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‘I never knew I had t
hat in me. It scared me.’
‘You spent a long time pretending you didn’t even see me.’
‘Well, I didn’t exactly know what to do about how I felt...’
‘What changed?’ he pushes, his hand moving lower, curving around my ass and pulling me towards him. ‘Why’d you decide to approach me?’
‘Knowing I was leaving,’ I say with a lopsided smile. ‘I had nearly three weeks left and, on the one hand, I knew if I didn’t ask you, I’d regret it. But it was a safe time to proposition you because, if you’d turned me down, I didn’t have to see you often before I left.’
‘Ah! But think of what would have happened if you’d asked me two months earlier. So much more fun...’ He grins, and he’s joking, it’s all very light-hearted, but the darkness at the end of this path is growing nearer.
I shake my head, pulling away from him a bit. If I’d asked him two months earlier, I know where I’d be right now. Head over heels in love, undoubtedly, completely lost to his raw power, attraction, appeal, his magnetism, my plans to travel, my promise to Mum in tatters at my feet.
‘The timing was right,’ I say simply, detaching from him completely, moving to the edge of the bed and standing. ‘Do you want anything before you go? Shower? Coffee? Beer?’
He looks at me for several seconds, the air heavy with words he’s not saying.
‘I’m making myself a tea,’ I say awkwardly. ‘It’s no trouble...’
‘You’re kicking me out?’
I smile to hide the darkness that’s swirling through me. Because I am kicking him out. I’m kicking him out to avoid the blurring of any more lines between us. ‘Yep. That’s the point of a booty call, isn’t it?’
Something flashes in his eyes and I feel him wanting to fight, wanting to argue, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head a little and stands up, disposing of the condom and reaching for his shorts in the same movement. ‘Yeah. That’s the point of a booty call.’
My stomach lurches. ‘Are you...annoyed?’
He pins me with his gaze. ‘No. Why would I be?’
‘I don’t know.’ Something between us feels weird. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night?’
He looks at me for several long, silent seconds and panic stirs in my abdomen. ‘Yes, Millie. I’ll see you tomorrow night.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHEN I FINISH my shift around midnight, Michael’s car is parked on the kerb outside O’Leary’s. A smile lifts my lips as I approach it and knock on the window. ‘Could I trouble you for a ride, sir?’ I purr and he laughs, pushing open the door from inside.
I step in, buckling up and looking at him with renewed hunger. Knowing I’m leaving soon makes me want to take every ounce of pleasure I can from him, makes me want to enjoy every last second before I close the book on this chapter of my life.
Not every last second, though.
Space matters too.
Distance. Separation. It’s important to remember the terms of this, just like I said to him last night. Even when I want to scrap everything else I have on in these last few days and just...what? Be with him?
There’s very little traffic on the roads. We drive in silence, but for me every mile is stretching my desire, deepening my need, until I am burning with want. He pulls the car into his space and the second he cuts the engine I’ve unclipped my seat belt and opened the door.
He’s seconds behind me.
We wait for the lift in silence.
The doors slide open; we step inside. The moment they ping closed and we are alone, I reach for him. He grabs for me. Our thought and action is the same—possession. His mouth crushes mine, his body presses me back against the mirrored wall of the lift. His knee parts my legs. One of his hands clamps my wrists above my head and the other tangles in my hair, holding my head where it is, prisoner to his possession, his ownership. I whimper into his mouth; heat pools between my legs.
He lifts me up, or maybe I pull up, wrapping my legs around his waist so that, when the lift reaches his floor he steps out, carrying me, kissing me, promising me what I need without saying a word. He fumbles the key then pushes his door open and, as soon as we’re in his apartment, my hands are ripping at his shirt. A button pops off and I laugh then swear, apologising. I’m sure his shirts cost a small fortune.
‘Don’t worry.’ He shakes his head, claiming my mouth again, shrugging out of his shirt without placing me down.
