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The man can fuck. Even with his clothes on and his polished shoes still neatly tied, he tore me apart. My pussy aches, my heart is thrumming a beat that I can hear vibrating in my ears and my dress is a twisted mess.
Yet, he looks like someone who caught a sprint on his way out the door after a late shower. His hair is tousled from where I ran my fingers through it. His shirt is slightly askew. Beyond his still open pants, he looks every inch the successful businessman. A few quick fixes and he would captivate an entire boardroom of Matiz executives without anyone knowing what he just did.
I'm tempted to ask him to strip so that I can savor the sight of his nude body and take that memory home with me to bed. I don't. Instead, I squeeze his hand and push myself up from the couch.
"You tore my panties," I accuse as I smooth out my skirt. "Now, I have to go home without them."
His eyes search the floor for the small bunch of lace that used to cover me. "That's not a complaint, is it?"
How could it be? It's been awhile since I've been fucked. It's been never since I was fucked like that. He could have ripped my dress to shreds and sent me on my way with just my purse and my shoes, and I would have politely thanked h
im for the orgasms and dinner.
"I should take my purse with me," I say aloud, even though the only reason I need it is so I can fix my makeup. I'm not sure why. He just told me he wants me again.
He leads me across the room to the piano and the spot I left my purse when we first arrived. I follow quietly, watching him move. He stalks the space with the familiarity we all do when we're in our home. He inches around the piano bench without looking down at it. He maneuvers slightly to the left when we reach the corner that leads down a hallway with three white doors.
"The guest bath is the second door on the right."
I nod as my gaze skims over the two dark wooden frames hung on the wall in the hallway. They're both pictures, each capturing a sailboat on a body of water. The photograph farthest from us is taken from a distance. The pink stained sky of early evening gives way to blue water and a lone sailboat, peaceful as the sun sets, not a soul in sight.
The second picture is more defined. The sailboat is different. It's larger. The sails crisp and white, too tall to fit in the frame. A group of people stands on deck, all smiling with their hands in the air as if the photographer caught them mid-wave. There are two children and five adults. A black and white dog sits in the middle of the shot, eyes trained on whoever is holding the camera.
"Is this your family?" I look up at Nolan and smile. "Are you sailors?"
He takes a step forward, his expression pained. "This was taken a long time ago. It was a very long time ago."
I lick my lips. My throat is dry and my regret is high for bringing it up. "It looks fun. I've never been on a sailboat."
"It's exhilarating." He tilts his head as he studies my face. "I haven't been on one in years myself. You never forget the rush of the air or the feeling of freedom."
"They're beautiful pictures," I say slowly. "Are you one of those kids?"
It's a natural assumption. One of the men bears a striking resemblance to Nolan. His chin is set the same and the shape of his eyes is identical, but there are differences too. His hair is sun-streaked. It's a combination of golden brown with blonde streaks. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth are more pronounced because of the bronze color of his skin. He's tall, but the other men in the photograph are taller, their shoulders broader.
The children's faces are shadowed with the wide brims of hats and their torsos covered with red and yellow trimmed life jackets. They look like pure sunshine, with smiles that reek of privilege and hope. I never smiled like that when I was their age. I'm not sure I've ever smiled like that.
"You're right. They are beautiful pictures." He skips past my question as he steps toward the washroom. "You can use this one. I'll use the one attached to the bedroom."
I nod as he hastily crosses the hall and disappears into the shadows of his bedroom.
***
I smooth back my hair as I listen to Adley's panicked voice in my ear.
Finally, I get my first chance to speak since calling her when I noticed she texted me more than a dozen times. "You locked yourself out? I thought the party you were having was inside our apartment, Ad."
"It was." Her voice trembles. "I drank too much and I have to work early tomorrow, so I went to the café around the corner to get a cup of coffee. I forgot my keys. I'm tired, Bean."
"We have coffee," I say even though it's a useless reminder at this point. "Did you call Tori to see if she could let you up?"
"She's in Oregon for a family thing," she replies quickly. "I called her first. She'd let me in if she weren't clear across the country."
Tori lives in the apartment above us. She and Adley used to be roommates before Tori fell in love on the elevator with a fireman who just moved into the building. It was a whirlwind romance that left Adley with an orange bridesmaid dress she hates and an empty bedroom.
The timing couldn't have been better for me, though. Tori moved out just over two months ago and since Adley was slow to start the search for a new roommate, I was able to move in.
"I'm still at the coffee shop, Ellie." Adley clears her throat. "I tried standing in front of the building for more than fifteen minutes but no one came home. Besides, even if I get inside the front door, I can't get into our apartment. It has that automatic lock on it."
