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Charlie texts as the sun sets, telling me that his debt has come due and I shouldn’t wait for him for dinner, that he’s not going to be home until late. I give it the old college try to wait for him anyway, finding some movies from the last five years to try to watch while snacking on leftover pasta. It’s an abject failure when I fall asleep on the couch.

My dream involves dancing baguettes and the Eiffel Tower exploding like a giant bottle of champagne, the bubbly beverage frothing over until the Seine flows golden with endless amounts of the liquid. Distantly, I hear the front door close and am startled awake. My nerves still seem to be frayed, given how easily I’ve been startled lately.

“What are you still doing up?” he whispers, as if he can lull me back to sleep. My back arches as I stretch, a huge yawn giving away how tired I really am. The clock on the cable box tells me that it’s after one in the morning, practically an early night for him. I toss the blanket aside, rising from the couch onto my toes as I deepen my stretch, my tank rising up, showing my midriff. Setting his laptop on the island, Charlie’s eyes drink in the length of my legs and the bare skin of my torso.

“I was watching a movie and must have fallen asleep. How was work?” I ask, leaning up to kiss him. This taste of domesticity reminds me that my feelings for him are real. I want this life with him, even if that comes with late nights. It’s worth it with him.

“Ah, you know, same old shit. My dad is riding me about having been out for two weeks, but that’s nothing new. For a CEO he’s really too invested in a lowly Managing Director like me.”

“Something about that job title doesn’t scream lowly to me.” I take his mention of the trip as my opening. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, getting himself a glass of water, and I think affectionately of the collection of empty glasses I had cleaned up earlier in the day.

“Was our trip supposed to be your honeymoon?”

Charlie chokes on his water and sets down the glass, looking alarmed. “I’m sorry, what gave you that idea?” he asks, not answering the question.

I stay silent, fighting the urge to cross my arms, not wanting to seem defensive or confrontational. When I say nothing, he leans against the counter, crossinghisarms -- definitely defensive.

“No, that’s not what that trip was. I’m going to guess Vivian told you?” He doesn’t wait for my response before continuing. “Ainsley and I were supposed to get married the weekend before the accident. She called it off during Christmas last year after I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day working. She threw the ring in my face and left. We were supposed to go to Seychelles for our honeymoon. I can’t tell you how often it crosses my mind that if I had gotten married, I wouldn’t have been in that car that hit you. And you would be whole now.” He scratches behind his head, looking away from me. His tone shifts from defensive to angry. “She is in my past. If it makes you feel better to know that you’re not a rebound, I went on a few dates in the spring. Do you want to know my number? Fifteen. I will tell you anything and everything you want to know. I have no secrets. You don’t need to go behind my back to find anything out,” he bites out that last, pushing past me to go to the bedroom.

I follow him. “I didn’t go behind your back. Vivian mentioned it, so I asked. I do feel like I’m entitled to know.” I hate that I feel defensive now, but his tone set me on edge.

“Entitled is one word for it.” His laugh is harsh as he starts to undress. He’s rough about tugging out his tie, haphazardly dropping it off to the side. Charlie doesn’t look at me as he unbuttons his shirt, peels it off, balls it up, and throws it at the hamper with force. I’m standing next to the hamper when he does this, and I flinch, turning my head away from where it landed just short of its target. Charlie goes utterly still at that, his eyes searching, looking for something, anything, to explain my reaction. I’m just as aware of it as he is and for a moment neither of us knows what to say.

“Do you think I would hit you?” he whispers, horrified, not moving. There is something like betrayal laced into his voice, that I could think he was capable of raising a hand to me.

Eager to change the subject, I sit on the corner of the bed, closer to where he stands. “No, I don’t think that. I don’t know why I did that.” I take a breath. “Entitled was the wrong word, but you asked me to live with you, past just my recovery. I didn’t go behind your back, it came up. I knew there was an ex-fiancée, you did mention her, but I guess I had envisioned her in the far-away past, not that this was the week that ended your engagement only last year. Can you blame me for being a little insecure? I’m afraid that this is just some hero complex where you feel like you need to save me and take care of me after the accident and that after I’m healed you won’t want me anymore.”

Charlie still doesn’t move from where he is, and for a moment, it hurts that he doesn’t come to me since I have just laid bare my biggest fear. I would be less vulnerable if I was naked.

“Baby,” his voice is soft as he finally crosses to me. His large hands are gentle as he places them on my shoulders, as if trying not to startle an injured bird. They trail slowly down my arms to my hands, which he wraps around his waist, hugging me to his stomach. “It’s like Jack; only time is going to prove it to you. I’m not going anywhere and you have nothing to be insecure about. I haven’t heard from Ainsley since she moved out. I bought this apartment to start over, away from any memories that we had in our old place. There are no ghosts of fiancées past lingering here. This place is all us andourmemories.”

I pull away gently, pressing my forehead to his chest, then my lips to his stomach as I hold onto him.

I rise to kiss him softly on the mouth, both of us focused on giving more of ourselves to one another in any way we can. He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his middle, as he leans me back to the center of the bed. My lips won’t leave his, not even to take off my shirt, so he just pushes it up, his hand palming my breast. I fumble with his belt, pulling him back against me when he tries to pull away to handle it himself. I don’t care that it’s needy of me but I just don’t want him to let go of me at all. Charlie doesn’t bother with taking his pants off, pulling himself free, pausing at my entrance. He’s fast with the condom, pulling it from thin air and sliding it on. He thrusts inside me, slow and insistent, and I don’t stop him.

Our lovemaking is slow that night, each of us giving to the other in turn. We don’t care about the late hour. We take our time, wait until our partner is satisfied and their needs are met. We fall asleep cuddled close, each providing safe harbor for the other in the storm.

Chapter 16

AtextfromCharliewarns that he will be home by seven for dinner. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. I assumed that leading up to Christmas Eve all his work nights would be late, like the previous evening. The goodies I had ordered online were burning a figurative hole in my head. All I want to do is break them out, unable to wait until Christmas. I had a terrible habit of keeping surprises, often giving my parents gifts before their birthdays or holidays, too eager to see their responses.

Charlie keeping me updated on his trip home means that I can whip out some of what I bought without waiting too long in an uncomfortable g-string. I spend the hour before he gets home lighting candles and struggling into a lace bustier and a black thong. I pull my blonde hair up away from my face in a hasty clip, imagining myself pulling it out and letting my hair tumble around my shoulders while I ride him. After several curses I forgot I knew, each more imaginative than the last, I manage to attach the garter hooks to the stockings.

The full length mirror offers a perfect glimpse of how it will look when Charlie gets home. I alternate between barefoot and black stilettos, admiring the length they seem to add to my legs. The stilettos might be overdoing it, but I feel sexy and powerful wearing them. I slip the silk robe on and try out a few poses for how he will come home to find me. Should I be lying in bed, waiting and ready? Should I greet him at the door? I check myself out in the mirror again, admiring how full my breasts are and how my ass looks thanks to all the squats I do in physical therapy.

While in my apartment the day before, I came across a vibrator in my nightstand and was surprised. I had never really taken things into my own hands, having had a steady stream of monogamous relationships from high school through college. Masturbation for women was so taboo, that I never thought much about it. But now with the weight of it in my hand, I wonder what it would be like to do it. I wash it off, careful of the battery. I know enough to grab the lube from Charlie’s nightstand. Even if I don’t do it before he arrives, maybe we could play with it some, or I could use it tomorrow to pass the day away.

I sit on the edge of the bed and turn it on, feeling it shake in my hand. I smirk, checking my phone and seeing that Charles’ ETA is in five minutes, so maybe I can get myself primed.

I move the fabric of my thong to the side and press the vibrator to my clit gently at first, testing. I let out a hard breath and wonder why I haven’t tried this sooner. I increase the pressure, my breath becoming a little more insistent as I squirm against it, trying to figure out how to move when a cock isn't involved.

I’m so alert, and on edge, that I hear the jangle of keys as the first of the three locks is undone. I quickly turn off the vibrator and stash it in my nightstand for later. The heels slow me down as I try to be silent, moving on the balls of my feet so Charlie doesn’t hear me get into position. I let the silk robe drop off my shoulders and gather at my elbows, and I try a few poses quickly to see what feels more natural as the second lock clicks. I put one hand on my hip, then the other, and then both, before settling on just one. I cock my hip to the side and brace my hand against the door jam. I hear the last lock click and the door swings open.

“Hello, Mr. Breckenridge,” I purr, only to scream when I see that it’s not Charlie at the door. I quickly pull the robe around me and stand up straight, desperate to cover as much of my skin as possible. The man before me is Charlie, but aged thirty years, a permanent frown line creasing around his mouth. I know that face because I’ve seen it in pictures in the apartment, somehow looking disapproving even in photos where he should be happy. I quickly tie the robe shut. All euphoria that has been building in me is gone. My hands clasp on my chest to further keep it closed, as if he could see through the dark fabric.

“You must be the strumpet that has kept my son from doing his job for the last few months.” He takes off his coat, seemingly unbothered by my state of undress. He hangs the coat up in the closet and makes himself at home as he shuts the door behind him.


Tags: Nicole Sanchez Romance