That can’t happen here. Despite leaving Sylvie asleep in the bed, I still head downstairs to peruse the limited breakfast options, but we’re sharing a space. I have to go back up there. I have to face her again, and not like normal. I run into women I’ve been with atJake’s. I’ve had to remind more than one about the rules, but I’ve never gone back to the room, the place where we had sex, with all those memories and the scent of sex in the air.
Indifferent women are a godsend. A woman who can climb out of bed, albeit on shaky legs, with a smile on her face instead of a million questions, is a good thing… normally.
Something about Sylvie doing it yesterday even before locking herself in the bathroom hit me the wrong way. When she emerged and quickly dressed, as if I hadn’t come harder than I can ever remember before, exacerbated that feeling.
She acted like nothing happened, like she didn’t fucking care at all, and it’s not her actions but how they made me feel that eat away at me.
She took the car and disappeared for a couple hours, offering no explanation when she got back as to where she’d been and who she spent time with. She simply changed into that cock-thickening muumuu and climbed in bed. Ten minutes later, her rhythmic breathing told me she was already asleep.
On one hand, I want to give her the cold shoulder. I want to treat her exactly like what she is, a good time, but the other hand is grabbing a cup of coffee for her along with a croissant and cream cheese.
I debate packing my things and waiting for her in the car as I climb the steps back to the room, but that means I’ll miss her leaving the bathroom after her shower, and I just don’t have the strength to do that.
Bits and pieces of our first time together have filtered in since I saw that damn tattoo again, but the rush of memory hit me the second the tip of my dick slid inside of her. My nuts threatened to seize and explode that very same second.
I don’t know the neurological or medical reasons why I was able to block that night out, but with the flood of memories came the realization ofwhyit happened.
I knew quickly that night that Sylvie was different, and I don’t mean better in bed than other women. It was the connection, the conversation, the way she listened and spoke without having an agenda.
Manipulative women aren’t new for me. Yes, we were warned about it when we joined Cerberus, but being in the military brought along its own crowd of females wanting to lock down a husband with a dependable job. A lot of soldiers get married shortly after enlisting, and some of that is for love, but many times it’s a way for a woman to build a life with a man with job security.
Sylvie gave off none of those vibes. I didn’t get a feeling she was acting aloof because she was trying to draw me in. She just wanted to have a fun night, and that’s where I made my mistake. I let my guard down. I talked about my life, my dad’s death, my mom’s suicide. She returned that information with tales of her own childhood, not trying to one-up me when she explained that her mom took off when she was very young.
I escaped my room the next morning, after having spent the night resisting the urge to wrap my arms around her while we slept, because I knew if there was anyone in the world capable of making me break my ultimatum it would be Sylvie Davis.
She scared the fuck out of me.
So being the dick I am, I brought a different woman home the next night, feeling guilty the entire time. I drank myself stupid after I asked her to leave, and when I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover I’ve ever had, those memories of Sylvie were gone.
Thinking back now, I have no fucking clue how I did it, but the worst part about it, now that I remember all of it, I’m left wishing I never saw her again after that night we spent together. I wanted those memories to stay hidden.
Getting the bedroom door open with two cups of coffee and a plate is difficult but I manage, freezing in my tracks when I step inside and see Sylvie clasping her bra.
My eyes immediately drift to the lace between her thighs.
“I brought you coffee,” I say, more to her covered pussy than her face.
“Thank you,” she says, her tone businesslike, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that she once again doesn’t take me up on my blatant offer to please her.
She doesn’t flirt or dress in a suggestive way. She simply pulls on jeans and a soft sweater with her back to me.
There’s no peeking over her shoulder, no devious smile on her lips when she turns back around. She takes one of the coffee cups I’m still holding with a tiny thankful nod of her head.
“My aunt called while you were gone. She came to town last night and got Naomi and the baby, but I’d like to swing by there one last time before we head to Will’s office.”
The croissant almost slides off the plate when my hand jerks. “Will’s office?”
“Didn’t I mention it?” she asks absently before taking a sip of coffee.
“The only time you mentioned Will is when you were begging me to make you come because he couldn’t manage to do it,” I snarl, ignoring the burn of coffee on the back of my hand from the cup shaking.
She bites the corner of her lip, and I don’t know if it’s the memory of yesterday or the jealousy that’s seeping out of my pores that she finds so fucking amusing.
“Will has never made me come,” she says with a shrug as she places the coffee cup on the bedside table before walking over and zipping up her suitcase. “Ready?”
“Do you want this?” I ask through gritted teeth as I hold out the plate to her.
“No, thank you.”