Chapter 7 #5
He gets the message. With his jaw clenched and his eyes focused on something far away, he begins to move faster.
It doesn’t take long before I see sweat beading on his forehead.
He’s holding himself back, fighting not to come too soon.
I still can’t believe I have this effect on him.
It’s incredibly flattering to see Andreas so focused.
I feel how much he wants me with every thrust, each one harder and more demanding than the last. I’m still oversensitive from my previous orgasm and immediately feel the effect as he rhythmically thrusts into me.
To my own surprise, I feel another climax building, this one even more intense.
My hands tighten their grip on him, and I close my eyes.
A low, guttural growl escapes Andreas’s throat as he finally lets go, slamming into me with powerful, relentless thrusts.
I see the veins in his neck and every muscle in his body straining as he rides out his release.
Moments later, I follow him over the edge, shattering into a thousand pieces as my third and most intense orgasm of the night rips through me.
We collapse together, catching each other’s aftershocks before finally settling, utterly spent, into the bed.
Our fingers intertwine, his hand warm in mine.
“What are you doing to me, Nora?” I hear him say softly, but I’m too tired to respond. My body is wrecked, my mind hazy, and I let my eyes drift shut. I just need a minute.
In the morning, I wake up with a big, blissful smile on my face.
The morning light filters through the window, waking me gently before my phone alarm even has a chance to sound, and yet, I feel completely rested.
I can’t recall the last time I slept this well.
I stretch beneath the covers, my mind drifting back to the passionate night we shared.
Rolling over, I reach out to touch Andreas, to feel his warmth, to ensure it wasn’t all a dream.
But when I turn to his side of the bed, I’m greeted by emptiness.
The sheets are cold, and his clothes—those he carelessly tossed into the corner last night—are gone.
I glance around, searching for signs of him, but there’s nothing.
There is no trace of his presence, no lingering scent, no proof that he was ever here.
My clothes, neatly folded, sit on the dresser, fresh and ready as if untouched.
How does he manage to do this? Take care of these little things in the middle of the night?
I sit up, grabbing my clothes, and step through the open door, hoping to find Andreas in the living room or kitchen.
But there’s nothing. No sounds, no movement.
A faint panic creeps in. Is he gone? No, I won’t let myself think about that yet.
First, I get dressed with what’s left of my clothes.
There’s no sign of my underwear. I remember how Andreas tore them off last night, and the memory floods me with a wave of heat.
Last night was amazing. I grab my bag and search through every room of the apartment, praying for a sign, for something that might point to him or a fresh pair of underwear.
But nothing. He’s truly gone. Here I stand, in disbelief and without a single piece of underwear.
Maybe I should accept this as part of the routine for a one-night stand.
A night of passion, followed by the morning departure.
But I can’t believe that. It doesn’t feel right.
The thought twists in my chest, leaving me disoriented.
I straighten my skirt, my hands trembling, and fight the tears threatening to fall.
I feel anything but comfortable, more than that, I feel exposed, humiliated.
I need to get home, and there’s only one way to get there, so I gather my courage and take the elevator down.
Once downstairs, I decide to stop by the front desk to ask if Andreas is at the office.
A last straw. Maybe he was called in for a super important, urgent meeting and wanted to let me sleep in.
I cling to that last thread of hope. The lady at the B-Tech reception desk looks at me suspiciously when I ask if Andreas is here.
“Do you have an appointment?”
No, I don’t have an appointment. I just came out of his bed. I’m not wearing underwear, and I want to know where he is!
“No, he asked me to stop by, is he not here?” I try to sound as neutral and professional as possible and sincerely hope she wasn’t the one to take my blouse to the dry cleaner last night.
“No, he might have forgotten to let you know, but he left unexpectedly early this morning for Brussels for two days,” she says kindly.
“Oh, to Brussels, two days? Okay, thanks.”
I feel my stomach twist, nausea rising as I stumble outside, gasping for fresh air.
My steps take me quickly toward the Burg square, my mind racing as I begin to fully grasp what happened: Andreas used me and then discarded me like I was nothing.
I feel utterly foolish, humiliated, and furious.
I knew it was too good to be true, and yet I let myself get carried away.
I thought I could handle it, enjoy it—without strings, without expectations—but I was wrong.
I can’t accept this. I don’t deserve this.
Tears spill over as I ride my bike, the salty droplets stinging my cheeks.
One hand clutches my skirt, trying to keep it from riding up, while the other grips the handlebars, my focus wavering over the cobblestones.
The cold air against my bare skin is a cruel reminder of what happened, the memory cutting through me with sharp, biting intensity.
The humiliation is unbearable. I’m so angry, at Andreas, at myself, at Anna and her foolish advice.
This feels worse than when David cheated on me.
At least that was somehow expected. But this…
this came out of nowhere. How can something so passionate, so full of connection, mean absolutely nothing now?
Did I misinterpret it all? Did Andreas ever feel anything real at all?
The thought twists my gut and plunges me into deeper pain. I feel shattered, naive, and broken.
When I finally get home, I cancel my afternoon appointment, using the excuse of being sick.
The sniffling is enough to make my voice sound convincingly miserable.
This is the first time since I started in January that I take a sick day.
I hate that Andreas has this power over my work, but I can’t force myself to act like nothing’s wrong.
Not today, not just yet. I slip into my pajamas, toss a frozen lasagna into the oven, grab a bottle of wine, and turn on Netflix.
I bury my thoughts, desperate to escape.
Tomorrow is another day—one where I’ll pick myself back up—but today, I need to feel absolutely nothing.