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Running my hands up and down her arms, I savor the softness of her skin. I’m sure I’m crushing her, but neither of us makes an attempt to move. It’s as if we’re both ignoring the inevitable and just enjoying our time together, for however long we’ve got.
I can tell the moment reality sets in. Payton tenses beneath my touch. Exhaling deeply, I slowly stand up, pulling out of her body as I go. I grab the box of Kleenex behind my desk and hand her a few. Then I take some for myself, removing the condom and cleaning up the mess before disposing of it all in the trash.
By the time I’m finished cleaning up, she’s halfway dressed. Neither of us speaks, nor makes eye contact as we dress. I wouldn’t even know what to say anyway. Too quickly, I’m standing there in my pants, undershirt, and button-down hanging open. She’s completely dressed and sliding on her flats. When she stands to her full height, it takes everything I have inside me to not close the distance between us and take her in my arms. My body burns for her, but the consequences of a relationship mixed with business keep me rooted in place.
Her eyes scan over me, stopping and staring at my open shirt. I wonder if she’s going to ask me for this one too, like she did that first night together. Not that she really asked, but she was wearing that shirt–open of course–as we slept in her bed, our bodies touching and intertwined as much as humanly possible. If she asks, I’d gladly give this one to her too.
When her eyes finally land on my face, sorrow fills them. I can see her struggling with what we’ve done–again. It pains me even more that she’s so torn. The last thing I’d want is for her to regret our time together; lord knows I haven’t in the least. I want her to look back and smile and remember how dynamic and explosive we were in bed (and out of it).
Unable to resist the invisible pull I have towards her, I close the distance and stand before her. Softly, I run my thumb down her jaw before cupping her cheek in my hand.
“Why can’t I stay away from you?” she whispers, her eyes shining with what could possibly be tears.
“I’m pretty irresistible,” I reply, trying to keep it light.
She chuckles. “You are.”
Together, we each take a deep breath as she turns and kisses my palm. “Nothing’s changed.” I say the words to myself as much as to her.
“I know.” I can feel the regret pouring from her.
“I wish it were different,” I say, pulling her into my arms and kissing her lips.
“Me too. I’d pick you if I could.”
“I’d pick you too.” And I would.
There’s something astonishing and wonderful about Payton Summer, and it pains me that I’ll never know the true extent of her amazingness. Someday soon, she’ll meet someone and he’ll never let her go. He’ll realize the gift he has and cherish it for the rest of his life. He’ll be the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe.
Damn, I wish I could be that man.
As she kisses me back, there’s resolve in her touch. It’s something I’ve become familiar with in the last few months. Every time we’re together, we both vow that it’ll be our last. Yet something jerks us together, like an invisible string pulling us back towards each other.
My heartbeat speeds up as she walks towards my office door. I had the forethought to lock it when we entered my space, not because I expected to screw her on my desk, but because I wanted to ensure no one interrupted our time together. Even if it would have remained completely professional, I treasure any solitary moments I can steal with her.
“Goodbye, Dean.” Her words drip with melancholy, her eyes matching. It takes everything I have not to go to her and take her in my arms. I yearn to throw every rule in the rulebook out the fucking window.
But I can’t.
Instead of speaking the words I long to say, I go with the right ones. “Goodbye, Payton.”
