Chapter 8
Andreas
Eric knew something was off when I called him at six this morning to tell him to come pick me up immediately.
We’re on our way to Brussels for a meeting that doesn’t exist yet, one I’ll schedule later as an excuse.
I look terrible after a whole night of tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
I notice Eric glancing at me in the rearview mirror occasionally to assess the situation, but wisely, he stays silent to avoid making my foul mood worse.
Given that he knew I had dinner with Nora last night, he probably pieced together half the story already.
If he thinks I’m about to fill him in on the rest, he’s sorely mistaken.
I have no intention of spilling anything about this.
The faster the landscape rushes by and the greater the distance grows between me and last night, the more the chaos in my head gives way to calm.
Or maybe I’m mistaking emptiness for calm?
I might be getting calmer, but I’m not getting any happier.
The plan was simple: win Nora over, rid myself of the frustration, and move on.
But something went horribly wrong, even though I got her into my bed and we’re now nearly a hundred kilometers away.
She’s far from out of my system. She’s under my skin, and it’s driving me mad.
I ran, and I’m having trouble looking myself in the mirror. What I did this morning was downright cowardly.
Dinner with Nora had been a challenge, never had a woman made it so difficult.
Usually, they bat their lashes, laugh at my jokes, and don’t ask too many hard questions.
Nora, on the other hand, was brutally sharp, relentlessly probing.
Her cross-examination made me uncomfortable.
At times, I wanted to strangle her out of sheer frustration, and yet, I didn’t want to be rid of her either.
Quite the opposite. The more she pushed my buttons, the more I wanted to press hers.
The more she resisted and stirred up my frustration, the more sexual energy surged inside me.
The desire to make her mine last night only grew stronger.
I wanted to shut that smart mouth of hers, but clearly, things didn’t go as I’d envisioned.
Sex with Nora was all-consuming. I should have stopped, shouldn’t have stepped into that bathroom, shouldn’t have touched her, shouldn’t have tasted her, shouldn’t have claimed her like I did.
Maybe I should’ve never started, but my flesh was weak.
I wanted to please her, make her come undone, possess her.
I wanted her to cry my name, wanted to lose myself inside her.
I’m a selfish bastard. In my defense, she wanted it too.
She even begged for it. I gave her plenty of time and space.
The way she looked at me—like I was the first man in her life, as if her very existence depended on me.
The questions she didn’t voice, the hope in her eyes—those broke me.
She shouldn’t hope for more than I can give.
I can’t resist her, but I can’t give her what she truly wants and deserves.
She shouldn’t long for a heart where only a body is on offer.
She fell asleep so quickly while my mind was still working overtime.
I could only stare at her, hypnotized. She looked so beautiful, lying there so peacefully yesterday.
She doesn’t even realize how stunning she is, and that only makes her even more attractive.
Her full lips, witnesses to our passionate kisses, glowed as if her body had finally been cherished the way it deserved.
The sight of her natural beauty, with minimal makeup, her wild hair sprawled across the pillow, even the soft, subtle sounds she made as she slept—all made me lose my grip on reality.
She has no idea what she did to me last night.
The peace she exuded while sleeping was in stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
For the first time, a woman was in my own bed.
For the first time, sex had been so intense, so satisfying, that I felt completely lost afterward.
Never before had a woman made me feel like I could lose control, especially not during or after sex.
I feel as though, if I were to dive into her depths, I’d never come back up.
She had such a satisfied smile on her face, as if she were blissfully happy even in sleep, and it hurt.
Being the first to taste her, to feel her warmth enveloping me—I could’ve died on the spot and gone happily to hell.
What was I doing? I can’t drag her to hell when she so clearly belongs among the angels.
I’ve already ruined one good soul. And so, there was nothing left to do but flee as far as possible to Brussels, for an imaginary meeting.
The sooner she realizes I’m no match for her, the better.
Though the way she’s learning that lesson now is particularly harsh.