13 | If only
13 | if only
WILLIAM
As I left the bistro, my mind was awhirl with Robert’s accounts from his tenure as Strategy Manager at Gastronomy Group. His narratives about their ruthless expansion tactics, particularly the episode where they had planted deceptive and damaging reviews on online platforms against a restaurant they targeted, convinced me that I had stumbled onto something monumental – a much bigger conspiracy than I had first imagined.
I had been momentarily worried I could do little about it when Robert mentioned he had signed a non-disparagement agreement with Gastronomy at the outset of his role. But, given the weight of the evidence he held and Gastronomy’s seemingly illicit activities, I felt confident he would qualify for whistle-blower protection under PIDA. This would shield him from any legal repercussions and retaliatory moves from Gastronomy. To be certain, I would consult Natalie, my trusted friend and authority in employment law.
As I entered my flat, I found Cara reclined on the sofa, her face illuminated by her laptop screen. The emptied containers of the Indian takeaway sat on the coffee table, a surprise I had arranged earlier, knowing it was her comfort food. She greeted me with a warm smile that seemed to lift the day’s weight from my shoulders, and I finally relaxed, soothed by her mere presence. It was this profound effect she had on me, this innate ability to anchor and comfort, that reminded me why she was the one for me; she was my peace.
‘Hi,’ I said, finally loosening my tie. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Just tying up some loose ends with regards to work. Thanks for the Indian, by the way.’ She glanced at the empty containers. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’
My smile grew as I moved closer. ‘I wanted to.’
‘How did the meeting go?’ Her eyes glinted with curiosity.
With my hands on my hips, I grinned. ‘Surprisingly well.’ Briefly, I recounted the salient details of my conversation with Robert. Cara’s eyes glimmered with admiration as I spoke, and I thrived on that feeling – that I was impressing her. It reassured me, making me feel that perhaps, just perhaps, I was worthy of her after all.
‘That sounds promising, Will,’ she said, her grin matching mine. ‘Hopefully Robert’s intel is the silver bullet you need.’
I nodded. ‘Let’s hope so.’
A fleeting glance from her directed my attention to the coffee table. My eyebrows shot up when I saw something I hadn’t intended to leave there – a few property particulars that I had been perusing last night.
‘Thinking of moving?’ she asked, her smile carrying a shrewd edge.
I hesitated. All the properties I had considered were in Notting Hill, near where she lived with Jason. While the idea of being closer to her was admittedly appealing, it wasn’t the primary reason. The central location of my current flat, with its noise and safety concerns on weekend nights, was becoming less attractive. I was approaching my thirties, and the allure of a quieter, more suburban setting grew daily. For three years, I had valued this flat for its convenience, especially during late nights out. But my partying days were behind me, and Notting Hill’s tranquillity, its proximity to my parents and to Jason, beckoned. I only hoped Cara wouldn’t misinterpret my motivations, thinking it was all about her.
‘I started looking before we even met,’ I said, trying to convey my sincerity. ‘But with work being so hectic, I haven’t had time for many viewings.’
She picked up a brochure, her expression sharp. ‘Notting Hill?’
Keeping my face neutral, I replied, ‘Entirely because of you, of course.’
She chuckled. ‘I knew it,’ she said, but I could tell from her tone that she was joking. ‘Honestly, though, having you closer would be wonderful. Don’t get me wrong, I adore this place,’ she gestured around the flat, ‘but you being a short walk away? That’d be a dream.’
I was momentarily stunned. It would be a dream for her? That sentiment exceeded all my expectations.
‘Really?’ I asked, unable to mask my surprise.
‘Absolutely.’
As I processed her words, I couldn’t help but wonder: was she hinting at a long-term commitment between us? It seemed she was confessing she saw a future together. She had to be.
Emotion swelled within me, and without a word, I closed her laptop and set it on the coffee table. Slipping my arms beneath her knees and back, I effortlessly lifted her to me. Her laughter rang out, an infectious sound. Grinning, I carried her into my bedroom, eager to show her the depth of my agreement with her vision of our future.
Dropping her on the bed, I moved to join her. But she playfully dodged, her giggles continuous, avoiding every kiss I tried to land.
‘William, stop! I need to brush my teeth first, especially after all that curry. My breath…’
‘I don’t care about that,’ I said, trying again to land a kiss.
‘I do!’ She pushed me away, hands firm against my chest. The genuine plea in her eyes held me still.
With an exaggerated groan, I relented, collapsing sideways. ‘Fine. Make it quick.’
She darted into the en-suite, the room soon filling with the sound of water pouring from the tap. In the background, I could discern the faint clinking of her moving objects around, likely seeking out her toothpaste and brush. Moments later, the rhythmic, methodical scrubbing sounds of her brushing echoed, punctuated every so often by a tiny splash.
Lying back, I gazed up at the ceiling, illuminated by the dimmed bedroom light. The sheer ordinariness of the moment lulled me into a deep appreciation. This was the domestic bliss I longed for, where the weight of the world disappeared in her presence.
But amidst the peace, an unsettling thought intruded: what if our time was running out? If Francesca’s baby turned out to be mine, these moments with Cara, so dear to me, might have an expiration. The gravity of that potential countdown pressed heavily on my heart.
I gulped, trying to chase the distressing notion away. Not tonight, I mentally urged myself. I just wanted this evening to remain untarnished. I wanted to remain ensconced in our shared bubble of happiness, remembering the moments that brought us to this point.
My mind drifted to the night we first met. While Cara was undeniably a stunningly beautiful woman, it wasn’t primarily her looks that had ensnared me that night. Rather, it was her sharp wit and the audacity with which she had spoken to me that left an indelible mark; the way she challenged and provoked me sealed my fate.
Within those fleeting moments, as she insulted my very existence, my path became irrevocably set. I was either going to have her, or I was going to die trying. Never had I wanted someone as intensely. The rest of that night’s conversation had quickly transformed what was initially a mere desire into an unyielding need that went far beyond just physical attraction.
Though it took me a few weeks to realise that I was in love with her, the ensuing clarity was profound. It was her – Cara – and none other. Only she had the power to evoke such fervent passion, to illuminate the deepest recesses of my heart. Had she slipped from my grasp, other women might have offered brief distractions throughout my life. Yet, I was certain that, until my last day, Cara would be the final thought before sleep claimed me and the first upon waking.
This truth solidified the morning after we first met – when she abandoned me, leaving only a void and memories in her wake. I had clung to a thin thread of hope, imagining that she might change her mind and find her way back to my door. And in the interim of that hope, each day for a week, her phantom seemed to linger with me – in the lift, her essence filled the air, and at night, the memory of her touch rippled over my skin.
My hope endured until that unexpected day she stepped into my office, only to be shattered when she expressed a wish to act as if our intimacy had been nothing more than a passing tryst. It dawned on me then that she had never intended our paths to cross again. Fate, not her longing, had reunited us, and that stung. The insinuation was clear: she hadn’t been as deeply moved. To her, I had been just another man, a brief diversion. But to me, she was the exception, the unparalleled.
In the wake of that, part of me had yearned to purge her memory, to find peace. But the idea of erasing the sensations, our conversations, the electric charge between us – it was unthinkable. The price of forgetting was too steep. Even if it meant a lifetime of longing, I would cherish the memories of her: the feel of her skin, the maze of her mind, and the undeniable pull of our connection.
Within the span of just one night, I had become irretrievably ensnared, wholly consumed by feelings for her – and yet, I was unaware of her true name. The eventual revelation served as a profound jolt, prompting me to face a staggering truth: I had surrendered my heart, irrevocably and deeply, to a woman whose identity had been a mystery to me.
But then, was that entirely accurate? After all, what’s in a name? It doesn’t paint the full picture of her character the way the delicate dance of her fingers might, or the subtle curl of her lips. It doesn’t hint at the intricate labyrinths of her thoughts the way her laughter or choice of words might. It’s merely a title, a label. What I had come to cherish was the essence of her, far beyond the simple confines of a name.
Cara emerged then, her clothes discarded. The sight of her naked form, bathed in the dim light, made my chest flutter. Entranced, I stared for a moment. I couldn’t help it.
‘Come here,’ I finally beckoned, reaching out. Her smile was radiant as she moved toward me, each step deliberate, her grace evident by the gentle sway of her hips. As she took my hand, I swiftly pulled her onto the bed, positioning myself above her. I lowered my head, gazing deeply into her eyes. There, within the sapphire blue, a halo of gold encircled her pupils, reminiscent of distant stars twinkling in the evening sky.
I hoped she could discern the fervour in my eyes – the depth of my feelings, my yearning for her to be absolutely mine. If I had my way, she would not be a fleeting passion but a lasting commitment.
I loathed that our connection was whispered in hushed tones like a clandestine affair. I longed to proudly speak of her, to announce to the world how deeply I felt about her, to mark her as mine in every sense. Indeed, I ached to declare my love, to repeat it endlessly until the words became as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. Each moment I kept silent, the weight of my unspoken words was a torment.
Looking into her eyes, it seemed glaringly clear what I should do: confess. Yet I hesitated. There was, of course, the fear that she might not feel the same way. But overshadowing everything was the unresolved matter of Francesca. It was she who stilled my tongue.
How could I bare my heart to Cara, knowing she was in the dark? If she reciprocated my confession, it would be founded on incomplete truths. To encourage her declaration without revealing Francesca’s pregnancy felt underhanded. It would be like presenting her with a contract to sign, while knowingly hiding some of its most consequential terms. If she committed her heart to me under this incomplete narrative – especially if I was the father – it would be akin to a deception, luring her into an arrangement she hadn’t fully consented to, much like a baited trap.
She deserved the whole story. Her declaration, if it came, was something I desperately wanted to hear, but only once the entire truth had been laid bare. If she still chose to voice her love to me then, regardless the outcome of my paternity, my gratitude would know no bounds.
‘You okay?’ she asked, giving me a puzzled look. I smiled, letting my gaze wander across her face, relishing each enchanting feature.
‘Just admiring the view.’
She rolled her eyes, and my smile widened. Leaning down, I captured her lips. Their soft warmth merged with mine, a sensation that hadn’t lost even a trace of its thrill, though I longed for the day when it would feel as familiar as coming home. As our kiss deepened, my hands explored the contours of her silky skin, squeezing and caressing. She placed her hands on my chest and gently pushed away, panting lightly. I studied her exposed form, desire tightening my jaw. The urge to claim her was vicious. I wanted to claw down her skin and watch the red lanes surface, as marks of my presence.
Yielding, I grazed my nails over her abdomen, observing the red streaks with satisfaction. They were proof of my privileged place in her world. For now, I was the sole man who could claim this intimacy.
If only the marks would remain. Should she decide that she wanted nothing to do with me, I wanted my successor to see the evidence of the indelible part I once played in her life. I wanted the marks to glare at him, to kill his desire for her.
Such possessiveness could be deemed sinister, a testament to an insidious jealousy and an overwhelming need to claim her. There was a grain of truth in that; if I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else to have her either. My love for this woman was raw and unyielding, and I yearned to be the only one for her. The mere notion of another taking my place was unbearable. If she were to choose another, my world would shatter. Not because she found happiness elsewhere, but because my own would be irreparably lost.
Yet, I would never force her to stay. My belief was merely this: I couldn’t possibly find joy without her, even if she found it without me. Her happiness in another’s embrace wouldn’t radiate onto me. Our emotions were separate. Without her, a void would persist. It was as unambiguous as that.
After a brief moment absorbed in the marks, I lifted my gaze to her face. Her eyes were closed, yet her expression spoke volumes. The lustful nibbling of her lower lip reinforced my belief that she felt the depth of my passion just as intensely.
Smiling, I let my gaze drift over to the rest of her body. The view was breathtaking. Her nipples were erect, beckoning to me. Lowering my head, I trailed my nose across the hardened peaks. Another smile surfaced on my mouth when she locked her legs around my waist. I took it as an encouragement, prompting me to grasp her left breast. Giving it a gentle squeeze, I silently appreciated how soft yet firm it felt within my palm. I brushed my thumb across the nipple, then pinched and tugged it.
Cara groaned softly, making me grin. This was something I relished about making love to her – she was abnormally sensitive.
Directing my attention to her other breast, I engulfed the nipple with my mouth, sucking hard. I heard Cara’s sharp inhalation, her back arching as she pressed her breast deeper into my mouth. Her fingers threaded through my hair, pulling gently, while I took my sweet time with her. I was in no rush. Being with her in this intimate way was the epitome of pleasure for me. Observing her surrender to waves of passion, shuddering and twisting, was an experience I would cherish endlessly.
But what I loved most was how united we felt. This deeper connection was what drove my insatiable desire to bring her pleasure. In these intimate moments, her affection for me became palpable, tangible. That was also why I refused to let the moments be brief; I wanted to prolong those feelings of unity as much as my body would allow. Ultimately, to feel her love was my deepest longing. And when she was lost in the heights of ecstasy, I took pride in knowing I was the catalyst. In her radiant expression of pure bliss, it was clear: no other man, just me, was the source of her pleasure.
Smoothing my hand down the curve of her waist, I felt my cock straining against its confines. The shape of her was testing my patience. Already, I wanted to delve into her. But I wouldn’t, not yet. Not until she was writhing beneath me, craving me desperately.
As I trailed my hand between her thighs, up toward that inviting wetness, she started tugging on my tie, unravelling it completely then casting it aside. Her hands moved to my shirt buttons, swiftly undoing one after the other, but they stilled the moment my fingers brushed over her soaked slit.
She gasped, her eyes widening just a fraction. Smiling, I claimed her lips and gently rubbed her clit – slightly more to my right, where she had told me she was most sensitive. Friction, friction, I reminded myself, but not too much. Just enough to tantalise.
Women were deeply sensual. So much of arousal was in their heads. Unlike most men, who could be stirred simply by sight, women tended to need a more layered approach: to be teased, caressed, and worshipped. I took immense pleasure in this, for there were few things I enjoyed more than exploring the complexities of the female form. It was such an intricate design, like a complicated maze I could never seem to map out entirely. Each time I fondled it, I discovered something new – a hidden pathway leading to her heightened arousal.
‘Mm, Will,’ Cara murmured into our kiss, shoving my shirt off my shoulders. Then she gripped them, digging her nails into my skin and scraping them down my chest and abdomen. It made me chuckle against her mouth. I supposed she was returning the gesture, and I loved the idea of her marking me as hers, too.
Shifting up to kneel, I undid my cuff buttons and shed the shirt, discarding it on the floor. Cara’s gaze was fervent when it met mine. She pushed herself up, pressing a soft kiss to each of my pecs as her arms encircled me. Her fingers traced down my back, slipping beneath the waistband of my trousers. Moving deftly to the front, she unfastened the button and slowly drew down the zip.
Sensing what she intended to do, I put my hand in the valley of her breasts and shoved her back down. I didn’t want her mouth wrapped around me – not now. It was a skill she had perfected, making me reach my limit sooner than I liked. I wanted to last longer this time, to savour this moment between us.
She gave a sigh that revealed some annoyance.
‘Another time,’ I said, holding her gaze.
She rolled her eyes. ‘You say that every time.’
I chuckled. ‘Blame yourself. If you were bad at it, things would be different.’
She raised a brow. ‘I’m not sure if I should be grateful for the compliment or upset because of what it entails.’
Another laugh broke free from my lips. ‘Two things can be true at once.’
I dragged my forefinger down to her navel, feeling her muscles flex beneath my touch. After circling it once, I trailed my finger further down, stopping once I reached her clit. Her lips parted ever so slightly, her eyelids lowering just a hint. Smirking, I applied pressure, watching as her eyebrows furrowed.
Bull’s eye.
‘You like that?’ I teased, reducing the pressure again.
‘Yes,’ she said breathily, raising her hips and moving them against my finger. The sight was mesmerising, sparking the urgent need to taste her. Prising her legs further apart, I put my face between her thighs and licked her slit, the arousing flavour of her detonating on my tongue.
I lost track of time as I pleasured her, repeatedly bringing her to the edge and then sending her over. That beautiful look of ecstasy twisted her face several times, but when I finally entered her, it blended with a sense of contentment, as if she finally felt fulfilled – complete.
Gazing into her eyes, I pushed further in, gently, only halting when I saw a faint trace of pain flicker across her features. There, I lingered, struck by relief. I had never felt so at home in another person’s body before.
‘This is my favourite place, Cara,’ I said, peppering her face with kisses as I pulled back just a little. Then I thrust into her again, and I pushed far. A hint of pain flashed across her face once more. I did tend to push her to her limit, in every sense.
‘Right here,’ I said, burrowing even deeper as I kissed her lips.
She groaned, her limbs locking around my figure and pressing me against her.
I kept penetrating her, gentle in my thrusts this time. I wanted to make love to her, not fuck her. Fucking was meaningless – pleasurable, but still meaningless. This wasn’t. This was anything but. This was my silent way of telling her I loved her.
I wanted to experience her, to savour every groan that escaped her lips, every contortion of her pretty face, and every scrape of her nails down my back, all while her legs pulled me closer to her. I would never get over how perfectly I fit into her, how her warm walls clenched around me, soaked in her arousal while they tried to prevent my retreats, as if they begged me to remain within her, precisely where I belonged. Merely the pressure of her was better than any other woman I had been with.
There was no denying that I wanted to charge savagely into her, that I wanted to possess every part of her body, her mind – that I wanted to devour her until there was nothing left of her for anyone else to enjoy. But I could do that another day. This moment was distinctly heartfelt, steeped in exquisite passion, and it would be a mistake to tarnish it.
When her eyebrows suddenly furrowed more deeply than usual, I knew I had struck the right spot within her. Maintaining the rhythm, I watched with fascination as her lips shaped into a subtle circle beneath me. I withdrew my hand from her hair, guiding my thumb to her clit, and began to rub. Almost instantly, her walls started quivering around me, squeezing. She was getting there, fast.
‘Mmm, fuck!’ she cried out. Her back arched sharply from the mattress, neck bending to the point where her face nearly vanished from my sight, her fingers desperately grasping at the sheets. In the dim light, her damp skin glistened, lending her an almost heavenly glow.
The view drove me mad. Fuck slow. I couldn’t do it.
Charging fast and hard into her, I heard her whimper just as her shivers started. She released the bed sheets, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. As her head snapped forward, her gaze met mine with an intense, vulnerable look.
‘Will,’ she uttered – it sounded like a plea, or perhaps it was a warning. My jaw tightened. Every time she said my name that way, it took every ounce of my restraint not to fuck her into ruin.
‘I know, darling, I know – there’s no better feeling than us,’ I said softly, drawing her closer with an arm around her back. Our foreheads touched, and as I gazed into her eyes, I saw them hooding with her rapidly rising pleasure.
She felt unbelievably good. My dick was throbbing within her, almost painfully, as it begged for release, but I couldn’t allow it. Not yet.
I ploughed harshly into her, hoping to trigger her climax. Her head fell back, her limbs clenching around me, and although she was rigid with pleasure, every muscle of her body quivered, stripping her of control. Drawn to her exposed neck, I sucked on her pulse point, a spot I knew to be her weakness.
She gasped my name, her voice breaking as she reached the height of her ecstasy. Clamping down on me, I felt her pulsing around my dick as the rest of her body grew limp in my arms. I tightened my embrace of her, slowing my thrusts to let her ride out the waves. But the change in rhythm didn’t diminish my own pleasure. She was gripping me so firmly, as though she never wanted me to leave.
I moaned, teetering on the brink of bliss. Dropping her on the bed, I slid my hands under her bum and lifted it slightly. This new angle was exquisite; I felt the pressure of her even more acutely.
The tension built, growing denser and stronger. I kissed her with all I had, sensing that the peak was just a heartbeat away.
Then it erupted, my release shooting out and flooding her. Ecstasy crashed over me like an avalanche. I collapsed over her, sinking into the enveloping rapture.
We lay like that for a few breaths, both struggling to recover, until she panted, ‘Will. You’re crushing me.’
‘Sorry.’ I rolled off her at once, my arm drawing her close.
She brushed her nose against mine, a sweet smile basking in her eyes. My heart stuttered at the view.
‘That was… amazing,’ she said.
I kissed her nose, tightening my hold around her. ‘It was.’
‘It was so intense – on an emotional level. Was it like that for you?’
‘Definitely.’
She fell silent for a beat. ‘It’s the best sex I’ve ever had.’
My lips spread into a grin at that, my chest fluttering with triumph. ‘Hopefully you’ll say that after every time. But same.’
‘Really?’ she asked, her tone holding a note of surprise, as if she didn’t quite believe me.
I held her gaze, caressing her cheek. ‘Yes. But I feel that way every time I get to make love to you, Cara.’
Her face lit up with a brilliant grin. ‘You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever known,’ she said suddenly, and my heart palpitated. It sounded so much like a veiled confession, a subtle declaration of love. And it frightened me. I wasn’t yet ready to hear her express those feelings. If she did, I would be compelled to reveal the situation with Francesca immediately, risking all we had built.
I swallowed, a churning pit of despair forming in my stomach. I hated this predicament with every fibre of my being. It was tarnishing everything, undermining all I had worked so hard to establish. My only consolation was that if Cara did truly love me, maybe that love would anchor her to me, even if the child proved to be mine.
Taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I pressed a tender kiss to her mouth. I could sense her anticipation, awaiting my response to her sentiment. As I pulled back, I locked eyes with her, willing her to see the depth of my sincerity.
‘With you by my side, I have every reason to be.’
She inhaled sharply, her eyes shimmering with warmth as they melted into that affectionate smile. ‘Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere, so you can keep being wonderful.’
If only her words were an absolute. If only they would hold firm against the full truth.
I smiled back, praying it masked my fear. ‘Good,’ I murmured, then kissed her before she could say anything else to feed that painful hope .