16. Brook
His tongue. His breath. His mouth.
Oh, his dirty, filthy, talented mouth.
He nibbles, licks, devours. And my body arches, writhes, comes alive in so many ways that freak me out. Because this is too good. Too intense. Too painfully delicious.
Too much.
Too much.
Too much.
The buildup inside me is so unexpected and novel, I don’t know how to handle it. I’m breaking into a million pieces, riding a blissful feeling that is such a new sensation it spooks me.
My heart thumps in my temples, overriding the waves of pleasure. Well, almost.
It’s loud.
Deafening.
Unexpected.
I should be enjoying this. My body is savoring it. My mind is running a mile a minute and I can’t silence it.
“Stop.”
His breath is still hot and so pleasant on me, but the contact is gone. I realize it was me who screamed and I look down.
Baldo frowns at me, confused. He looks so beautiful and sexy with me glistening on his face.
I’m desperate to say something, to explain, but I’m drawing a blank.
And instead of taking charge and dealing with the unexpected brakes I put on his actions, I focus on my own vulnerability.
Spread on the counter like this, I want to trust him. I need to trust him. I should trust him.
I can trust him. I know I can—
He smiles, or smirks, I’m not sure. “You can take it, baby.”
You can take it. Those words. Said with a different, kinder voice, but still those words. My body acts before my brain registers.
With my foot, I push at his chest. It catches him off guard and he stumbles back. I jump from the counter and run.
“What the fuck?” It’s pure surprise in his voice, but I leave it behind me and dash upstairs to my room.
“Brook.” Baldo’s voice hits my frayed nerves, and I swallow a sob. “Are you okay?”
I lock my door, the click obscenely loud, and slide to the floor. Taking three deep breaths, I try to parse this unexpected outcome.
A soft knock startles me. Jesus, of course he wants to understand what just happened.
A lot of wonderful things, as evidenced by the arousal still glistening on my thighs. Plus one very embarrassing reaction to his amazing ministrations.
“Brook, are you okay?” he repeats, his voice laced with concern and confusion.
Another deep breath in, and a long breath out. “Yes, I just need a moment alone. I’m fine.”
A beat of silence stretches, and I know I should just open the door and explain. But this is one of those moments where I need to sort out my thoughts and feelings before sharing them with anyone else.
“Okay, I’ll be in my room if you need anything, Tokyo,” he rasps.
My breath hitches and I fail to stifle the sob this time. Lowering my head, I hug my knees and cry.
Because of course, after delivering the best orgasm of my life, he would use his personal nickname for me.
It’s official—I’ll have to stay in this room forever. There is no way I can face the man again and not die of embarrassment, or combust from desire.
His footsteps finally retreat and I slip down to lie on my side, letting the tears roll down my cheeks.
I’d call my therapist, but it’s past midnight in London. And my phone is downstairs. So I cry.
Alone. Deserted. Isolated.
Just like I always end up.
Time moves while I lie suspended in my sadness and confusion. Until I have no tears left.
I push up on to all fours and eventually stand up.
God, this is such a clusterfuck of a situation. To explain why my brain shut this down would require other explanations and confessions, and I’m just not ready to go there yet.
Why not?
I can tell myself it’s because I don’t trust him, but that would be a lie. I’m scared.
I’m worried that once he learns how broken I am, he’ll feel sorry for me. Once he understands the baggage I carry, he’ll run. Why wouldn’t he?
I shuffle to my bathroom and wash my face. I need a shower, but some perverse part of me doesn’t want to wash away what happened. What could have been, before I freaked out.
Hoping Baldo is asleep by now, I venture outside.
Tiptoeing, I get to the landing and take one step at a time, trying to recall and avoid the creaky spots.
I make it downstairs and dash to the kitchen. In the absence of my therapist, I need to call Saar or Celeste.
I snatch my phone from the counter.
“Brook?”
I yelp before my mind registers that the velvet baritone isn’t a threat. Despite all my inner conflict, it washes over me like a comforting blanket. Whiplash, anyone?
Baldo stands in the entrance to the sitting room, leaning against the door frame. Darkness blankets his impressive stature, but something tells me his casual stance is just a mirage.
He steps forward and his set jaw confirms my assumption.
“Jesus, you scared me. I thought you were in your room.” Why do I lead with an accusation?
“I had an interesting evening that required a nightcap.” He raises the glass with amber liquid.
He’s not mocking or ridiculing me, but I almost wish he would. It would be so much easier to squash all my feelings and recalibrate if he was an asshole right now. Just like my exes.
I guess I’ll just have to face this head-on. “Look, I’m sorry I ran away. It was a shitty thing to do.”
“That depends on your reasons for that escape.” He steps closer, his face soft with concern, but also determined to get answers.
His earlier dominance flickers through my mind, and I want to be strong, but I take two steps back.
He’s still a foot away, and my body tingles with recognition and need for him. Maybe sending money to immoral, illegal, horrible causes isn’t such a bad idea. Fucking Granny.
“Look, Baldo, this was a mistake,” I blurt out. No, it wasn’t. Something is seriously wrong with me.
He narrows his eyes, his face unreadable. “That’s the story you’re going with?”
He doesn’t believe me. Well, that makes two of us.
“Yes.” A lie is the safest option. “And I’m sure you agree that sex only makes our problematic situation even more complicated.”
“No, Brook, I think we’re grown-up adults who are stuck together for a year, and we should untangle the complications.”
“Well, maybe I’m not that grown-up,” I lash out.
Definitely not a grown-up.
I regret my reaction immediately, but before I find the words to correct my course or apologize, because that would be the mature thing to do, Baldo shakes his head and puts his glass down on the counter.
Oh, and I’ll never be able to look at that counter again.
“You’re right, it was a mistake. Good night, Brook.”
He leaves me in the kitchen.
Yet again.
And again, I deserve it.
* * *
I fucked up big time.
Celeste
Yay. That’s great. Finally.
Saar
@celeste, she didn’t fuck, she fucked UP
Celeste
Oops. Sorry, chérie. Shall we meet?
Yes, please.
Saar
Let’s have late breakfast at your place.
Love you.
It’s almost ten when I drag myself out of bed. Not that I slept in. Or slept at all. But I bide my time, making sure I don’t run into my husband.
However I slice the situation, there is no way the two of us can continue this ruse without either talking or avoiding each other. The latter is more attractive, but not exactly feasible.
But what if I’m the only one stuck with all the trauma from the past? What if he moved on and turned the page?
I embarrassed myself enough last night. Along with my drunken proposition, I probably turned him off forever.
I take a shower and deal with my emails. If my personal life continues with this turmoil, I’m going to miss my deadline. But I’m too tired to consider that.
When I make my way downstairs, I find Baldo in the kitchen. Dressed in one of his sexy suits, he is perched on the island’s counter while he works on his laptop.
My life would be so much easier if the man wasn’t so attractive. His broad shoulders tense, and he turns.
Our eyes lock and we stand there, as always, in the impasse of an unresolved past and an agonizing present.
“Good morning.” I look away first and focus on getting my morning caffeine.
“I had better,” he murmurs, and I hear his laptop slap close.
So this is how it’s going to be. “Look, Baldo, I got overwhelmed last night—”
“As you said, it was a mistake.” The ice in his voice sends shivers down my spine. And not the good ones. “I have a meeting. I’ll be back this evening. The housekeeper is coming today, and I asked her to prepare meals for the next few days.”
Of course he knows the housekeeper’s schedule. He’s aloof and cold, executing his moves emotionlessly and with precision. Having everything under control.
He doesn’t look at me as he washes his cup, dries his hands with a towel and packs his laptop.
I huddle over my cup of coffee, watching his every move.
He’s so organized, so reserved. Is that the way he wants it? Or is it his coping mechanism?
Where I invite chaos to tune out the world, he brings order to feel in control?
If that’s the case, we’re doomed. Opposites might attract, but they don’t last.
The doorbell snaps me into action. Baldo grabs his laptop case and I walk with him to the foyer.
It feels like I’m seeing him out, and a part of me wishes that were the case. That this was our morning routine.
I open the door and my friends rush in.
“Hello, traitor.” Saar glares at him.
What’s that about?
“Nice to see you too, Saar. Did you enjoy your evening with Corm?” He smirks.
“Fuck you. I left right after you. And there is no way I’d ever get involved with any ventures that have his name on it.”
“Fine by me.” Baldo shrugs. “It was his idea, anyway.”
“Of course it was. Don’t ever put me in the same room with him.”
Baldo rolls his eyes. “Enjoy your day, ladies.”
“What was that about?” Celeste frowns.
“His business partner is an asshole. Never mind. We’re here for this girl.” She wraps me in a hug, and I sniffle.
“Oh no, chérie, let’s make you a cup of tea,” Celeste suggests, and they usher me to the kitchen while my husband’s Maserati revs its engine outside.
I need something enjoyable in my life. Especially since I’m stuck here for a year.
Stuck with me.