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My dress slides off my shoulders and he tugs it down more, exposing me. A guttural groan erupts out of him as he speeds up his thrusts. I dig my nails into his jacket sleeves and arch against him. He buries his head into the groove of my neck and my fingers grip his hair, keeping him close. Even still, it doesn’t feel close enough.
Neither of us is keeping up a mask of indifference, and maybe that’s a mistake, because when he tells me to open my eyes and watches me crumble beneath him, I give him the whole truth, the love I’ve kept secretly folded away in the cupboard of my mind for the last few years.
Yes, Connor.
Love.
I cry out, and his murmurs of how sexy I am, how long he’s wanted to be here, buried inside me, nearly push me straight into a second orgasm, but Connor is coming, pumping hard inside me and dragging his touch across my overly sensitive skin.
It feels like it lasts forever as we stay suspended in this mutually wrought fairy tale. My eyes stay closed. My cheek stays pressed against his shoulder. I inhale and I smell him and I think this smell will stay with me forever the way certain scents do. I’ll catch a whiff of this body wash years from now and immediately remember this stolen moment we shared.
But then, suddenly, the blissful aftershocks are cut off when Connor tentatively steps away. Cool air rushes in between my thighs and I quickly close my legs and grab my dress, sliding it up and over my shoulders to cover myself again.
I peer over at him and am horrified to see that he looks guilty. Just like that, fingers snap and the magic is yanked away by reality. He drags his hand through his hair and keeps his brows tugged together in a thick furrow. He assesses me and his mouth stays in an unsmiling, unfeeling line.
His guilt sours the mood even more, pointing out that what we’ve just done was wrong. His reaction forces me to carry the weight of guilt too. I do. Immediately.
I think of where we are and how badly I need to clean myself off.
I feel wetness between my thighs and my cheeks grow hot.
I can’t get out of here quickly enough.
“Let me,” Connor says, rushing forward as I start to push off the ledge to stand on slightly wobbly legs.
“I’ve got it,” I lie, taking my hand back from his.
How is our moment crumbling so quickly? How did we get here? We should be basking in a surge of oxytocin and endorphins, but instead, we’re forced to endure the inevitably awkward event of escaping this room that has turned back into what it’s always been: stark and empty. There is no love in here, only feelings of wrongdoing, and I think the sooner I get out of here, the better.
“I just need to find a bathroom,” I tell Connor, trying hard to keep myself from looking at him as I retie my dress behind my neck.
I don’t want to see his face again. He has too much power over my emotions, and I’m worried I’ll find that he looks even more guilty now, or—God forbid—regretful, and then I’ll crumble. I will. Tears will be shed and words will pour out of me, so instead of looking at him or speaking, I push the chair out from in front of the door, turn the handle, and rush out into the hall.
I immediately run into a warm body.
A man curses. “Jesus, where’d you come—”
“Sorry!” I rush out, keeping my gaze on the ground and hurrying toward the stairs that lead back to the first floor. I’m immediately crushed by a wave of people. The silent auction is still taking place down here and everyone’s hurrying to get in one last bid before it ends. It’s startling to be thrown back into the real world so quickly. It feels like it’s been years since Connor and I first sneaked off into that room. I glance up and spot people I recognize from the hospital, and that can’t happen. I reek of sex. I have remnants of him all over me—his fading teeth marks on my neck, his handprints on my thighs, his cologne in the air.
I see a sign pointing toward a restroom and haul ass toward it. Of course, there’s a line. Women with crossed arms and terse expressions are annoyed to be shuffling forward one step at a time. I want to cut. I want to shout to everyone in front of me that I’m seconds away from having a nervous breakdown. They’d all understand. You just had crazy sex with a guy you’ve loved forever? Upstairs? At this fundraiser?! Jesus, girl, get up front and clean yourself up. And here, you want my drink?
