He sits inches away from me.
He takes the gold silk pocket square from his pants pocket and hands it to me. He's as kind now as he was that night. I take the silk from his hand and pat it over my cheeks, but his gesture only brings fresh waves of tears. I shouldn't cry. Oh, why does it matter what I do anymore? We've come full circle. We met in this room, and here we are again, the same silence between us as that first night.
I clear my nose into the silk and dry my cheeks. Looking at him with tearless eyes, he places the empty shot glass in front of me. I fill it for him as I did then. I met a stranger that night. It's been one hundred and ten days, almost four months, and he's still a stranger to me now. Except...
He drinks. I refill it again. He downs it. The whiskey bottle is half full—he's been drinking before I came in, like that night.
Except this time, in the span of those months, I desired him, then loved him, and now... I had moved on from him. Turning to my left, gazing up at him, our eyes meet as they did back then. My curiosity about him remains. But now– I've accepted he is beyond my reach. The questions I planned to ask him seem irrelevant. Even if I ask, he wouldn't answer.
With the back of his hand, he slides the empty shot glass toward me. I reach for the whiskey bottle but change my mind, opening a water bottle instead. I refill his shot glass with water. He stares at the water-filled shot, his expression unreadable.
He takes the whiskey bottle and drinks straight from it. I know someday he'll meet someone he can talk to. But I'm not her. Averting my face from his view, I cry silently while he gulps down the whiskey.
Feeling better after the last stream of tears, I dry my face and straighten up. The whiskey bottle is down to less than a third. I sigh and glance at: 12:53. He leans his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes. I stand, leaning over the table, reaching for the napkins, but his hand pulls me back to the seat. His dazed, drunken eyes flutter open.
I wet the napkins and place it on his forehead. He pulls me onto his lap. Arms around my waist, his lips comes toward mine, but I push on his chest. "You're drunk," I whisper against his whiskey-soaked breath.
"Do you really think I'll want you less when I'm sober?" he growls, his gaze locking onto my firm, round nipples, straining against the delicate fabric. They harden under his stare, my breasts swelling as if responding to him.
His lips crash into mine, stealing my breath. This kiss isn't impulsive—it's deliberate, calculated, and devastating. Heat coils in my stomach as his fingers tangle in my hair. His hand presses into my back, pulling me flush against him as he shifts, rolling me beneath him.
The cold leather bites into my skin but warms quickly as his body covers mine. The sharp snaps of my dress tear through the air as his lips blaze a trail down my neck, leaving me gasping. Cool air brushes over my exposed skin, sending shivers cascading down my body. My legs lift instinctively, giving him space.
Too many buttons. His clothes, like the rest of him, come with protective layers shielding him. They're in my way. My fingers fumble and claw, tearing at the closures in a desperate bid to reach his heat, his fire—his everything.
"Nnnn..." I moan softly when his wet, warm lips wrap around my nipple. My body responds instinctively to his touch, the fire of pleasure I crave igniting inside me. His touch has never been more tender and sensual, his fingers slowly traveling down my body—until he stops my hands.
"Not like this," he says, his sultry gaze piercing mine. My hands have already unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. My body, as before, has surrendered completely to him, moving of its own accord, leaving my mind behind.
Just as quickly as he had undone my dress, he fastens the buttons again, giving me a soft peck on my neck and lips. He stands, grabs his phone from the table, and commands, "We're leaving." It's probably Jason on the other side.
Before I can gather my thoughts, he sweeps me into his arms, carrying me out the back door to the waiting limousine. When I lean in to ask where we're going, his lips capture mine, pulling me into oblivion. He continues his claims over my body, gluing every inch of me to him. I've lost my sense of reality as sensations take over. My feet never touch the ground as he carries me into his world.
If this is how we say goodbye, then it's better than any farewell I've experienced.
###
We claw at each other's clothes, yanking them off and tossing them. My burning desire is ceaseless. When I tug his unzipped pants toward me, he stops my hand. The bed is soft and cool against my feverish skin, closing my eyes, my chest heaving, laying naked waiting for him.
Will this be our last time?
Naked, he hops onto the bed, hovering over me. Then, as he drives into me, claiming my lips at the same time, I feel utterly devoured. His motion careful as if he's afraid to hurt me. His tenderness is something new and inviting and yet, I yearned for what we had. Uncontrollable passion.
But as he slowly deliberately lets go of the controlled careful movements, he speeds up.
Passion engulfs me like never before. Immersed in delirious ecstasy, it feels as though the world has disappeared, and he's whisked me away to a realm beyond our own. Never have I been more present in my body, yet at the same time, so detached. My soul seems to oscillate between entering and leaving my body in rhythm with his movements.
Sensations intensify, and I lose all control as I cry out.
"Aaaahhhh..."
He groans, and as he reaches his peak, he releases a strained cry. He collapses beside me, both of us panting, struggling to return to reality from the ethereal plane we just explored. My mind tries to form words, but my soul hasn't fully returned. He turns to me, tenderly gathering me into his arms and drawing the covers over us as we bask in the lingering afterglow of our fervent union.
When clarity returns, I notice how brightly lit the room is. Dazed, I look up at him, our eyes meeting. His eyes are also dazed, both of us equally bewildered by the intensity of our passion and how surreal it feels.
He lightly brushes his lips against my nose, and I hear myself whisper, "I missed you." I thought I had only thought the words, but they had escaped my lips.
"How much?" His gentle voice caresses me as his lips move from my nose to hover above my mouth.
"A mountain," I reply softly, prompting a warm chuckle from him.
The sound makes my heart flutter.
"I'll buy you a mountain," he promises, pressing a kiss to my chin.
"Could you?" I exclaim, excitement swelling. "I think owning a mountain would be the coolest thing! We'd have mountain lions, bobcats, eagles, and all sorts of birds! And the trees! We could protect the land and make it a sanctuary for them, and occasionally—"
I stop myself, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it is to be discussing this after such a passionate encounter. Yet, as I look into his affectionate eyes and see his loving smile, my reservations fade.
He continues to pepper kisses moving from my wrist to my thumb while never breaking eye contact.
"Occasionally?" he prompts.
Crushed by a wave of exhaustion from all the excitement, I whimper, "I'm tired." My eyes struggle to stay open.
"Let's sleep," he says, tightening his embrace around me.
I close my eyes, and within moments, I'm fast asleep in his arms.
His lips move against mine, passing a minty breath. The soft, moist, yet firm kiss awakens me. His hand slides around my neck, lifting my head as he deepens the sensual kiss, letting me taste the sweet, fresh mint.
"Mmmm..." I open my eyes reluctantly and squint at the light.
"I have to go," he whispers.
My eyes shoot open. He's already fully dressed wearing the same clothes from last night. "Why?" I blurt out as I grab his arm.
"Business trip. I'll be back in four days. Meet me here at five p.m. on Wednesday."
"Take me with you," I whimper. Then realized what I just said.
An amused smile appears on his face, a few caresses on my cheek by his thumb, then he turns to leave. I hold onto his hand. When he faces me again, I pout. He sighs and sits back down on the side of the bed.
Squeezing my hand, he says, "Let's move in together."
"Wh–what?"
"You said if we moved in, we could skip a few dates."
"Are we dating? Aren't we past that? What are we? Where are we?" I scan the high-ceilinged room. He laughs, kisses my cheek then hand before letting it go, and leaves. It takes some time, lying in the bed filled with evidence of our lovemaking and his lingering smell, for me to orient myself back to reality.
Four days feel like a long time. What the hell is wrong with me! Why did I think that? What is happening?
But exhaustion is more potent. I slip back into sleep. Upon waking again, I discover that he has ordered breakfast for me and left a new phone beside the food. I smile foolishly reading his text: Sleep.
I quickly type a reply: I had to forget the jerk who slept with me last night and left me alone and sad this morning.
I eagerly await his response, but it never comes.