Chapter Eight
Lips ghosting across my cheek rouse me from a delicious, sex-induced slumber and I wonder what time it is since I still feel a little delirious. I’m not exactly what someone would call a morning person, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember it’s the weekend and I do not need to be up for work. I put a hand over my face, shooing away whatever is touching me when I hear a chuckle and then a kiss on my forehead and then my lips.
Well, there are worse wake-up calls.
I open one eye, squinting through it as I take in the hazy vision in front of me: Chris shirtless. I pry open the other eye because if I had to be awake, I at least want to fully appreciate the visual of this gorgeous man’s naked torso.
“What?” I chuckle with a hint of annoyance.
“Good morning to you too, dear. Sleep well?” He pulls a mug to his lips and takes a sip.
“Better if it were noon. What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“A.m.?” I groan and pull the covers up over my head. “Why? We went to bed like two hours ago.” Unlike the first time we had sex three months ago, Chris and I had sex multiple times in multiple different positions last night. We’d talked in between, ordered late-night crepes at two in the morning, and fell asleep just as the night started to trickle into the morning.
“I have to take a call.” He sighs and I lower the covers to see the disappointment all over his face. “I’ll be in the living room, but I didn’t want you waking up without me again.” Even though I’m not even fully awake yet, my body hears the sentiment loud and clear and my heart skips a beat. He nods toward the other side of the room and I follow his gaze to see a table with what seems to be an impressive spread of food. “I ordered breakfast. Everything that needs to stay warm is still in the warmer if you’re not hungry yet, but I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.”
I sit up a little to see the table before turning back to the man who may have woken me up but who did it half-naked and with food. At least, he did it with style.
“I like French toast,” I tell him. “So you don’t have to order the whole menu next time.”
“So, there will be a next time?” He smiles before he leans down and presses his lips gently to mine.
I had put on a very short and sexy silk two-piece pajama set for bed— that yes, I bought specifically for this trip— but it barely covered much so when I sit up, I’m practically exposed.
“God you’re fucking hot.” He chuckles as he takes another sip from the mug in his hand. I hold my hand out, wanting his coffee, and he hands it to me. I take a sip without even looking at it and as soon as it hits my tongue my instant reflex is to spit it out. I hold it in my mouth and make a face before looking down at the damn near white coffee.
He chuckles and gives me a look. “You okay?”
I reluctantly swallow and hand him back his mug. “What is this?!”
“Coffee?”
“This is…cream…with sugar? I detect no coffee. The color of this coffee looks more like you than me!” I let out a sigh.
“I like my coffee sweet.”
“You drink scotch straight. That nasty Macallan shit and you drink this in the morning?”I scrunch my nose, hating the taste it left behind.
“You’re being dramatic. This coffee is brown by the way.” He rolls his eyes as he points to the mug.
“It needs to be darker than me,” I tell him pointing to my hand and let out a sigh.
“Fine, how do you take your coffee?”
“Black. Like how God intended.”
He snorts in response. “Ah, so you’re a coffee snob. Noted.”
“Hey, I enjoy a good latte every now and then or a cutesy little drink with a four-dollar splash of almond milk from a coffee shop but for the most part, I just want it black. And it shocks me that you like this. God, do you drink frappuccinos too?” I get out of the bed and he lands a slap on my ass.
“I love a frappuccino.” I scrunch my nose because if I’m going to drink a frappuccino, I might as well get a milkshake. I move towards the table and take in the food. He really did order the whole menu. I’ll admit, I’m more tired than hungry, but he pulls something out of the warmer and I smell the cinnamon before I see it. He pulls off the top and I nod vigorously as I reach my hands out suddenly starving.
I mean I guess I did work out for multiple hours last night.
I sit on the ottoman and he sits next to me, drinking his horrible coffee. “So, are we doing anything before we see Hamilton ?” I say as I cut into my French toast.
“So…I actually have two more meetings this afternoon that I couldn’t move.” He winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. When I envisioned today, no part had me working.”
“What did you envision?” I ask before pushing a piece through the river of syrup on my plate and taking a bite. “Holy crap, this is good.” I cut another piece and hold it out for him. “Try it.” He wraps his lips around the fork, pulling the bread off slowly, his eyes not leaving mine, and I don’t know how he makes eating French toast look sexy as hell but I avert my eyes before I suggest finding another use for the syrup in front of us.
“That is good. I’m normally more of a waffles guy, but that is great,” he says as if he doesn’t realize how much that simple act has affected me. “And to answer your question, I was thinking we could just walk around Central Park, maybe go to the Met or MOMA. But based on when my meetings are, that may be tough. I do have another idea though.”
He gets up and grabs something from his pants and when he sits back down, he hands me a credit card. I just stare at it, confused. I’d never seen a black one up close before. “What’s this for?”
He shoots me a smile, excited like he just came up with the best idea anyone had ever heard. “Figured you could go shopping.”
“For what?”
He chuckles. “Whatever you want.”
I blink at him, suddenly realizing what he wants me to do. “Yeaaaah, I don’t think so.”
He frowns, confused. “Why?”
“Because…this just feels…cliché. The married man spoiling his…” I give him a look and point to myself, to avoid saying the word he doesn’t want to hear. “To keep her from leaving and-or happy. It’s a little insulting.”
“I…didn’t mean to. I just thought…you’d want to?” He sighs and drops his card on the table and I hope I haven’t offended him, but this is just not what I want. “It’s just what…” He trails off. “I’ve never had a woman say no to that. I’m not doing this to keep you from leaving. I want to do this.”
“And I’m not saying you can’t. But maybe…get to know me and find out what I like so you can buy it yourself? It’ll mean more to me coming from you anyway and not just things I picked out on your credit card.”
His eyes narrow but I see a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re…different.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely gesture and I appreciate it, but this is still all very new and…I’m just not very comfortable with that.” I take another bite of the French toast that is easily one of the best I’ve ever had. “You’ve already spoiled me plenty.” I bite my bottom lip. “There’s a lot of things I like about you, Chris, and I don’t even think your money cracks the top ten.”
The one thing I love about a luxurious hotel is the bathroom. The bathtub and shower situation are usually unbelievable and I am ecstatic about taking a bath in what some would call a small swimming pool. Almost an hour after breakfast, I’m sitting in the bathtub, a mountain of bubbles as high as my neck as I read on my Kindle when Chris walks in.
“What are you reading?” he asks and I give him a smirk before putting it to sleep and setting it down on the ledge.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Sounds like something spicy.”He says as he raises his eyebrows up and down a few times.
“Maybe,” I tell him with a wicked grin.
“What kind of smut do you like?”
“All kinds. I do not discriminate.” I giggle because really, I don’t. I have a password on my Kindle for a reason. I’m not ashamed but I’d rather my mother not know what I’m reading if she picks it up to be nosy. And she absolutely would.
“Anything you want to act out?”
I can’t even stop the smile from breaking out across my face. “What?”
“Isn’t that a perk of having a boyfriend? Make him do all kinds of shit you read in your spicy books?”
I think my brain momentarily short-circuits hearing the word boyfriend. Okay, I know he’s made multiple points about us being long term but it all felt so abstract. Hearing the term boyfriend feels real and final and…legitimate.
Could I really be a girlfriend to a man that also has a wife?
“Okay, first of all, boyfriend?”
“What would you prefer to call me?” He pulls his shirt off and my pussy reacts as my brain is already convinced that he’s getting in the tub with me.
“I guess I…hadn’t really thought about it.”
He slides his sweats down his legs revealing his bare dick and my mouth waters for a taste of him. “Can I join you?”
“You wait until you’re naked to ask? What if I didn’t want a bath time companion?”
“I thought I’d lead with an offer you couldn’t refuse.” He looks down at his dick.
“What if I peed in here?” I joke.
“You didn’t.”
“You don’t know that,” I say with a shrug.
“I’ll take my chances,” he says without another word as he climbs in and takes a seat in front of me.
“So, you think of me as your girlfriend, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yep.” He runs his hands up my legs and slowly massages my thighs. He pulls me gently into his lap, letting my pussy rest against his dick. “I don’t care what you want to call me as long as you know I’m yours.”
I hear my subconscious already clearing her throat and raising her index finger as if to say, well technically… but I ignore her. I can’t keep pointing out that he is married. We both know it, and he’s also been very clear of his intentions to rectify that. He’d asked for faith and time and I suppose I could give him longer than the week it’s been since I walked back into his life.
Right?
The idea that I’m being silly and naive flashes through me briefly, but right now in his lap, naked in a bathtub is not the time to have this argument with myself.
“I’m yours too,” I whisper, pushing myself further into his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck just before I press my lips to his.
“Oh my god!” I say grabbing his bicep and squeezing as we make our way out of the Beckham Securities box in the theater. “Oh my god!”
“You said that.” He smiles cockily.
“That. Was. So. GOOD!” There’s nothing like the high of great entertainment. A movie, play, musical, book, it felt otherworldly. Almost as if I was immersed in it and it’s taking a while to float back to reality. That’s how I feel right now, like I’m floating. “I am…amazed.” I stop in front of him and throw my arms around him. “Thank you! That was…” I let out a breath. “Wow. I knew it was going to be good, and somehow, I was still wholly unprepared for that. ”
He holds me tight in his arms, like he doesn’t want to let me go, rubbing my back before finally pulling back. “You’re welcome, beautiful. I’m glad you liked it.” He cups my face and presses a kiss to my lips, sliding his tongue along mine like we aren’t in the main lobby of the theater with people moving all around us.
I’m about to pull apart to suggest going back to the room. We had dinner before the show and he is the only thing I want for the rest of the night, but the sound of a throat clearing pulls me away before my idea can fully form.I pull away from his mouth and turn toward the source of the sound to see a man who’s probably older than my dad with a woman next to him who might even be younger than me .
“I thought that was you, Christopher!” He has an unlit cigar between his fingers which is confusing to me because where does he think he’s lighting that? In his other hand, is a glass filled to the brim with a clear liquid that I’m convinced is not water. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back and he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit that looks like it cost more than what I make in a month.
“Mr. Blackwell,” Christopher nods with a polite smile but I can sense his discomfort instantly.
“Hell of a show. Did you enjoy it, miss?” he asks me and I nod.
“It was amazing. I loved it.” I look at the girl on his arm, but she looks bored and has taken to scrolling through her phone, so I turn back to him. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Well, I’m sure Mr. Holt can bring you to all kinds of shows.” He points at Chris and I don’t miss how uncomfortable he seems. “Tell Beckham I’ll be in touch next week,” he says. “You two enjoy your evening.” He passes by Chris and I hear him whistle a low, “Nice.”
My heart sinks to my stomach and I’m instantly brought back to reality. The high of the show is completely eviscerated as I realize that this man probably knows Chris is married and it is not to me. I wonder if he’s even met his wife at a work function and is…praising him for…his obvious extra-marital behaviors? I notice a ring on his finger, making me feel like that guy probably cheats on his wife regularly because I’m pretty sure the woman on his arm is not the one he promised to love in sickness and in health.
I don’t say anything as we make our way outside where it’s dropped at least twenty degrees since we went in earlier. There’s a night in September when the weather changes, usually following a few days of rain where it struggles to get up to a certain degree and you know in that moment that summer is over. I’m wearing a sleeveless black dress and I wrap my arms around myself the second we step outside because of both the weather and the discomfort of the situation I know Chris and I have to talk about. Before I can even take a step, Chris is sliding his jacket off and it’s around me. “I’m so fucking sorry about that,” he says as he slides my arms through the sleeves. I’m grateful for the literal warmth plus the warmth in his words as he wraps me in a hug.
“Can we talk at the hotel?” I ask weakly. That interaction felt like a bucket of cold water on the whole evening and I’m suddenly very aware that my feet hurt, they’re freezing, and I am exhausted.
“Of course, there’s our car.” He guides me towards one of the many black cars lined up along the curb. We slide in, and he immediately grabs my hand, pulling me closer to him, like he can feel the wall I’m putting up between us. I’m not trying to; I’m just already struggling with how I feel about everything without realizing that there may be times I’ll have to interact with people who may also have their own feelings or comments.
I suddenly feel like I’m wearing a neon sign that says whore , and I do not like that at all.
We don’t say anything on our way back to the hotel, but Chris doesn’t let go of my hand the entire time, dragging his thumb over my knuckles every few moments almost as if to remind me of his presence.
We make it back to the room and just the faint sound of the door closing causes the dam to burst. “He knows you’re married.”
He sighs as he beelines for the bar and pours himself a drink. “Yes.” He holds up the bottle asking if I want a drink and I shake my head.
“So, that ‘ nice ’ is what? Good job on your new piece of ass?”
He takes a long sip of his drink and sighs. “He’s a prick, and I know you could sense that. That girl he was with was obviously not his wife, and to be honest, he has a new girl every time I see him.”
“That oddly does not make me feel better,” I respond sarcastically.
“That’s not me, Marissa. I don’t have multiple women. It’s just you. There’s no one else.”
“Just the woman you took vows with.” I blink at him. “A woman it’s obvious he’s met before. Not to mention, you didn’t even try to introduce me.”
“Did you want me to? You were triggered by me calling myself your boyfriend. I wasn’t sure what you wanted in terms of introducing you to people. Also, I haven’t told Beck who you are. He’s not going to fire me for breaking a fraternization rule but I’d at least like him to hear it from me rather than that asshole.”
Fair. I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay, I’ll give you that.” I scrunch my nose as I feel the tears starting to prickle there. “I didn’t like how that made me feel. Like he knew… ”
“I’m sorry,” he says as he moves closer to me. I’m still in his jacket, still feeling the chill from the outside, and I pull the lapel up and run it under my nose, smelling him and I feel the slight flutter of my heart from the inhale. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop that from happening. Or that I kissed you in public. I should have been more careful about being in a space where I could have seen people that I know. I’ll be smarter next time.”
Next time.
I drop to the couch and tuck my legs underneath me as he sits down next to me. “I feel a little out of my depth with this.” I swallow past the lump in my throat and I wish I’d taken him up on that drink to loosen the knot. “I know you say it’s different but I still feel like I’m doing something very wrong.”
“I get that.” He stares down into his drink. “I’m not going to try and convince you not to feel that way or tell you that this isn’t complicated. But what I will say is that life isn’t always so black and white.”
“Trying to rationalize it isn’t going to make me feel better.” I wish it did. I wish I could just get on board with the fact that the man I’m seeing is in a loveless potentially open marriage to a woman that doesn’t care that he sees other women.
Well, me.
“What will make you feel better?” he asks and I wish I had the answer to that. It would certainly make things easier.
I shrug, not knowing how I feel about any of this but I know I want more with him. This interaction aside, this has been one of the best weekends I’ve ever had with one of the best guys I’ve ever known. Chris is so considerate and charming and unbelievably generous with not just his money but everything he has to give. While I know this situation is messy, I can tell his intentions with me are genuine. I can tell he wants to be with me and I’m beginning to think the feeling is more mutual than I’ve been letting on.