Page 37 of Drawn Together

I’d forgotten that Liam was coming over that night. Luckily, by the time he rang the doorbell, I had regained my composure and was able to act like nothing had happened between my bodyguard and me.

Don’t ask me why, but I didn’t tell Liam about the moment I’d shared with Sebastian. Not because I was afraid of Liam’s reaction or was expecting him to disapprove, but because it was something I wanted to treasure all for myself. Also, I was almost frightened by the intensity of what I’d felt. The simple brush of Sebastian’s leg against the center of my body had given me more intense pleasure than my ex-boyfriend or any other guy I’d ever been with, and I’d done much more with them than with Sebastian.

No guy had ever given me an orgasm, even though I’d been obsessed with trying to find the one who could. Not even Liam had been able to. I had thought I was incapable of having an orgasm, something that happens to a lot of women, feeling like there’s something wrong with them when they don’t feel the things they hear about in books, songs, and movies. I’d finally accepted the fact, and it was another of the reasons why I didn’t want to go all the way with anyone. Why should I let someone else enjoy my body if they couldn’t give me the pleasure I craved the most? Did that sound selfish? Maybe so, but I had made up my mind.

And yet, kissing Sebastian had been like merging all of my previous experiences into one. Was it normal for a kiss to feel so intense? Was it common to feel the attraction I felt toward him? Did Sebastian feel the same way about me?

At least I could take satisfaction in knowing one thing for certain: Sebastian would be able to grant me that kind of pleasure, if there was any chance we ever took it far enough.

Liam stayed to watch a movie, and we ordered Chinese food. He told me about his upcoming vacation plans and that he also had an offer for a new financial analyst position on Wall Street. He was nervous, but I was sure they’d hire him, even though he told me that he didn’t plan to quit his night job as a club promoter. He didn’t do it for the money, more so because he loved feeling like he owned the club, always surrounded by girls, and he wasn’t going to give up a position that had brought him so much pleasure. And by pleasure, I mean women in his bed.

As time went on, I started to become more and more worried. Sebastian’s three-hour break should’ve ended long ago, and he still hadn’t come home. Eventually Liam had to leave, but he promised we’d see each other next week.

When he left, I felt totally alone, and even a little bit scared as I looked around the empty apartment.

What did Sebastian think of me? Had that kiss meant as much to him as it had to me?

Probably not.

Concluding that waiting by the door was pointless, I decided to get ready for bed. I had to lotion my tattoo again, but I’m sure I did a bad job because I couldn’t really reach. I needed his large, strong hands.

I got into bed, reliving the moment we’d shared in the bathroom, and I lay awake, waiting to hear him come home.

Finally, I must’ve fallen asleep.

When I opened my eyes on Monday morning, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I no longer got nervous about guys, but the thought of seeing Sebastian made me so excited, I felt nauseous.

I took a shower, trying again without much success, to wash and lotion the tattoo, then I slipped a lightweight dress over my head, with my favorite boots and a sweater over it. I took a deep breath before going out into the living room. Would he be in the kitchen, like always—with his cup of coffee in one hand and the newspaper beside him on the table?

I couldn’t be such a coward.

Come on, Marfil, act like you do with everyone. Be confident.

I walked out of my room and headed for the kitchen. There he was, standing facing the doorway as if he’d been waiting for me to appear. He looked so handsome that my mouth dried up.

Suddenly I felt the way I did when my father called me to his office to scold me for something. I remembered how it felt to have Sebastian’s body against mine, and I couldn’t help but blush like a little schoolgirl.

“Good morning,” I said in a weak voice.

Enough, Marfil. You’re a grown woman.

He didn’t answer, just turned his back to me and started doing something.

I got out my favorite mug, heated the milk, then stirred in some honey as I moved to my usual spot, deciding on what to say or whether to wait for him to speak, or to simply do it myself.

“That won’t happen again, Marfil,” he said, looking out the window, his back to me, cutting through the silence with a knife.

That wasn’t the greeting I’d been expecting. All night longI’d imagined different phrases coming out of his mouth, that mouth that had been literally on mine:We shouldn’t have done it. Your father is going to kill me. I could lose my job. But neverThat won’t happen again, Marfil.

How could he say that? Wasn’t he dying to do it again, to touch me everywhere, to devour me?

“I’d like for you to look at me when you speak to me,” I said, setting my cup on the counter.

He spun around, and what I saw in his face left me frozen. He looked like a fucking robot, impossibly cold and distant. There was no life, no emotion in those eyes, only ice.

“It was a mistake. I let myself get carried away by the situation.”

“What situation?” I was more scared of his response than any of the danger I was in.