Cheater

13. Chloe

I wake up to the muffled sound of my phone ringing.

I manage to pry one eye open, feeling like a zombie.

I take in the sharpening image of what’s in front of me. An expanse of muscled torso.

Derek Steele.

We’re lying on our sides, my head tucked under his chin, most of me plastered against his body heat. I move back a little. Both of his arms are around me so one of his arms is my current pillow.

Many illicit images assault all my senses at once. Images of last night. Of the things he did to me. Of the things I did to him. So. Much. Fucking.

My belly takes a nosedive at the memories. I ticked several boxes on my sexy bucket list last night. My belly takes another dip. Wow, that was some dirty sex. And though it went on and on and on, every minute of it was amazing. I never got bored, it never felt monotonous, I didn’t want it to end.

This room is drenched with light, which means I stayed all night and slept like the dead. Did he want me to leave afterwards? I don’t know the etiquette for a hookup.

If he wanted me gone he probably wouldn’t have cuddled with me afterwards. He did more than cuddle me. He pretty much swaddled me like a baby. I fell asleep on his chest, his arms around me, and I slept deeper than I can recall sleeping in months.

The phone stops and I’m guessing it’s Alannah since I dropped a pretty hefty bombshell into her phone last night and it’s been way more than two hours. It was probably her calling in the middle of our final round.

Funny… because last weekend at her place on Saturday, she told me if I was smart, I’d pursue Derek Steele as hall pass material. Rich. Sexy. Would probably be happy to do it once and never ask for my phone number.

I bite my lip.

I’m sure she never thought I’d actually do it.

And I definitely never thought it was a possibility when she suggested it.

She certainly never told me she slipped him her number once.

I’m suddenly flipped to my back and covered by the hot, hard body of Mr. Hall Pass himself, who pins my wrists to the mattress and in one thrust, enters me to the hilt.

Ooh.

Our eyes lock.

His are sleepy. Sexy. And as always, kind of irresistible. Mr. Hall Pass loves eye contact, it seems. And it’s insanely appealing.

His jaw and cheeks are covered by faint stubble, and it looks good. His hair is a mess and that looks good, too. I can only imagine what my hair looks like after me falling asleep on it wet, without even combing it after that shower we took. After all the times he tangled his fingers in my hair and used it as a handle last night.

Hot.

He’s clearly not mad that I slept here, certainly not done with me. I lost count of how many times he made me come last night; how many times he came. He came a lot, though I came two or three times as much.

And here he is as soon as his eyes are open, fucking me again. A man with stamina such as this isn’t something I’m familiar with.

My legs hurt. Everywhere he put his dick kinda hurts.

And I’m a little shocked. It’s as if he had a cheat sheet or something. Notes on his hand that I didn’t notice. Bullet points telling him what would turn me to goo for him. A panicked thought hits me. Did Alannah get to him?

My mind races and I see spots for a beat while I ponder this.

Did she tell him I’d melt for a bunch of kinky stuff? Did she suggest I’d like it if he fucked me while holding my throat? Tell him to boss me around and talk dirty while he fucked me? Did she fill him in on just how badly I needed my dry spell to be broken and for me to use the hall pass on someone who really really knew what they were doing? Is that why he’s pursued this? Is Alannah the reason I’m here right now?

His mouth is on mine, taking a deep drink of me, bringing me back into the moment. My mind becomes all about sensations instead of intrusive thoughts and I wrap my arms and legs around him and go for the gusto.

But it doesn’t take long before other thoughts begin to flood in. Adam wouldn’t kiss me in the morning until after he’d brushed his teeth, especially considering the fact I swallowed cum last night. I’ve been kissed by guys with bad breath, so I always appreciated that about Adam. But Derek tastes amazing first thing in the morning. Just as good as he tasted last night. By the way he’s kissing me, I must not taste half bad either.

More visions wash over me, thinking about where his tongue was last night. How he kissed me after I went down on him. How he thankfully had the sense to get us both clean after the butt stuff before we went another round. My belly dips as he plunges into me again and again for a good few minutes before he moves to his back with body language that tells me to ride him. I get to my knees and give it my all, despite the fact that my body is sore. Between the first gym workout in over half a year and the most energetic sex of my life until the wee hours, I’m not sure how I’m even doing this.

It doesn’t take long for my limbs to go numb. When I wince and slow down, without missing a beat Derek rolls us, does a push-up, then slides out of me so he can flip me to my belly. He rams back in, hard, making me cry out.

His lips move to my earlobe and as he takes it between his teeth, he demands, “Make that sound again.”

“How about you make me make it,” I fire back, breathlessly.

He chuckles deviously and does exactly that. He pounds into me over and over like it’s a competition. And we’re both winning because I’m quickly close to coming undone under his weight, amid the sinfully good sound of his skin slapping mine. And does it ever feel good. Length and girth and rotating hips.

And now I’m thinking ooh, bonus because his fingers slide under my hip until he finds my clit and works my magic button, which doesn’t take long to detonate. When I majestically explode, moaning a garbled string of vowels into the mattress a few minutes later, I’m ready for another snooze. And the vagina hospital, if such a thing exists, because mine probably looks like minced meat at this point.

He’s not done, though. He continues to pound into me for a long time.

“Another one,” he growls against the back of my neck and his fingers find me again.

I don’t think I have another one in me. That last one was pretty fucking spectacular.

“It’s okay,” I offer. “I’m good. You go ahead.” I clasp the sheets to hold on while he brings it home.

“Nuh uh. You, too,” he demands, and then he’s got my clit in one hand, a breast in the other, and he sinks his teeth into my neck just a little while gyrating his hips, making more magic happen between my legs, making it happen all over.

Okay, so maybe I do have one more in me. Though I have no idea how.

I’m almost there when I realize he’s suckling my throat.

I panic. “No hickeys!” I demand.

He releases my neck, flips me to my back, then kisses his way down to my pussy and gives me more phenomenal head with all sorts of suckling. It’s good. Very good. He can put hickeys there all day long if he wants to. And what’s also good is watching him fist his thick cock while he does it.

And it’s a combination of the two along with the knowledge that this is all coming to a close that takes me over the edge again.

Because this insanely hot man is eating me out like he’s dining on the finest meal while fisting himself, and the vision is beyond pornographic. So, I burn it into my memory knowing it’s the sort of vision I’ll absolutely want to refer to during self-care in the future.

As I’m coming down to Earth, he turns me to my stomach again and slides back inside me. Gently finger combing my hair over to one side, he kisses my neck and rams once, twice, three times, and then spills into me on the fourth, groaning my name in a husky, sexy tone.

My heart is working overtime, and it feels like his is too as we catch our breath.

Derek kisses my neck and then in his sexy, deep voice asks, “What does my little bunny want for breakfast?”

A record scratch moment.

Breakfast. Daytime. Reality.

I’ve done this. I used the hall pass. I actually did this. And it was…

Wow.

I blink a couple times as it all sinks in.

I can’t let it sink in here. I need to do that at home.

I should get home. Get home and take the opportunity to spend the next twenty-four hours or so alone. Process. Figure out how I feel about this, about what I’ve done. About the fact that I, Chloe Desiree Turner, took a hall pass from my fiancé and used it. I really used it. I even had anal for the first time. And although it’s sore back there, my curiosity about it has finally been satisfied and I know one thing for damn sure – anal is hot! At least with Derek Steele it is… I’ve heard plenty of women complain about their first time being awful. Not for me.

But technically speaking, have I broken the rules of the hall pass? Because it happened with Derek more than once. Many more times than once. On two different calendar dates, in fact. But maybe that doesn’t count if I consider that this could be technically counted as one session. I bite my lip pondering if the sleepover is a loophole or if I’m kidding myself.

He rolls off me and now he's watching me. He’s trying to read my expression. And I don’t know how to read his because the warmth is gone. His expression is almost icy. Does he see I’m trying to plan my exit?

I should stay for breakfast. End this on a good note with him. After all, he joined my gym, and he goes to the soup place I love. Not to mention the fact that he sees Alannah at his business since that’s her favorite place for after-work drinks.

And… last night was incredible. It was beyond expectations and after the interactions he and I have had up until this, I had big expectations of what he might be like in bed. He absolutely did give me the hottest night of my life, bar none.

But I’ve got to go soon. Decompress. Deal with my feelings about all of this. Sit in an Epsom salt bath for my muscles and my poor butt. Also, consider all the sex I’ve been missing out on and think on whether I want to actively look for more sex like this. Or not. Whether I’m okay with living with Adam and building a life with him while doing things like this.

And then have a talk with Adam, after which he’ll then process how he feels about me having done this, too. Me doing this will change things. Absolutely.

Because he’ll either lose his attitude with me and we’ll move forward or… I already know I’m not about to put up with endlessly being ignored and neglected. I can’t let that be my life even if it makes me a bad person to give up on him. If I give up on Adam, it’d be because he gave up on us first. Because I’d like to think the Adam I fell for wouldn’t want me to live half a life. I know I wouldn’t want that for him. So, I’ve got to find a way to have a conversation that’s both logical and factual, as well as heart-to-heart. Heart to heart, brain to brain, to figure out if we have a future together.

I’ve had all the empathy in the world for what he’s going through, but the way things are these days can’t be our life together permanently.

It feels like dismissing me has become a habit and habits can be hard to break. I’m not going to let being treated like a doormat become my own habit. He seems happy around friends and family, but when it’s just the two of us, he’s not. And I won’t live like this indefinitely. It’ll suck the life and joy right out of me.

I’m feeling too much right now. And I didn’t want to start feeling things here. But I do feel a sudden clarity about my relationship that sort of frightens me. I’m feeling so much.

And it appears I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve right now – or would be if I weren’t naked – because Derek’s eyes are exploring my face like he’s trying to read my mind.

He reaches over and sifts his fingers through my hair with what feels like affection, the iciness thawing, and he says, “Hey, come back to me here. Those troubles can wait.”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head.

He leans in and kisses me. It’s sweet, gentle. And it feels a little…inappropriate. Like I need to switch gears.

“I need the bathroom,” I announce. “Coffee would be appreciated. I’m not fussy about food. You don’t have to go to the trouble, but if you… uh… really want to, I’m game for whatever you wanna make.” I shrug and roll away from him, pulling a sheet with me that I wind around my body as I rise.

Oh… it’s the fitted sheet. We’ve totally un-made the bed and slept on the mattress cover.

“Little late for modesty, no?” he asks with a serious look on his face as I toy with the fitted corners.

The tension is broken by me giggling. He flashes a gorgeous grin at my laughter and I rush toward the bathroom embarrassed, but look over my shoulder as he laughs and my shoulder slams into the doorframe. He’s looking like a billion dollars lying there naked, on his side, watching me. But the smile falls off at seeing my klutziness.

“Careful,” he warns.

“Oops,” I quip and flash him a smile.

A hickey. He gave me a fucking hickey. I thought I stopped him in time, but nope. It’s faint, but it’s pretty obvious that’s what it is. And Derek seems like a mature adult so far, so I’m kind of surprised he pulled a teenager move like this.

It’s low on my neck and thanks to Alannah’s tutelage, I’m semi-pro with concealer, so I’ll deal. But I’m not happy about it because hiding it will feel like deception toward Adam and that’s not at all what I want.

There are purplish bruises on my hips where he gripped me, too. They don’t hurt, but they’re here, plain as day.

Shuffling out of the bathroom, I find my handbag on the floor under the bench at the foot of his bed, so I fish out a hair tie to throw my hair into a ponytail. Rifling through the bedding on the floor, though, I can’t find my clothes. All that’s here among the mess of the bedding is the shirt he wore last night, which doesn’t make sense because it got taken off by the door when we first came in and I could swear it was thrown out there.

I put his shirt on. It’s big on me so it’ll do for a modicum of modesty.

I resist the urge to make his bed, figuring he’ll probably change the sheets anyway. Or have a maid do it. We certainly did dirty them last night.

Besides, I don’t live here, and don’t need to be my hall pass’s maid the way I’m a live-in maid at home.

This thought vibrates in me for a brief moment, and I acknowledge it. Yeah, I have felt like a live-in maid lately. The townhome isn’t large, but I like my space to be clean and organized. I hate clutter. I have standards and I’m busy, so maybe it’s time to have someone in once a week for deep cleaning since it’s not like Adam can do all those things.

Though, if he started pitching in a little with the things he can do, like putting things away after he uses them, a cleaning service might not even be necessary. Even a little help from him would make a difference.

I jokingly sang Barney the Dinosaur’s clean up song the first time he stayed over for a weekend. He laughed it off like it was a joke as he tidied, but I worked at a daycare center part-time when I was in college and that song worked like a charm to get toddlers to put things away. I was half-serious because although Adam seemed to have it together pretty well, it was like I fit the default role of cleaning up from early on. And that isn’t what I’m about. Or… it wasn’t. I grew up in a house where both parents worked, and Mom didn’t have to come home and do it all. She and Dad took turns cooking and once we were old enough, me and my brother were added into the rotation. We all cooked, we all cleaned. There weren’t girl chores and boy chores, either. Dad taught me to use the snow blower and lawn tractor and he ironed his own shirts. Until Bryan got really sick. Then I took on everything for a while. I shake those old thoughts off.

Adam and I bought one of those robot vacuum cleaners when we moved into the house, and I can keep up with the mopping. We have one of those furnaces with the air cleaners, so dusting is manageable, but maybe it’s time for him to pitch in on laundry. Would it be too much to ask for him to wipe the sink down after he shaves in the mornings? To not leave toothpaste in the sink? To bring the dishes out of his office when he’s coming to the kitchen anyway? I’ve seen him fit snacks on his lap on the way to his office, why not use the same lap for the dirty dishes when he comes back out instead of letting them pile up until I decide to clear them out?

I’m feeling so neglected in my relationship that I’m starting to feel bitter and petty about things I wouldn’t have cared so much about before.

And here I am, still in my hall pass’s apartment, letting petty thoughts invade. I shove those thoughts away, grab my purse, and venture out of Derek’s room.

He’s frying eggs while wearing just a pair of tight, blue boxer briefs.

Mercy!

He catches me ogling him. I clamp my mouth shut and smile.

“Coffee?” He gestures to a single serving coffee maker. “I put a cup there for you. Plenty of choices in the drawer.”

I put my bag down and pull on the drawer under the coffee maker, revealing a variety of tea and coffee choices. I pick a dark roast Colombian pod and open the top of the coffee maker.

“Good choice,” he says as I pull the exact same used pod out of the coffee maker before putting the new one in.

He sips from his mug and then leans over and kisses me quickly before turning his attention back to the eggs he’s scrambling.

My brain feels a little scrambled, too, as I look around.

Definitely a corporate apartment / hotel suite feel to this place in daylight, too. Kind of sterile. But it is spotless and drenched with light, which is nice.

I press the brew button and watch the coffee pour into the mug for a few beats before I ask, “Oh, where are my clothes?”

“Threw them in the washing machine for you,” he says.

“That probably wasn’t necessary.”

He shrugs. “How else would I get to admire you wearing my shirt? Seein’ you in my shirt all sleepy and cute was part of the fantasy.”

I laugh.

He goes on, “Seemed like you were ready to bolt so figure doing the laundry will keep you here another hour at least.” He shrugs.

I bite my lip and wag my finger at him.

“So? You ready to bolt, little bunny?” he asks and abruptly hooks an arm around my waist, yanking me to him.

I wince, placing my palms on his chest hoping it’ll soften the blow. “Um… about last night, Derek? We should talk.”

He throws his head back and laughs as he lets go of me and twists the burner off, moves the frying pan, and pushes the button down on the toaster. “Let me guess,” he says, “You don’t usually do things like this.”

As I shake my head, heat floods my face. “No. Never.”

This man did things to my body last night that were entirely new. I’m not sure my booty hole will ever be the same. But I liked everything he did. Beyond a lot. I felt like I was finally having sex with someone whose appetite matched my own. And he actually surpassed it, exceeding expectations. But I can’t let myself dwell on just how incredible it was because it might make me want more.

And that’s not allowed.

He leans back against the counter and regards me for a moment. He’s still smiling. And still so, so attractive. “I figured you’d say this.”

“Did… um… Alannah put you up to this?” I ask.

He moistens his lips, but doesn’t say anything right away, so I keep talking. “She knows I’ve been going through some stuff, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Don’t worry, I’m not… not mad or anything if she did.”

I wait. He gives me nothing.

“Are you just gonna keep me guessing here?” I ask.

“Nobody puts me up to anything, Chloe. And no, I haven’t talked to your friend Alannah about you.”

“Oh,” I whisper.

He sips his coffee and then opens a cupboard door and pulls down two plates. I watch him divide the scrambled eggs between them. He reaches into a mostly empty fridge and pulls out a small store-bought fruit tray and a bottle of orange juice.

I frown as I watch him move to the table, which he’s already set with cutlery and napkins.

“Ketchup for your eggs?” he asks.

I wrinkle my nose. “Eww.”

“Thank God,” he mutters.

“Hm?”

He smiles. “Just can’t stand that. Glad I won’t have to watch you debase your eggs like that.”

I scoff. “Kind of ironic considering the degradation that happened in there last night, don’t you think?” I hook my thumb over my shoulder.

“No,” he denies, a serious look on his face. “Nothing ugly about any of what we did last night as far as I’m concerned. Did any of it feel debasing to you?”

I’m taken aback. Heat creeps up my cheeks and I shake my head. “Not at all.”

“Then why say it?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Never been in this position before.”

He studies me for a too-long moment. I’m saved from his study when the toaster pops. He looks mildly irritated as he moves back to the counter and drops two pieces of toast on each plate. He grabs a knife and butters them sort of aggressively.

“Can you grab the jam from the fridge, baby?” he mutters and walks them to the table.

I open the fridge and see a jar of jam on the otherwise empty top shelf. The only other things in this fridge are a quart of cream in the door and a carton of eggs on the middle shelf along with some condiments in the door of the fridge.

“Good jam choice,” I say in an effort to lighten the mood. Because I think I’ve pissed him off.

I sit across from him and look at my plate. Perfectly scrambled eggs. Perfectly toasted marble rye bread.

Realization sinks in.

“You sure you didn’t talk to Alannah about me?” I ask.

“I already said I didn’t.”

“Then how’d you know I like rye toast?” My eyes hit the jam jar. “And seedless raspberry jam?”

“Do you?” he asks. And there’s light in his eyes. Like he’s got a secret.

I frown.

“Don’t overthink it, little bunny. Just enjoy.”

“If you knew me you’d know I overthink everything,” I joke, then get up and go back to the fridge to fetch the cream for my coffee. I add sugar and cream to my mug, stir it, then bring it to the table.

He’s poured me a glass of orange juice and is digging into his breakfast.

After my second bite of eggs, I wipe my mouth.

“Seriously, Derek. How did you know I like marble toast and raspberry jam?”

“Don’t believe in coincidences, obviously,” he states.

I take a sip of my coffee and study him for a moment.

He smiles and takes a bite of buttered toast.

No jam on his toast. This jam was bought for me.

“Alannah didn’t contact you? Or stop by last night after I fell asleep to drop off breakfast supplies?”

“Is that something she’d do?” he asks with twinkling eyes.

Ah. That’s it.

“Absolutely, she would.”

His smile widens.

I roll my eyes and slather jam on my second piece of toast.

Turns out I’m hungry after all. We eat in silence. I’m mostly checking out the view from his windows and thinking about my exit plan. About what I need to say. This isn’t exactly an easy conversation for me. I’m a novice. If I’m going to do things like this in the future, I need to be clear and concise about what I want, what my rules are, including no hickeys.

Am I going to do this in the future?

He’s done eating first, still sipping his coffee and watching me as I finish my breakfast. When I’m done with my last bite of toast, he rises and takes my plate.

“I’ll clean up,” I offer.

“No need,” he says. “Relax and drink your coffee. You want some music or the news, or… round three?”

I chuckle. “I think it’d be a lot bigger of a number than three, but actually, I need to get going.”

“Your clothes are still in the washer. Should be ready for the dryer now. I’ll go do the switch. You’re here at least another half hour, my guess.”

I wag my finger at him. “Fine. But I’ll do the dishes.”

“There’s a dishwasher. Don’t worry about it.” He disappears down the hallway.

I eyeball my bag and ponder checking my phone. I decide to wait until I’m out of here.

He’s back and he’s now in a pair of trackpants that sit low on his hips. Still no shirt. He turns the stereo on low. A Jackson 5 song plays as he grabs our coffee mugs from the dining table, takes them to the matching coffee table, and pats the couch beside him. I’m still behind the kitchen island, wiping down his stove, so I rinse the cloth, wring it out, and drape it over the ledge between the double sinks.

His eyes are on me with intensity as I dry my hands and move to the couch, tugging the back of his sweater down to cover my butt before I sit.

I twist sideways to face him, adjusting the shirt so that I’m not flashing him indecently.

“So, last night was wonderful, Derek,” I say, looking into his eyes. He twists sideways, too. “It really was,” I emphasize.

“Yeah,” he says softly, eyes sparkling as he runs the back of his fingers along my cheek sweetly.

Gosh, this guy is swoony.

“And it’s not something I’ve ever done before,” I go on, “A casual one-night thing. Especially when I’m already in a relationship. But… I actually didn’t technically cheat on my fiancé. I’m not the cheater type. At all. I actually had permission to do this, and I didn’t even know if I could, but you kind of made yourself irresistible.”

I’m hoping the honest compliment will soften things here.

He cocks his knee as he adjusts his position a little, and props his elbow on the back of the couch, putting his chin on his palm. He patiently waits for me to continue.

With intent, I get up and walk to the counter to grab my bag and fish around until I find my engagement ring. I slide it back on my finger and then I look at him. He’s staring at my hand.

I stay where I am.

“Late last year, my fiancé was in a bad accident. He suffered a spinal cord injury and to say things have been tough is an understatement.” I moisten my lips.

Derek doesn’t visibly react, so I keep talking. “He can’t… um… you know…”

“Fuck you,” he finishes for me, straight-faced.

The harsh way he says it feels a little off, but I nod. “No. He can’t. He–”

“I know,” he states.

I frown.

“You know?” I parrot.

What?

“How do you know?” I ask, coming back to sit beside him.

He scratches his jaw and rubs his lips together for a second while I fix the shirt after accidentally flashing him.

“The night we met? I heard your conversation with your friend. I know all about the hall pass.”

The room twirls. I grab for the edge of the couch cushion to steady myself.

He keeps going, “I was listening in on and watching the bartender. He was stealing from the club, also from patrons, so I was gathering proof of theft and I happened to overhear what you and the blonde were talking about. It caught my attention.”

I blink in shock. Utter shock.

I try to recall my and Alannah’s exact conversation. It’s a little foggy, but snippets wash over me. And those snippets make bile rise up into my throat.

I cup my mouth, absolute mortification sinking in with the reality of what Derek is saying to me.

“Don’t.” He leans forward. “No need to be embarrassed, Chloe. I’m glad I heard that. I’m glad we met. I’m very glad you’re here right now.”

He reaches for my hand. I pull it back and shake my head.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “I don’t know how much you heard, but… Oh God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“I heard it all. And don’t be.” He puts his hand on my leg.

I back up. I’m not just embarrassed. Anger is flooding my system.

“I… I’m gonna go.”

“You’re upset. Don’t be.”

“You should’ve told me,” I snap with accusation. “You used what you overheard to get laid, but you should have told me and let me decide after knowing you overheard all that whether or not I wanted to go through with it.”

I bolt to my feet. “Or not say anything at all so I don’t have to feel so fucking embarrassed. But no. Instead… you run into me repeatedly and flirt with me and… and you… you…”

“Chloe…”

“Does Alannah know you heard all that?”

He’s shaking his head, but he looks calm. Oddly calm. “She doesn’t. Don’t be upset.”

“You can’t tell me not to be upset! You eavesdropped on me and used the information you heard to your advantage to get me to use the hall pass on you. Oh my God.” I begin to pace, rubbing my temples. “I can’t believe this. I’m mortified. You used the things you heard as a fucking playbook. You knew just what to do, didn’t you?”

My heartbeat thuds in my ears as I storm down the hall in search of his laundry machines. I whip open the first door opposite his bedroom door. It’s a guest room. A bed and a desk plus a weight bench. Of course. He didn’t need to join my fucking gym. I slam the door. Beside it is an opened bathroom. No laundry machines. I slam that, too. Beside the door to his bedroom, there’s a linen closet and then across from it, another room. Bingo. Stacked washer and dryer, utility sink, counter. The dryer has twelve minutes to go. I open the door and feel my clothes. My jeans are still too damp. Shit! I close it and press start.

I close the door to the room while I’m still in it and lean against it, blowing flyaway hairs out of my eyes.

Tears come. Of course they do. Whenever I get extremely frustrated, first I get mad, then I’m angry and crying. That’s how it goes when things hit a level of extreme for me.

I’m horrified. Humiliated. I can’t believe this.

The things Alannah said at the bar... who wouldn’t think I was low-hanging fruit after hearing all that, right? And really, what does it matter? I’ve used the hall pass and it wasn’t a total waste because I got a night of kinky sex because he pretty much got a wish list of the sort of sex I like by her crude comments. He just had to run into me a couple times to convince me to use that hall pass on him. No wonder he didn’t want to talk last night before all this. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew just how this was going to go. He knew we’d get to the end, and I’d tell him this was a one-off. No consequences for his actions.

I’m not sure why he even admitted that he overheard all that. He could’ve let me say my little speech about this being a one-time thing and let me leave. We could’ve been cordial if we ran into one another again in the donut shop or at the gym.

Why didn’t he keep what he knew to himself? I don’t get it. Why let me feel humiliated like this? Is it funny to him?

And now I’m hiding in his laundry room, wearing his shirt, feeling as if I’ve been gutted.

I’m very sure of one thing – I am not cut out for this. For hookups, for hall passes. This isn’t who I am… I can’t separate feelings from sex. I know I can’t.

I shouldn’t have been this stupid.

Eleven minutes. Damn it. Hurry up!

Mr. Hall Pass is knocking on the door.

Shit, I do not want to face him, especially not like this. I try to dash the tears away with his shirtsleeves.

I guess I have to face him, since I’m in his apartment.

“Chloe, I’m coming in.”

I’ve still got my back against the door. Before I can move, he’s opening it and it opens out into the hallway, so I stumble backwards. He catches me and as I try to shrug him away, he hangs on firmly, so I squeeze my eyes tight and cover them with my hands. He’s got both arms wrapped around me, my back to his front. While I don’t want to let this guy see me cry, I can’t help it. I’ve deteriorated into ugly-crying. And he’s gripping me like he wants to offer me comfort. As if.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He squeezes me and kisses the side of my head.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Because it was a one-off. You never have to see me again if you avoid the soup place and the gym.”

I try to break free, but his grip tightens.

“Can you let go?”

He doesn’t let go.

“I like soup,” he says softly.

“Fine. You can have Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. I’ll take Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Same with the gym. Though you probably don’t need the gym since you have equipment here. Let me go.”

“What about Sundays?”

“Not funny.” I try to move away but his grip tightens.

“I was fascinated by you,” he says. “I don’t know that I can articulate just how much. At how much you do for someone who doesn’t appreciate it. How easy it would be for him to take five minutes out of his day to make you happy. Ten to make you ecstatic.”

“Don’t,” I plead brokenly.

“You deserve more than what he’s giving you.”

“It’s not his f-fault. You don’t know him. You don’t know me. Let go of me.”

“I wanted to give you what he should’ve given you. I wanted to give you more. Give you everything you deserve.”

“Let go.”

“You need space right now, so I’m gonna give you some. What I will say first is that what I wanted most last night was to give you the night of your life. And baby, it was the night of my life, too.”

I wince.

He must feel it because against my ear he says, “I mean it. It was fucking incredible. We both know that. And I want more of it.”

I shake my head. “Stop.”

“I want more of it, Chloe. No, little bunny, I want all of it. All of it.”

I shake my head, saying nothing.

“I’m gonna give you space right now. Leave when you’re ready. And I’ll be in touch.”

“No,” I whisper. “You can’t. This was a one-off.”

He puts his mouth to the top of my head. “No, it won’t be a one-off. Last night you agreed to make all my fantasies come true, Chloe. And that’s what you’re gonna do.”

He squeezes again before he releases me. I sway with the loss of his stability, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I stay still in the hallway, staring at the digital number ten on the dryer’s display as my clothes continue to tumble.

And I don’t know what to think about what he’s just said, or how to process any of what’s happened in the past ten or twelve hours. So I simply stare at the display on the dryer through blurry eyes, while it slowly counts down the minutes until I can get dressed and get the fuck out of here.

The button and zipper of my jeans are so hot they’re burning me, but I don’t give a shit.

I don’t see him on my way out and don’t know how to lock up, so I don’t worry about it since he got in with his fingerprint, anyway. And I shouldn’t worry about his stuff, his property, after what he’s just admitted to doing to me.

The elevator is waiting for me, so I get in, press the button and leave. His car is gone when I get to mine. He must have sent the elevator back up to wait for me because the parking lot is empty other than my car.

I cry all the way home, grateful I don’t have to face anyone for at least the next twenty-four hours, though I’m sure twenty-four hours won’t be nearly enough.