Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Sterling
Seeing Louis in a sea of people had elicited a jolt of electricity through my body. It was unexpected, and yet very welcome. I’ve been thinking about him for weeks now, days on end staring at my computer screen and replaying our night together.
It had started out as an unexpected companionship that settled between strangers at a bar and then quickly turned into a frenetic need by the time we’d landed on my bed.
He was unlike anyone I’d ever met, different to my past relationships and a complete contradiction to what I usually seek out in a one-night stand.
First off, I’d never slept with anyone ten years older than me who didn’t hold all the power in the bedroom.
It’s a stereotype, for sure, but for the most part it held true.
Louis was prim and proper, with his buttoned-up shirt and perfectly pressed pants, and that salt and pepper hair sexily decorating his beard and temples.
At first glance he’d looked like the quintessential daddy, a man who knew what he wanted and dominated in bed.
But all assumptions were laid to rest the second I saw him snapping his fingers in the middle of the bar, and being mortified at people looking his way.
From that moment, the cracks in his confidence became obvious, and his distress made me feel uneasy, and pulled at unmoving strings inside my chest.
The side of him that he was so desperate to hide, called to me almost immediately.
And now he’s sitting in front of me. The same man I regretfully let walk out of my life, convincing myself a one-night-stand so soon after my breakup couldn’t amount to anything, and I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.
Not when the universe has personally hand delivered him to my metaphorical door.
“How have you been?” I ask, knowing him well enough now to know he’ll wait for me to initiate the conversation.
I watch his throat bob before he answers, “I’m good.”
“I had no idea you were even on the Heart2Heart app,” I tell him.
“It kind of just sits on my phone,” he explains. “I really only used it to go to the Barlowe concert, since I missed out on getting tickets.”
“So, you weren’t looking to be someone’s plus one?” I probe.
“Me?” I enjoy the way his cheeks redden when he answers. “I’m too awkward to be someone’s plus one. I figured the live music would limit the chances of me embarrassing myself.”
I frown at his self-deprecation. “I don’t remember you being awkward or embarrassing yourself.”
He starts clicking his fingers, but instead of cowering or being shy, he just looks up at me with a raised brow as if to say. I told you so.
“I happen to find you and the snapping endearing,” I confess.
His expression turns bashful.
“So, why do you need a plus one?” he asks. “Your post in Heart2Heart was pretty vague.”
“And that didn’t bother you?” I challenge.
He shrugs. “I told you, I just want to see the band.”
“I bought the tickets with my ex-girlfriend, and I didn’t want to miss out and have to be nice to her,” I explain.
“So you want a fake boyfriend for the night?” he hedges.
“Honestly?” I lean forward, my forearms resting on the table, and close the distance between us. “I want it more, now that I know the person responding to my messages is you.”
Louis runs his teeth along his bottom lip, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to jump over the table and capture his mouth in a kiss.
Foreplay is unnecessary, I know how good we are together. And lying isn’t in my nature. I’m not a man who believes in having to manipulate my way into a favorable situation. Everything is honest and consensual, and with a man like Louis, I want to be vulnerable and open with him even more so.
He needs that, and something unexplainable wants me to be the one to give it to him.
He snaps his fingers again. “You know this is going to happen constantly, don’t you? I’m going to fumble every conversation, and your ex-girlfriend isn’t going to be jealous, she’s going to pity you.”
“You think I want to make her jealous?” My voice is low, tone serious. “The only thing I’ll be thinking about is whether or not we’re going to get an encore, and you’re going to let me fuck you after the concert.”
Heat blazes in his green eyes, and I’m grateful there are no pretenses between us. “If I didn’t know you well enough, I’d suggest you come up to my office and let me sink inside you while you’re bent over my desk.”
“How do you know me so well?” he asks, challenging me. “How do you know I wouldn’t do that?”
“Spontaneity isn’t your thing,” I tell him. “You want it to be, but you find comfort in knowing what to expect. So that’s what I’ll give you.
“I can give you a long list of things you can expect,” I say seductively, teasing him. “And the anticipation of you knowing what’s coming next, but not knowing when…”
Biting the corner of my lip, I shake my head, the insinuation clear. I had done it before and I’ll do it again.
And again. And again. And again.
He covertly adjusts himself in his chair, and my smirk grows.
“Sooo,” he drawls. “Tell me why this ex-girlfriend of yours is an ex.”
It’s the bucket of ice water we both need, dousing the fire between us immediately. I don’t want to talk about Claire, but since he’ll be in her presence, it’s only fair that I give him the bigger picture.
“We were together for three years,” I start. “And it was good until it wasn’t. It wasn’t an elaborate break up, just two people who outgrew one another.”
I don’t add that she outgrew me whilst we were still in our relationship, or that I had an engagement ring in my sock drawer for months, waiting for the right time to propose, while she had been planning our breakup.
“Do you still love her?” he asks.
“It’s been six months,” I reveal.
He looks at me, his expression thoughtful, as he digests the extremely mundane version I’ve given him. My answer to his question is vague but also true. It isn’t about whether or not I still love her, because it doesn’t matter. It changes nothing.
His gaze drops, severing our connection, as he nervously picks at his cuticles. “Did the two of you have the same dynamic in the bedroom as you and I did?”
The question comes out of nowhere, and an unfiltered laugh creeps up my throat and out of my mouth.
His eyes dart up to mine, and the finger snapping starts immediately.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out, reaching for him but placing my hands on his wrists so he knows I’m not trying to silence his outlet. “I didn’t expect the question. And then the idea of me telling Claire what to do, even in the bedroom, is hilarious.”
I don’t move my hands, but I feel him relax beneath my touch, so I subtly turn his hands when he stops clicking and rub my thumb over his pounding pulse.
“It’s not a necessity for me,” I tell him. “It’s not a lifestyle I need, but I enjoy exploring dominance if it’s on the table.”
He nods, and I try to continue to ease his mind.
“That night was perfect,” I confess. I risk being forward, and bring my fingers to his lips, brushing them across the bottom one. “You were perfect that night.”