CtrlC, CtrlV. CtrlC, CtrlV. #12
Okay, we’re getting onto shaky ground here.
I bite my lip; I look at him. I follow the outline of his face and see a completely different Jan than the one I’ve been working with for the past year.
It occurs to me that what is happening between us now is something more, something that usually takes years to happen.
I feel a fluttering in my stomach. I have a goddamned butterfly in my stomach!
“I would have stayed with you because I think I like you,” I answer truthfully.
He squints his eyes.
“You just said you don’t like me. Intensely.”
I pout my lips.
“This was after you told me to do the damn report, and before what you have just told me.”
He shakes his head.
“I don’t understand women,” he emphasizes as if he really doesn’t understand them. And I have an overwhelming urge to make him talk. And not at all because I’m jealous of some other chicks who have been in his life.
“Do you have any specific women in mind or are you speaking in general?”
“Both.”
I guess I really learned what he means. Time for attack number two.
“It is rare to meet men of your age who are bachelors, in such a position and with such an appearance… You probably have a lot of female admirers.” Well, okay, I’ve tickled his ego a little, although Jan most likely knows his own worth well enough not to need such shallow compliments.
“I am not a bachelor, Maria.”
Good God! My heart stops. Fucking hell. Jan is married? I panic and glance at his hands, although I know perfectly well that he is not wearing a wedding ring. Apparently, he guesses my concern because he adds after a moment:
“I am divorced.”
Phew. Oh God, what a relief. I know it’s not the right holiday, but… Hallelujah!
Jan used to be married. I have a million questions in my head and I feel like they’re about to burn a hole in my frontal lobe if I don’t say them out loud.
“Do you keep in touch with your ex-wife?”
“No.”
Good answer.
“Have you been divorced long?”
“Six years.”
That is, he was thirty-two years old when he got divorced. That’s pretty fast, some people only decide to get married at that age.
“Irreconcilable differences?”
“Infidelity.” I open my eyes wide, but before I can accuse Jan in my mind of infidelity, he adds, “She was the one who cheated.”
I immediately recall his words, which take on a profound meaning: I would prefer you not be a woman who cheats on her man. I don’t tolerate infidelity.
“It must have been painful,” I respond as gently as I can.
“It was humiliating.” I can see that the memories of his ex-wife stir unwanted feelings in him. I also know that I shouldn’t dwell on this topic, but…
“Not all women cheat on their men,” I respond. I, for one, do not.
“As long as they have no reason to do so.”
“Meaning?”
“That is, Maria, if you are a twenty-nine-year-old healthy woman who dreams of having a baby and your husband can’t give you what you want, you start looking for the kind of man who will fulfill your dreams.”
I freeze. Something is constricting my chest. What a bitch!
“Yours was a real piece of shit,” I state truthfully. “After all, there are different ways to conceive, you don’t have to immediately sleep with another male to have offspring. Since she knew you couldn’t have children…”
“She didn’t know,” he interrupts.
“No?”
“We had been trying for a child for three years. Kamila did all possible tests. I, however, resisted. I didn’t even want to admit that something was wrong with me.
Things began to deteriorate between us, although the whole thing was somehow not good from the beginning.
Finally, without her knowing it, I decided to undergo a medical examination.
” He rubs his face. “Getting the results, and the whole fucked-up conversation with the doctor, was one of the worst experiences of my life. I don’t wish any man to hear such a diagnosis.
There isn’t even a minimal chance of me ever having offspring.
” A vertical wrinkle splits his forehead.
“It was Christmas Eve. After the visit, I came home, totally shattered. Kamila, on the other hand, was beaming, bustling around the kitchen, singing damn carols under her breath. The whole house smelled of mushrooms, fried carp, cabbage with peas, cake… And I felt like throwing all that food out the window, along with the Christmas tree and everything else. But I restrained myself. I wasn’t going to confess the truth to my wife that day that we could never have children together.
So I pretended that everything was fine.
” He goes back to his memories. A muscle twitches on his clenched jaw.
“After dinner, Kamila handed me a gift that had been lying under the Christmas tree since the morning. A small box in which I would most likely have found a watch or cufflinks. Only it was neither. They were baby socks. For the baby my wife had made for herself with… someone else.”
Jan lowers his head and runs his hands through his hair. He doesn’t need to say anything more. He has already said a lot anyway; for him, it’s more than a lot. I prefer not to think how much this confession cost him, how he felt when he unwrapped that gift.
God Almighty, Jan.
My heart shatters, and simultaneously, somewhere inside, extreme rage builds up at this slimy cunt who has hurt MY JAN so much. My insides start to boil.
What a piece of scum that ex-wife was of his! Not only did she cheat on him, but she wanted to force a baby on him that wasn’t his. I feel like breaking down that damn elevator door, finding the bitch and rolling her by the hair in cow shit.
But I want to hug Jan even more. Just embrace him tightly, feel his heartbeat and give him at least a little of the tenderness he deserves.
I am so damn sad about what happened to him. I feel such tremendous remorse for dragging him through the mud today that I’m about to cry.
I get up from the floor, walk over to him and sit astride his legs with my arm around him.
Jan gasps, raises his head. There are so many emotions in his eyes that I can’t interpret them.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I want to hug you.”
He grimaces.
“Don’t do it, Maria.” I hear the deep timbre of his voice.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t hug me. Don’t take pity on me. Pity is the last thing I want from you.”
I look into his eyes, in which I feel like drowning.
“It’s not pity.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” I answer truthfully. “It’s something much more complex.” I bring my lips closer to his mouth and kiss him.
His lips are hot, soft. I desire them so much that I’m about to go crazy.
I brush my tongue over them. Jan sits still at first, as if frozen, but after a while he parts his lips and responds to the kiss.
With our tongues, we caress each other unhurriedly, tenderly, intoxicated by each other’s closeness.
A typhoon swirls in my stomach, and blood boils in my veins.
I am overpowered by Jan’s closeness. His mere presence, his breathing, everything that has happened today is messing with my head, taking away my ability to think rationally.
I am hot, so devilishly hot. I desire this man, and not just physically.
I want him to talk to me, to look at me, to be next to me, to be with me.
I want him to open up to me the way he did a few minutes ago.
My God, I feel as if I am falling in love with him.
How is it even possible that just a few hours ago I hated him (and have done so for a year!), and now I have a crush on him and crave his presence with all my being?
After all, it’s irrational, ridiculous even, as if my brain crashed and restarted, and the old folder titled ‘I hate my boss’ has been replaced by a new one: ‘I have a crush on Jan’!
“Jan.” Saying his name sends a pleasant shiver through me. Something like this has never happened to me. I never thought it was possible to feel like this at all. “I want you,” I confess into his mouth.
“Despite the fact that I am as dry as the ashes of a dead man in an urn?” He smiles, but I am not at all cheerful.
I move back and look into his eyes. Unearthly beautiful, captivating eyes. I am a despicable person. How could I dump on him like this?
“I’m sorry for saying that to you. I feel stupid.”
“That’s not enough for me,” he says. He reaches into the zipper of my jacket and slowly pulls it open. “You’ll have to try a little harder if I’m to forgive you.” His eyes sparkle as he trails his gaze down my cleavage.
I slip off my jacket, and he reaches for the hooks of my bra and unfastens it. I pull down the straps and tilt the cups away.
“Is that better?” I smile cockily and bare myself completely before him.
His pupils dilate.
“You’re doing pretty well… But it’s still not enough.” His hands close around my nipples craving his touch, his fingers tighten and his thumbs slide over the swollen buds.
My body arches instinctively.
“Oh yes, baby. I could see you like this every morning in my bed.” Jan clamps his mouth on my right breast, licks it, then starts sucking.
I feel a tingling between my thighs and instinctively move my hips. I rub against Jan, sensing his enlarging bulge, and slide my hands into his hair.
I wriggle on top of him, letting him kiss my breasts, my cleavage, my neck. The movements of my hips are more impatient, I push harder against his cock throbbing in his pants. We find our lips again. Our kisses are lively, urgent, passionate.
With impatient hands, I remove his tie (well, really, he could give it up already!), undo the buttons of his shirt, and when I feel the hard muscles under my fingers, I skim my nails over them and murmur:
“You have a killer body.”
“I’m all killer, Maria.” He lifts his hips and pushes against my crotch with his firm manhood.
A shiver runs through me, I cling to him tighter, rocking and rubbing against his erection. I kiss his torso, drag my tongue across his taut belly, go lower and lower, undo his belt buckle.