15
Sasha
As much as I love dressing up, I cannot wait to get dressed down tonight. Conor and I stayed at the party a lot longer than we were planning to. When I got over the initial nervousness and made myself forget about everyone else in the room, I actually had a really good time.
We danced the whole night, drank too much champagne and ate our body weight in fancy finger foods. I laughed more tonight than I have in a long time and that is all down to the man who’s currently shrugging out of his suit jacket in front of me.
“I didn’t realize people actually had fun at those obnoxious parties.” Conor says, throwing his jacket over the chair at the desk.
“You go to these things all the time and you’re only now realizing that you can have fun?”
“I never have fun at those other things.” He loosens his tie from around his neck. “I have to be professional and I don’t get to let loose.”
“I had a great time tonight.” I kick off my shoes and throw myself onto the bed. “And it’s all because of you.”
“Sasha, stop. You’re making me blush.” Conor teases and jumps onto the mattress beside me, almost sending me flying off the other side.
Memories from the night come rushing back and suddenly I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
“My favorite part was,” I manage between gasps, “when you shoved all of those,” I snort, “pigs in blankets in your mouth.” Conor joins in on the laughter, both of us rolling around the bed like idiots.
“And when that whole group of old women were staring at you,” I wheeze, “you smiled so wide and bits of food started falling out!”
“I did not!”
“Yes you did! The looks on their faces were priceless.” Jesus, I can’t fucking breathe, “I actually think you made one of them throw up.”
“Yeah, it was pretty fucking gross.”
“Yet you kept eating!”
“I was hungry.” I dissolve into another fit of giggles. “And… they weren’t pigs in blankets, Sash. They were saucisse en cro?te.” Conor says in his best French accent and maybe I drank way too much, but I think it was pretty good.
“Fancy people and their fancy words.” I mutter, rolling onto my side to face him. The laughter slowly fades. The room becomes quiet, nothing but the sounds of our breathing echoing around the room.
Conor and I lock eyes, both of us just watching each other for what feels like an eternity. An eternity I would happily spend forever in. Conor’s lips tilt up in a smile before both of us burst out laughing again, effectively ruining the moment we were just having.
“I think you’re drunk, Mr Matthews.” I reach over and poke his nose.
“I am perfectly fine, Miss Reilly.” He slurs, poking my nose back. “I think you’re drunk.”
“I am not. I had the same amount of champagne as you did.”
“But you’re pocket sized so really, you had more than me.”
“That doesn't even make sense.”
“Yes it does, because-”
“Oh!” I interrupt, suddenly remembering something far more important. “I know we ate sooo much tonight, but I would kill for a cheese burger right now.”
Conor hums in approval, getting up off the bed and reaching for my hands. “You go get changed. I will get the food.”
I take his hands, allowing him to pull me up but I end up stumbling and almost fall on my ass. Luckily, Conor is there to catch me, setting me back on two feet. “Maybe I am drunk.”
Conor’s smile fades. He’s looking at me now. Really looking at me. I think deep blue is my new favorite color. Not just any deep blue, but the deep blue of his eyes. Just like the ocean. It’s beautiful.
Conor’s eyes roam my face, studying each part of it as if he’s saving it all to memory. My eyes lock onto his lips, so full and so damn kissable. I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss from earlier. It has been replaying in my mind on a constant reel all night.
I may be drunk enough to forget all of this tomorrow, but I hope that kiss never leaves me.
“Go get changed.” Conor whispers, his eyes now locked on my lips as well.
I bite down my own, my mind clouded with alcohol and him. He’s more intoxicating than any drink I’ve ever had.
Conor straightens, makes sure I’m steady enough that he can let go of me and then moves towards the phone to call for room service.
I grab my bag and slowly make my way to the bathroom. I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. Jesus, I’m a mess. My hair is all over the place and my makeup is coming off.
I take out my washbag, grab my makeup remover and wipes and start cleaning my face, washing off the remnants of this evening. I hate this whole process of taking makeup off. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s worth the hassle of actually putting the makeup on.
When my face is clean and moisturized, I start on my hair, brushing through the knotted strands until they’re smooth again and the whole time, I can’t get that man or that kiss out of my head. And don’t get me started on the shower incident. As if I could forget that.
I want him to kiss me again. I want to know what his hands would feel like on my body. I want him to want me just as bad.
My pussy is throbbing and I can feel how wet I am at just the thought of him. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol fueling me, or the pure hunger I feel for him, but before I can talk myself out of it, I call his name. “Conor?”
“Everything okay?” He asks as he saunters into the bathroom.
His tie is gone and he has unbuttoned his shirt completely, revealing his toned chest and stomach.
My mouth waters at the sight of him and all words leave my brain, not a single, coherent thought flows through my head apart from holy fuck.
“My eyes are up here, Sash.” His amused voice snaps me back to reality.
I clear my throat, not trusting my words to come out clear. “Can you help with my zipper please?”
Conor stalks towards me, eyes dark and dangerous as he eyes my back. When he stops behind me, our eyes connect in the mirror and like every other time, the world seems to stop.
Conor holds my gaze as he reaches for my hair, gathering it gently in one hand and moving it over my shoulder. His fingers brushing against the bare skin on my back send chills racing down my spine and cause goosebumps to erupt down my arms.
His smirk comes back in full force. He knows exactly what he does to me and he’s enjoying every second of it.
His fingers skate over my skin again as he moves to the zipper and still, our eyes haven’t left each other. The sound of the zip coming undone seems so loud against the quiet bathroom.
Conor lowers the zipper at an achingly slow pace and I feel like I’m burning from the inside out from his fiery gaze.
When the zipper reaches the bottom, Conor’s eyes move from mine to my back. “No bra?” He whispers, his hot breath fanning across my naked skin.
“No bra.” I don’t know if it’s the champagne, or the want I feel for this man, but I do something I never thought I would have.
Slipping the thin spaghetti straps over my shoulders, I let go of the dress, waiting for it to fall down my body and pool at my feet. But it never comes. Instead, two strong hands wrap around my front, holding the dress in place.
“What are you doing?” Conor asks, his voice a low, husky whisper. His hands look so big against my tiny frame.
I lean back into him, staring at our reflection in the mirror. “I want you.”
Conor stays silent for a moment, searching my face in the glass. “No, you don’t.”
“I want you.” I say again with more conviction this time.
His jaw tightens, his hands pressing harder into me. “You’re drunk, Sash.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“Yes it does.” Conor lets out a low sigh, and there’s something almost pained in his expression. “We’re not doing this.” My heart drops. “I can’t.”
My shoulders sag in defeat. After all the heated stares that have passed between us today, every time he touched me longer than he needed to, that damn kiss, I thought he wanted me too. How could I have been so stupid? So naive? Of course he doesn’t want me.
I lower my eyes, carefully removing his hands from my body while keeping the dress in place with my own. I move around him, praying he doesn’t see my face. I don’t need him to see the tears in my eyes.
This is so embarrassing. Warmth infiltrates my cheeks, my chest, my lungs. I just hope I drank enough alcohol that I won’t remember any of this when I wake up tomorrow.
“Sash?” Conor’s voice stops me in my tracks. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t turn around when I speak. “Nothing.”
“Look at me.”
I don’t.
“Sasha, look at me.”
When I still don’t move, Conor does. He comes around to my front, taking my chin between his finger and thumb and tilting my face up to meet his.
“You think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice full of disbelief. “Talk to me, Sash. Do you really believe that I don’t want you?”
I nod my head slightly, not trusting my voice. My chin trembles in his grip as the tears threaten to fall.
Conor exhales a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh and brings both hands up, framing my face.
“Of course I want you, Angel.” The words hit me straight in the chest. His eyes search mine. “I have wanted you since the first moment I saw you.” My heart stutters as more tears threaten to fall. “But I don’t want you like this. I don’t want you when your judgement is clouded with alcohol.”
He moves in closer to me, our chests almost touching.
I lower my gaze, the intensity in his making it hard to breathe.
“Hey, look at me.” I force my eyes to meet his.
“When I have you, Sash, you’ll want me as much as I want you.
As much as I need you.” His thumb brushes a stray tear that rolls down my cheek.
“I want you to want me when you’re sober.
When you wake up the next morning and remember every second.
” His voice drops to just below a whisper.
“I don’t want you waking up tomorrow regretting what happened.
” He pauses, his eyes looking deep inside my soul. “Regretting me.”
My cheeks heat again, shame flowing through me.
Is he right though? Would I regret it tomorrow morning?
Part of me feels like I wouldn’t. I do want him when I’m sober, I’d be crazy not to, but a deeper part of me knows what he’s saying is true.
It would change everything between us. And eventually, one of us would get hurt.
Another tear slips free and Conor quickly swipes it away with his thumb. It’s a gesture that shouldn’t mean anything, but in this moment, with the way he’s looking at me, it means everything.
“Don’t ever think I don’t want you. Okay?
” His eyes hold mine. My heart flutters at his words.
He says them with so much strength and so much passion that I want to believe him.
God, I really want to. But I’ve heard that certainty before.
Max used to speak with the same confidence when he talked about our future and look at how that turned out.
“Okay.” I breathe out.
A knock sounds on the hotel room door, drawing our attention. “Get changed, Sash. I’ll get the door.” Conor places a gentle kiss at the top of my head before leaving the bathroom.
The second he’s gone, my entire body sags. I stare at my reflection again and for the first time tonight, my mind is completely clear.
I barely say two words the rest of the night. Conor puts a movie on while we eat, but after what happened in the bathroom, my appetite disappears along with the last remnants of my drunken buzz.
Conor tries. God, he tries so hard. He cracks jokes, makes comments about the movie, keeps the conversation light, but I can’t bring myself to pretend I’m okay.
It’s stupid. I know that. But still, I let the shame wash over me.
This was my idea. My rules. Conor was just doing what I asked him to do. and I can’t fault him for that.
He didn’t reject me because he didn’t want me. He rejected me because he respects me. I know that, but knowing it doesn’t make the embarrassment disappear.
When we get into bed, Conor pulls me to his chest. I wouldn’t let him take the couch.
It’s small and lumpy and looks extremely uncomfortable.
I did offer to take it instead but he wouldn’t let me either.
So I wait. I wait until his breathing becomes slow and even.
I wait until I know he’s asleep. Then I quietly climb out of bed and move to the couch.
I can’t sleep beside him tonight. I can’t sleep at all. I have too many thoughts swirling around in my head for me to even try and sleep. I’m thinking about everything that has happened between us in the last three weeks.
This man has flipped my world upside down.
He has made me feel things that I never have before.
He makes me smile and laugh. He knows how to make me feel better after a shitty day at work.
He makes me feel safe. Seen. Wanted. He’s perfect and whoever gets to spend the rest of their life with this man by their side will be the luckiest woman in the world. I just hope she knows that.
I don’t know what this means for Conor and I now that this party is over.
Do we go back to how we were before, only bumping into each other a few times a month, pretending none of this happened?
Do we stop this arrangement and stay friends?
God, I hope so. That would be the sensible thing to do.
The safest thing to do. The thing that won’t leave either of us with a broken heart.
It’s something we’re gonna need to talk about. Just not right now. Because as I lay here listening to Conor’s quiet breathing from across the room, I realize something else. I don’t think I want to talk about it at all. I don’t think I want this to end.