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I had fucked Isla and in doing so I had fucked myself.
Seven
Trying to remember how to breathe, I lay underneath Sean and wondered how it was possible to have had sex that amazing with something I wasn’t even sure I liked. Respected as a chef? Yes. Liked? The jury was still out. Apparently that didn’t matter because the sex had been stellar.
“This was a great idea,” Sean said.
It was the best idea. Maybe ever.
“Now we don’t have to have this tension between us. We got it out of our system.”
He was still in me, but sure, right. If he meant that he was satisfied with the sex, I would agree with that. I was satisfied. “Yes. You’re definitely out of my system.”
For the next five minutes, anyway. Now that I knew what it felt like, I wanted more. Greedy, grabby hands, give me some more of that dick. I knew that was a terribl
e idea but it didn’t make me want it any less.
“Same here. This was the right move to make. Because it was getting awkward at work and neither of us want that.”
“Why was it awkward?” I asked, wanting a little clarification.
“Because we had unfinished business from that kiss. Now we can just be co-workers and we won’t have any of this between us.” He gestured to our naked, sweaty, and still thoroughly entwined bodies.
I wasn’t sure what point he was trying to make, but it would be really fantastic if he just stopped talking. I made a noncommittal sound and tried to hang on to my afterglow.
“Should we shake on it?” he asked, giving me what he probably thought was a charming smile.
“Shake on what?” I eyed Sean. “I swear if you stick your hand in my face right now, I will smack it away,” I told him, losing my grip on any sort of post-orgasm good vibes.
He frowned. “I was actually kidding. What’s wrong?”
Wow, he was clueless sometimes. “Nothing. Can you just get off of me? You’re crushing me.” His weight had been pleasant until he had started discussing us never having sex again while we were kind of still having sex.
“Oh, sorry.” He rolled to the side and propped himself on his arm, looking concerned. “Was I too rough?”
Oh, dear God. Did he know me at all? I was not the woman who would suffer in silence if I didn’t enjoy something.
“Of course not. I would have told you if it was. You’re just talking about us being done when you’re still on top of me. It’s kind of rude.” And maybe slightly hurtful. I didn’t want to have sex with him again either. Well. I did. But I couldn’t. I knew that. But he was acting like I was nothing more than a mild itch he had scratched.
It didn’t feel like a mild itch to me. It felt enormous. Our chemistry felt intense.
He swore. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Sometimes I speak before I think.”
“Sometimes?” I rolled my eyes and sat up. I reached for the T-shirt that had been tossed in the direction of the headboard. Pulling it on over my head made me feel better. I needed clothing between us.
Sean didn’t say anything. He just lay there in my bed, on top of my comforter, all naked nonchalance. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to touch all of that masculine hardness and now it was over. The silence drew out too long. It felt awkward, so I stood up and went to the bathroom. When I came back out, I released Scott from the kitchen and sat down on the edge of the bed so I could pull on my joggers, which was what I should have done in the first place instead of having sex with Sean.
He’d thought we were awkward at work all week? Please. This was awkward.
He had sat up and pulled his jeans back on. He was scratching his beard and still saying nothing. I didn’t want to regret our impulsiveness but at the same time I just wanted him to say something or go home.
Finally, exasperated, I asked him, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Because I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing and piss you off. Silence seems the safest course of action.”
He had a good point. I rolled my eyes. “You’ve already pissed me off. How much worse could it get?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I could make it a lot worse without even really trying.”
