Chapter Six
Juliette
I come to slowly, the way night turns into day, with the sun gradually rising above the horizon. I open my eyes and discover I’m still lying on my front. Jeez—have I moved at all during the night? Oh, I did get up at one point to visit the bathroom. The room was still spinning at that point, and when I was done I just slid back into the bed and fell straight asleep again.
I’m looking at the window. The sliding doors are still open a crack. The breeze is cool now, and carries with it the scent of morning—fresh grass, and the smell of baking croissants and coffee. The sky is a beautiful blend of tangerine, coral, and lemon. It’s early, then, sunrise, not even six. Thank God. It’s our last day in the office, and I don’t want to roll in late.
I’m lying with my arms tucked beneath me. I usually keep my hair in a braid at night, but this morning I can feel it lying over my skin like a silk blanket. The duvet rests across my hips.
Someone is stroking my back.
I close my eyes as what happened last night comes flooding back. Oh God, Henry.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I let him bring me back to his hotel room. And I let him make love to me.
No, own up to it Juliette. Remember your whole internal debate about intention? You didn’t ‘let’ him do anything. You made the decision to come back here. You knew perfectly well where it was going to lead. You’re not a victim. You’re the perpetrator of this crime.
Although… at this moment it doesn’t feel like a crime. It feels like heaven, lying there sprawled on my front, so relaxed I’m almost comatose, with Henry’s fingers trailing lightly over me. He touches my hair, moving strands of it aside to expose my skin, then when he’s done, begins to stroke my neck with a finger. Beneath my ear. Down my throat. Around to the nape. Across my shoulders. Back to my nape. Down my spine. Up the sides of my ribs. Sometimes with one finger, and at other times with his whole hand, big and warm, brushing over my skin. Mmm…
After a while, he slips his hand beneath the duvet and continues stroking down. Over my bottom. Down the back of my thighs. Across the sensitive skin at the back of my knees. Then up again, stopping to circle a finger in the dip at the base of my spine before continuing up.
Over and over again. Until I’m like caramel warmed by the rising sun.
I screw my eyes shut. Oh dear God, I’ve got to stop him. He’s turning me on, and that’s not going to end well.
What do you mean, Juliette? Isn’t an orgasm a rather nice way to start the day?
No! I can’t give in again. In the cold light of day, I think about Cam, and I shrivel inside like a poked spider. Last night when he walked out, I asked if he was coming back and he said No, I’m done. I told myself it was all over, but this morning I know nothing is certain. It’s not the first argument we’ve had, or the first time he’s slept on the sofa or even at his brother’s, and he’s usually contrite and upset the next morning. We always make up. And now I’ve jeopardized a seven-year relationship with one simple act.
Henry strokes my back, continues beneath the duvet, then slides a finger down between my legs.
I inhale and rear up, turning to look at him. He gives a husky chuckle and says, “I knew you were awake.”
He’s lying on his side, head propped on a hand. His normally styled hair is all mussed. His jaw is covered with stubble. His eyelids are at half-mast. He’s so gorgeous I think I might actually die from lust.
“Oh God.” I sit up, pulling the duvet with me and tucking it tightly around my body.
“Morning,” he says.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Enjoying myself.” He smiles.
I swallow hard and run a hand through my hair. His gaze follows it, filled with amusement as I find the strands tangled. “You still look just-fucked,” he says.
“You needn’t sound so smug about it,” I snap.
He just smirks. He obviously doesn’t have an ounce of regret.
Well that’s fine, because I have more than enough for us both.
“Where’s my purse?” I demand.
He holds up something in his fingers. It’s a breath mint. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I have a phobia about having bad breath, and he would know I wouldn’t want to kiss him without having a mint.
I’m tempted to refuse it, because accepting it admits I want him to kiss me. But my mouth tastes sour, and I know he’s probably going to kiss me whether I have it or not, so I take it and crunch it, glaring as he grins.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I start scanning the carpet.
“Looking for my underwear.” I spot my knickers and bend over to get them. Before I can pick them up, however, he slides an arm around my waist, lifts me, and flips me onto my back again.
“First things first.” He hooks a leg over mine and shifts to half lean on me, pressing me into the mattress.
“No, no!” I push him. It’s like shoving a brick wall. “I can’t…” I look up at him, at the broad expanse of his chest, covered with a smattering of dark curly hair, his muscular shoulders, the hollow at the base of his neck. I can smell his cologne, warmed by his skin. I gather my courage and whisper, “I want to go,” then wait for him to apologize and move off me.
He doesn’t. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Not until I’ve given you at least one orgasm.”
Infuriated, I try to get up. In response, he grabs both my wrists and pins them easily above my head with one of his hands.
“Henry!”
“What?” He trails the forefinger of his other hand down between my breasts.
I inhale with indignation. “Let me go!”
He laughs. “No.” He takes my nipple between his thumb and finger and tugs. Aaahhh… it sends an electric shock between my legs.
Anger flares inside me. “So you’re going to hold me here against my will?”
“Yeah, you don’t want this at all.”
My eyes widen. Oh God, he thinks I’m playing. “I’m serious,” I tell him as earnestly as I can, trying not to wriggle as he continues to tease my nipple. “This isn’t a game.” I’m going to have to be blunt. “This was a mistake, Henry. I’m… I’m with someone else, and I need to go home and sort out that relationship. Do you understand?”
I wait for comprehension to dawn in his eyes. For his expression to turn hurt, or even angry. I deserve it, and I expect it.
Instead, he tips his head to the side. His hair falls forward over his forehead. “Do you remember what you told me last night?”
Oh God. You’re mine now, say it. I’m yours.
“No,” I reply.
He lifts an eyebrow.
“I know this is all my fault,” I tell him before I can think better of it, “but even if you thought I’d finished with Cam last night, you should be more understanding. I’ve been with the guy for seven years. I owe him more than this.”
Henry’s eyes gleam. Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
His pupils have dilated. He nudges my knees apart with the leg that’s resting on me.
“You think I’m going to let you go now I know how much you want me?” He moves his hand between my legs, and I gasp as he draws his fingers through my folds, then brings them up to his mouth and sucks them. “Now I know what you taste like?” He lowers his hand again and slips his fingers right down inside me. His lips hover over mine. “How it feels to be inside you?”
Ohhh… shit. This has been a huge mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. He’s not the gentleman I thought he was. He’s a rogue in sheep’s clothing. I was a fool to think I could sleep with him without there being repercussions.
He brushes his lips against mine, continuing to stroke inside me. “Do you know how much I want you?”
“I have an idea.” I sound breathless, even to myself. “I have a broom handle poking my hip.”
He chuckles and thrusts it against me. Jesus, it’s enormous.
“Don’t you want this inside you?” he asks silkily.
Oh God, I really do. I groan, my hips tilting up in spite of myself.
He brushes his lips over mine. “Tell me to stop, Juliette, and I’ll stop.”
I close my eyes. He’s pressing up with his fingers, and ohhh… holy moly, I thought the G-spot was a myth, like Atlantis, but it appears to be real. At the same time his thumb circles over my clit. His fingers are making squelchy noises, but he obviously doesn’t care. I squirm, but he doesn’t let up, and my traitorous body responds. My internal muscles clench, and his breath hisses across my lips.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he demands.
God help me, but I can’t. Ohhh… this man… I’ve always thought him handsome, and found him attractive… but I didn’t expect him to be like this… so commanding…
He kisses me, plunging his tongue into my mouth, and I lie there and let him, because I’m powerless to stop him. He kisses me like a man who hasn’t kissed anyone for ten years, as if kissing me is the only thing he’s ever wanted to do.
When he finally tears his mouth from mine and his lips sear down my throat, I’m seeing stars.
He places big, wet, hungry kisses, and then when he reaches the place where my neck meets my shoulder, he fastens his mouth there and sucks, hard.
I squeal, annoyed that it arouses me. “Henry!”
He just laughs though, withdraws his fingers, and rises up over me. While I lie panting and aching for fulfillment, he leans over and grabs his wallet from the bedside table, takes out a condom, rips off the wrapper, and rolls it on. He strokes the tip down through my wet, swollen skin and presses against my entrance. Then he leans over me.
“Tell me to stop,” he says again. His eyes are blazing. He looks unashamed and unrepentant.
My eyes prick with tears, and my bottom lip trembles, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words.
His gaze searches mine, and he must see my emotion, because for the first time a frown flickers on his brow. But he doesn’t stop. Slowly, with our eyes locked, he pushes up my knees, then slides inside me. Once, twice, thrice, coating himself with my moisture. He only stops when he’s up to the hilt, his hips pressed against the back of my thighs.
My lips part with a soundless groan, and my eyes close at the sensation of being stretched and filled. Oh God. To my absolute limits.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. I give deep, ragged gasps as I struggle to adjust.
“Ooh…” I blow out a breath.
He bends and kisses me. “All right, baby?”
“No. You’re enormous.”
He lowers down. “No, I’m not. You’re tight. Must be all those pelvic floor exercises you do.”
“I didn’t notice last night. Ohhh…” I suck my bottom lip as he pulls almost out, then slides back in. “I guess that’s what being drunk does for you. Mmm…”
“And I’d gone down on you, and you’d already had one orgasm.” He kisses me. “Sorry if I didn’t warm you up enough.”
“I’m plenty warm. You’re just hung like a moose.”
That makes him laugh. “A moose?”
“It’s a saying.”
“I thought it was a horse?”
“If we’re being technical about it, the blue whale has the biggest penis. It’s nearly ten feet long.”
“Well, I’m not that big.” He chuckles, kissing the corners of my mouth where they’ve curved up. “That’s better.” He kisses back to the center, then touches his lips to my nose. “Look at me.”
I open my eyes. Oh… this is an entirely different experience from last night. Then, we were drunk, and it was dark, and it was as if I was dreaming, living out a fantasy. It was still cheating, but I could explain it away as due to the effects of alcohol, and the heat of the moment.
This morning, I’m sober, and it’s light, and there’s no hiding from what I’m doing. I’m fucking a man who isn’t my partner. I’ve chosen to do this. I have no defense to argue. And I can’t bring my mouth to form the word ‘stop’.
His eyes seem very blue today, the color of the morning sky. Keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he begins to move inside me.
He continues at that pace for ages. Sliding in and out, gentle and rhythmic, while he looks into my eyes and occasionally kisses me. And all the time, his hands continue to stroke me, down my sides, over my thighs, up to my breasts, slowly teasing me toward the edge.
I’m completely defenseless against this man. I feel as if, last night, under the influence of alcohol, I revealed the code to the Tower of London, and today he’s snuck in and stolen the crown jewels. I told him all the secrets of my heart, so he knows exactly how to infiltrate it, how to get around me. Oh, I’m a stupid, stupid person. But it’s too late now, and I’m just going to have to deal with my foolishness.
He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again they’re full of hazy desire. “Juliette,” he murmurs, continuing to press his lips against mine. “Your name feels like a spell.”
I shiver. “Abracadabra.” I’m trying to be funny, to lighten the mood, to stop him saying things that trickle inside me and through me like sand in a jar of stones.
But he continues to say, “Juliette,” as he kisses my mouth, and, “Juliette,” as he grazes his teeth on my bottom lip, and, “Juliette,” in a husky voice as he dips his tongue inside. “I’ve waited so long to be able to do this,” he whispers, stroking a hand down to my breast. “I’m never going to be able to look at you again without thinking about being inside you.”
Oh God, Alex is going to kill us both. He’s vehemently against having relationships with someone you work with. How am I going to be able to sit across the table from Henry knowing he’s thinking about this? And how can I focus on timesheets and appointments and patients ever again and not have this moment in my mind the whole time? He’s searing himself onto my brain, branding me, and I’m going to see him, feel him, even when we’re apart.
I’m still drunk. I must be. I’d never think things like this if I were sober.
He shifts up an inch, and now he’s grinding directly on my clit as he moves, while he teases my nipple with his thumb. Ooh, yeah, that’s working. He’s going to make me come like this, with just penetration. Cocky bastard.
He’s not immune, though, his eyes growing hazy as his hips speed up. “Ah, I want to make it last,” he murmurs, “but you’re too fucking amazing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Ahhh… I’m just me.”
“I’m in love with you.”
It’s not the first time he’s said it. “You don’t know me,” I tell him desperately, “not really. Ohhh… You’re in love with a version of me you’ve created…”
“I know you better than you think.”
“I’m… aaahhh… grumpy and bitchy and irritable…”
“And kind and generous and… fuck… so sexy…”
“Henry…”
He gives up any attempt at going slow, lifts up onto his hands, and thrusts hard. “Look at me,” he says as my eyelids flutter closed.
I shake my head, trying to ignore the white-hot heat of him branded on my brain.
He sinks a hand into my hair and pulls my head back. “Open your eyes,” he demands. When I do, I’m staring right at him. His blue eyes are blazing.
“You’re mine,” he states fiercely.
My lips part, but it’s just to release a cry as I come, my belly tightening as I clench around him with hard pulses. He continues to thrust me through it, and then I’m able to watch as his climax hits. Jesus, the man is magnificent. I dig my fingers into his biceps, and they’re like boulders, ooh, and he swells inside me as he comes, pushing forward and stretching me to the max… Holy fuck, I think he’s trying to spear me to the bed… He gives a deep, husky groan, and I can’t deny the thrill of pleasure that ripples through me at the thought that I’ve done this—I’ve made him feel good, and to hope that I’m the best he’s had, that no other girl has made him feel like this.
Then the intensity fades, and we both drift slowly back down to earth.
Well, I don’t drift. I land as if I’ve jumped out of a plane at three thousand feet without a parachute, the realization of what I’ve done hitting me as if I’ve landed with a smack on the concrete.
Henry blinks and focuses on me. I wait for him to look smug and self-satisfied, but instead his expression turns tender, and he gives me the softest of kisses on the bindi between my brows before withdrawing and moving to the side.
I roll away from him, facing the window. The sky is now the color of buttercups, and I can hear the distant sound of traffic and people having breakfast out on the street at the café. A nice, normal day outside.
Inside me, though, a hurricane is tearing through me, destroying everything in its path. Last night was forgivable. Today is not. I work with Henry. He’s a colleague. Oh… What have I done?
I need to go home, shower and change, and pull myself together before I have to go work. He does something to my brain, tugs it out of whack, the way a magnet makes your watch lose time. I can’t think this close to him. I need space.
Without looking at him, I get up, pick up everything except the sari, go into the bathroom, shut the door, and lock it.
I stare at myself in the mirror, and my eyes widen. He’s given me a hickey on my neck. I glare at it as I pull on my underwear, blouse, and petticoat. The blouse covers the bite, but only just. The damn man knew what he was doing. It’s as obvious as if he’s written his name on there with a permanent marker for all to see.
I wrestle my hair into a braid that hangs over my shoulder, also covering the hickey, then sit on the toilet and put my face in my hands. It’s not his fault that my relationship with Cam is fucked up and that I’d drunk too much last night, but clearly Henry isn’t going to make my life easy.
You think I’m going to let you go now I know how much you want me? Now I know what you taste like? How it feels to be inside you?
An erotic shudder passes through me, and I let out an audible groan. I need to go home.
Gathering my courage, I unlock the door and go out into the bedroom.
I expect to find him looking at his phone, but he’s standing by the window, lost in thought. He’s wearing a pair of black track pants, but he’s still bare chested. He’s done that on purpose, I bet. He’s like a melting ice cream. I just want to lick him all over.
“Hey,” he says, turning. “Would you like a coffee?”
“No, thank you.” I pick up the folded sari and shake it loose. “I need to get going.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he stands there and watches as I loop the fabric around my waist and tuck it into the petticoat, pin the end to my shoulder blade, then start pleating the rest of the material, folding it back and forth between my fingers. My face heats under his calm gaze, but I continue pleating, pin the material at my waist, then adjust it so it hangs properly. Finally, I go out into the living room, find my sandals, and sit to put them on.
When I look up, he’s standing in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his track pants. We study each other for a long moment.
“You gave me a hickey,” I tell him, lifting my braid and pulling aside my blouse to show him.
His gaze dips to it. If I expected him to look ashamed or regretful, I realize I’m going to be disappointed. His lips curve up, just a tiny bit.
“You did that on purpose,” I snap. “You know Cam’s going to spot it.”
His eyebrows rise. “What do you mean?”
“He can’t exactly mistake it for something else, can he? I can’t say that I walked into a cupboard or something.”
He pushes off the door jamb and walks toward me. “Juliette,” he says carefully, “tell me you’re not going back to him.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I close it, swallow, then say, “I’m going home. I don’t know if he’ll be there.” He won’t be. I’m sure he’ll have stayed over at his parents’ house with his brothers.
“And if he is?”
“I don’t know. I need time.”
“Time to what?”
“Decide what I’m going to do.”
He runs his tongue over his top teeth and puts his hands on his hips. “If you expect me to sit back and let you go, you can think again.”
“Henry…”
“I want you, and I’m going to have you if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Stop it,” I snap, trying not to look at his bulging biceps. “I didn’t promise you anything when we went to bed.”
“You said you were mine.”
“That didn’t count.”
His eyes blaze. “Yeah, you tell yourself that.”
Oh God, I’ve made a terrible mistake.
I’ve sometimes wondered how Henry fits into his group of friends. He’s not as driven as Alex, or as smart as James with his two degrees, or as innovative as Tyson. He is personable and reliable—you know if you ask Henry to do something, it’ll be done, in half the time you expected, and in an organized and efficient fashion. He’s head of HR at the company because he’s great with people, able to put them at ease. But I suppose I’ve always thought of him as… I don’t know, passive, I guess.
I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’s not hesitant, indifferent, or obedient. He’s quiet, single-minded, and determined. And that’s just on the outside. I’m pretty sure that on the inside his thoughts and emotions are crashing into each other like particles in a hadron collider.
“Henry,” I plead, “please don’t make this difficult for me.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Did you think I’d let you walk out of this door and run back into his arms?”
“This isn’t Fatal Attraction! What are you going to do? Boil my rabbit in a pot?”
We glare at each other. He’s never angry, and his obvious fury makes my eyes prick with tears. “Don’t be cross with me,” I whisper.
At that, his expression softens, and to my surprise he comes forward and puts his arms around me. I stand stiffly for a moment, then rest my cheek on his shoulder, and let him hug me.
“I’m not cross with you,” he says. “Never with you. I’m angry at the situation. Cam’s not the only one who’s been damaged by this.”
His words shock me. I’ve never considered that what happened to Cam has damaged me, too. After all, it didn’t happen to me, right? And it’s not as if he’s ever gone into detail. I couldn’t have coped with that. I’ve just had to deal with the fallout, like coping with radiation poisoning long after the bomb has detonated.
But of course, Henry’s right. The effect it’s had on Cam, and trying to heal him through years of trauma, has had a huge impact on me.
His arms are warm, and he smells so good. I want to undress, to go back to bed with him, and stay there all day.
I move back. “I have to go.”
I walk to the door. When I turn back, he’s still standing there, hands in his pockets.
“I’ll see you later, at the office?” he says.
I nod, open the door, and leave.
Outside, it’s a beautiful summer’s day. I don’t look up at the blue sky and bright sunshine, though. I hurry along the pavement, heading for the apartment, lost in my own world. I want a shower, hot as I can bear it, and a cup of coffee, so strong you can stand the spoon up in it. And then I want to sit on the balcony and think.
On the way, my phone buzzes with a text. I take it out and see Henry’s name, and my heart leaps.
I burn for you. I need you. I love you. Just so you know.
I stop walking, my body heating all the way through. Jesus, Henry! I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, closing my eyes for a moment. I can’t cope with this. I need to get home.
I walk fast, not seeing anything around me. When I reach the apartment, I take the elevator up, go along to the door, and let myself in.
I’m lost in thought, and I’m therefore doubly shocked when the first thing I see is Cam sitting at the dining table, looking miserable and defeated, nursing a mug of tea.
Well… shit.