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He growls. ‘You are unbelievable.’ Then he’s kissing me again, pushing me back on the bed, his hands finding the elastic waist of my skirt and pushing it down, taking my silk G-string with it, still kissing me while he dispenses with his own pants. His kiss is everything I need in that moment because it’s so real, so tangible, so filled with everything I feel.
He grabs my hands, holding them to my sides and pushing up to stare at me, a muscle throbbing low in his jaw.
‘This is just sex. Is that what you want to hear?’ He thrusts into me, and I stare at him, my chest in a state of turmoil.
‘Meaningless, fantastic fucking sex.’ He drives into me again and now I bite down on my lip to stop from crying; emotions are bursting through me—intense pleasure at his body’s possession of mine, and an ache deep in my soul that seems to have come at me from nowhere.
He groans, shaking his head and kissing me, and I taste the tang of tears in my mouth as he slows his speed, taking me gently, each movement speaking to me, calming me while still driving me to the edge of sanity. But I don’t want gentleness. I want the fervour of passion, the anger of it, the sheer ecstasy of those emotions.
I lift my hips in a rapid rhythm and he responds, answering my silent demands, until I’m tumbling into a state of physical pleasure, white lights blinding my eyes for a moment as all of my body suspends its operations to process what’s unfolding. I feel starlight in my skin. He holds me as I come and then I feel him following, his cock pulsing inside me, spilling from his body, his own breathing harsh but silent as he binds his orgasm to mine for the first time.
Usually I come several times before him; tonight is different.
Everything’s different and I can’t even say why, just that something’s shifted.
He rolls off me afterwards, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. I do the same, mirroring his position and expression. I thought I’d feel better but I don’t. I’m completely jumbled.
It’s in the wasteland of time that passes next, the immediate aftermath of our passion, that I realise two things. He somehow managed to remember a condom—which is impressive. I didn’t have that presence of mind. And we broke his first rule—w
e made love with him on top of me, looking into my eyes.
I stand up, restless, frustrated and just...sad. I don’t look at him.
‘Forget the offer, Jessica. I thought it would solve all your problems. I thought in offering to buy forty per cent of your business I’d be freeing you up to realise all your dreams with it. I thought that in buying forty per cent you’d understand that I’m probably the one corporate partner who will never—wouldn’t ever dream of—interfering in your operations.’
I nod, his explanation clarifying several points for me. ‘You thought I needed you to rescue me,’ I say quietly. ‘You thought I wouldn’t be able to make the right decision, or negotiate the best deal myself, so you offered me the best one yourself. Would you have ever made me such an advantageous offer if we weren’t sleeping together?’
He sits up, turning away from me and striding to the bathroom, disposing of the condom and returning a second later wearing a towel slung low around his waist.
‘I wouldn’t have known you like I do,’ he concedes. ‘So I might have wanted more control. And you would have responded by saying all the things you already said to me—about the reasons you developed this community and what it means to you—and then, sex or no sex, I would have seen what I see now: that the only person running your business should be you. That to empower anyone else to do what you’re doing would be criminal. The fact we’re sleeping together is beside the point and you have to know that I’m the last person who would ever let a personal relationship play into my business movements.’
My chest tightens because I know he’s right—of course that’s true. His reputation is established there. You don’t get to be the kind of success he is without having strong commercial instincts and adhering to them strictly.
‘Obviously this was a misstep.’ He moves towards me but stops about a metre away. I look at him and it’s as if my chest has been opened up. I feel vulnerable. I feel different. I feel as if he’s seeing everything I usually keep so well hidden. ‘You’re right. I was arrogant to think you’d even welcome my offer. Arrogant to think you’d need it. I’m sorry.’
I flinch, because he’s wrong—he did nothing wrong and doesn’t need to apologise. I know what my blind spots are; I know my own weaknesses. I know I’m so determined to be alone that I push away anyone who wants to be close, and that the possibility of having Zach in my life in any kind of ongoing capacity is too much to bear. Fear made me lash out, but that wasn’t his fault.
He’s being the bigger person and apologising and I hate that I can’t make myself do the same.
‘It’s my life,’ I say, devastated when my voice cracks a little. I spin away from him, looking for my skirt. My shirt is still on—another first for us.
‘I know.’ He’s behind me, the skirt in his hands. He crouches down, holding it for me step into. I put my hand on his shoulder as I do so, dipping my head forward, closing my eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’ I whisper the apology he deserves. ‘It just caught me off guard.’
He slides the skirt into position then stands, catching my hands and holding them in front of me. He’s smiling in a way that’s encouraging, wanting me to smile back at him, but I can’t.
‘I meant what I said before. This is just sex. You don’t need to worry that anything has—or will—change for me.’
I feel as if I’m being stretched on the rack. I nod, forcing a smile to my face, squeezing his hands right back. ‘Let’s just forget it.’
He scans my face and then nods, putting an arm around my waist and pulling me closer. ‘I’m really sorry that I upset you.’
The more he apologises, the more kind he is, the more perfect he is, the more the feeling in my chest worsens. The more I feel as though I’m being tortured in some awful, primitive way. I nod jerkily, assuming the face I have thousands of times in my life, a face that tells the world I’m completely fine—better than fine. I’m Jessica Johnson and no one can fuck with me.
‘Let’s eat, Zach. I’m starving.’
CHAPTER TEN
