I slept with Michael Barnes.
In fact, Michael Barnes is snoring softly beside me. Michael Barnes’ arm is draped over my stomach.
I’m an idiot.
No, I’m worse than an idiot. I’m a fool of epic proportions.
I’m a woman who fell for the charms of a second-rate flirt.
Ok, maybe not second-rate.
But I was still overtaken with wild lust just because he smiled at me a few times and shared some nice wine with me.
Not that I was drunk. Far from it. I was mildly tipsy at most.
No, I knew what I was doing. I just didn’t stop because I really, really wanted to do it.
And now, I sound like a five-year-old. I really wanted to? What kind of reasoning is that?
Not Zoe Hamilton Rationale at all, that’s for certain.
I have to get out of the room. I have to extricate myself from this immediate physical situation, and then I have to extricate myself from the greater ramifications. Which is going to be difficult, because as of right now, I have not yet invented a time machine that will allow me to go back to last night and erase the whole stupid night.
I can feel him behind me. I pray he’s a deep sleeper as I begin to turn onto my back.
I cringe when I realize I’m still naked.
Once I’m on my back, I risk a glance to the side. He’s sound asleep and breathing deeply. He’s not a real snorer. Nothing disruptive or shockingly loud. Just a little snuffle while he inhales. It’s cute actually.
I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can. I’ve got to stop thinking about how cute he is.
The good news is that he is definitely sound asleep. A quick look at the clock on the bedside stand shows that the time is 5:51am. I’m lucky I have such a good internal clock. I’ve woken up ten minutes before 6 pretty much every single day for the last 10 years.
I scoff. I’ve got a perfect internal clock but an absolutely haywire sense of judgement when it comes to men that I should or should not sleep with.
In one smooth movement, I slide out from under Michael’s arms and roll off the bed. I grab my pillow to cover my torso and look back down at him. He stirs a bit, but only to bury his face deeper in the pillow.
I reach out and touch one finger to his cheek, just to brush his hair back.
The sex had been good, I couldn’t deny it. Better than good.
I pull my hand back and shake my head. Focus. I have got to focus.
I tiptoe about the room and yank my dress on. I scoop up my underwear and my shoes and then have to search for my bra. Every instinct in me is screaming at me to just forget the bra and run away, but there’s no way in hell that I’m leaving anything in the possession of Michael Barnes.
He would probably bring it in to show all the guys in the office.
No. He wouldn’t do that. At least I know him enough that he would never act that way.
But still. He might tell someone. He’s close with loads of people at the office. And all it would take was one little slip-up over a post-work beer.
I don’t locate the bra until I get on my hands and knees and check under the bed. I grab it. Then I stand up, snatch my coat and purse and make for the door.
As soon as it clicks shut behind me, I sprint for my own room.
Once inside, I commence to freak out in earnest.
I can count on one hand the number of rules I’ve ever broken in my life. They play through my mind like a sad slideshow: when I was little, my mother forbade me from touching the sugar bowl, but once she was walking to get the mail, and I climbed up on the counter and ate a whole spoonful of straight sugar.
When I was in high school, I cut PE. Just once. My friend and I snuck out of the locker room and hung out under the bleachers. I felt awful the whole time.
When I was in college, the occasional breaking of rules mattered less. I was always with Beatrice, Elena and Marianne, so I was always safe. Plus, I was the voice of reason in the group, who only occasionally let loose. It was enjoyable to break a few rules when I had friends to bail me out.
I wasn’t enjoying myself anymore. I wasn’t safe anymore. I had chosen the absolute worst time to unleash my reckless alter-ego.
I start to hurl my things into my suitcase.
First things first, I need to get out of New York. Flee the scene of the crime.
Although, first I should clean up the scene of the crime. I pause to consider this.
Then I remind myself that I didn’t commit a murder. I resume my packing.
The only thing I might have killed is my own career.
If word gets out about this, no matter how well I try to shut down rumors, the whispers will still spread. I’ll be known as That Girl. The girl who slept with a colleague on a work trip. The girl who might sleep with anyone if she gets the urge. The girl who might even sleep her way to the top.
I’ll never get a promotion. Oh, they’ll use other reasons. No one will tell me to my face that it’s because of all the rumors. They’ll say I’m just not exuding leadership qualities, or that I didn’t hit certain numbers for a particular quarter.
Meanwhile, Michael will be fine. People might frown upon his behavior, but they will forgive and forget it eventually. Guys hook up. It’s in their nature.
A low growl of anger escapes my throat. I look down and see that my hands are mangling my pajama pants. I throw those in the suitcase too.
I won’t let this destroy me. I will fix this situation. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making a plan. This will have to be my absolute best work.
I toss my pajamas aside and storm into the shower.
First step: clean the scene of the crime.
I need to wash away every memory of Michael Barnes.
Then I can get to work.
10
An hour after sneaking out of Michael’s room, I’m feeling almost alright.
I’m not great. I’m not proud of myself by any means. But I’m starting to think I might survive this.
As soon as I got out of the shower, I called the airline. I got a seat on the 10am flight to Chicago. They thought I was crazy to adjust my flight by only an hour, but they didn’t understand. There is no way I’m sitting next to Michael for two-and-a-half hours.
I’m dressed and my bag is packed. All the easy steps are taken care of.
I need to head to the airport, but first I have to deal with Michael. It’s not going to be easy. In fact, I’m dreading it.
There’s no other option though. I have to be certain of his silence before I head to Chicago. Not that I can ever guarantee it. This secret will haunt me for years, if not the rest of my life. But maybe that will remind me to not be a complete idiot in the future. I must never think with my libido again.
The thing is, Michael is not a bad guy. I know that now. A week ago, I would have been sure he would sell me out the first chance he got. I would have thought he lived to make me look bad. Now I see I misread him.
All I have to do is impress on him how much I need this to remain a secret. And perhaps get him a little scared too. I’m convinced the consequences won’t be as bad for him if this gets out, but no one would approve of us philandering about when we’re supposed to be working on a big client.
I sit on my bed and think for a second.
The bold thing to do would be to just knock on his door and talk to him face to face.
But I’m not brave. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect that I am a massive coward who has just mastered the art of pretending to be fearless.
And facing Michael right now is not something I’m feeling up to. I’ll have to deal with him soon enough on Monday, I can’t do it right now.
I pull out my phone. Time t
o compose a text. A very clear and sharply-worded text.
Although I shouldn’t make him feel too guilty about last night. I don’t want him to think he manipulated me or took advantage of me.
I knew what I was doing. I can take the blame when I have to.
I chew my lip and hunch over my phone as I compose the message.
Michael, the events of last night can not be repeated. I did enjoy them immensely…
I groan and erase the last line. I sound like a square. Also, I don’t want to give him a big head.
Even though I did enjoy the events of the night before. Immensely.
As I recall how I reacted to his every single touch, I blush. He definitely knows how much I enjoyed it.
I try again:
I’m headed to the airport now since I changed my flight. I’m sure you are aware that we can not speak about last night or what happened. I had a good time, but it was a mistake.
I pause. That sounds wrong. And mean. I don’t want to call him a mistake. My sleeping with him – that was a mistake. I erase the last line.
It was unprofessional. I would really appreciate it if you kept it between us. Please do not speak about it to anyone at work.
I stare into space. It’s weird that I don’t mention any details, but the details make me blush. Besides, if someone hacks my phone and leaks my messages (as unlikely as that event is) it’s best to keep this vague.
I scoff at myself. Why do I now think I’m an international spy who needs to protect her information from hackers?
Whatever gets me through this.
I type out one last line:
I’ll see you on Monday. We’ll discuss the client, and that’s it.
I nod and hit send before I can second guess.
Then I stand up and pull on my coat. I’ll be extremely early at the airport, but I don’t mind. I’ll hunker down in some corner and get some work done.
Or maybe just get an overpriced Bloody Mary. God knows, I’ve been through enough stress to deserve it.
And I’ll text my friends. They’ll know what to do. Or at least, they’ll know what to say to make me feel marginally better.
My phone buzzes, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s Michael’s response.