15. Pros and Cons
CHAPTER 15
PROS AND CONS
EMMA
E veryone has flaws.
One of mine is finding Charlie Walker attractive.
It’s the dimples that appear when he smiles.
The charm that oozes from him.
Those blue, blue eyes.
I don’t particularly like that he’s sexy, but I’m not blind to it. I almost wish I was. It would be easier.
Today he’s in a bespoke suit so distracting I’ve locked myself out of my laptop three times already. Standing out from the sea of gray and black, he looks resplendent in a three-piece overcheck brown tweed that melts my brain and most of my inhibitions every time he comes into view.
Yesterday was Loewe. The day before, Paul Smith. Then Boss.
His wardrobe is impressive, but it’s not simply the clothes that turn me on.
He moves with purpose. The man doesn’t walk; he strides. He doesn’t merely sit but presides. There’s power in every smile, wink, nod.
And his voice?
As smooth as silk and twice as seductive. He could probably disarm a bomb with a simple flirtation and a flash of his dimples.
From the bespoke suits, all the way to his polished brogues, Charlie is formidable in a way I’ve never mastered but have always aspired to be.
There’s more to him than I anticipated, and the curiosity is leading me into dangerous territory.
I spent years trying to be a perfect child.
Straight As, gymnastics, volunteer work, entry into a prestigious college—even my love life wasn’t spared.
At the end of every failed date and broken relationship, I’ve sat down and asked myself, why? What didn’t work, and how I can fix it?
No matter the man, it kept coming back to one little problem. Me.
I have an issue sealing the deal, as it were.
Or, more specifically, I have a problem finishing. Climaxing. Coming. And it drove them all away.
Life is about more than sex, and it’s certainly about more than money. Life is about laughter and friends and family. Wine and burgers at midnight. Chocolate and slim-fit waistcoats and crying at movies. Solving a problem that’s been bothering me for weeks.
But I want a life with sex.
I like sex. I think. I love orgasms when I have them. I adore the sleepy, lazy afterglow where all I want to do is curl up, skin to skin, next to somebody.
I want so badly to enjoy sex. But unless I’m alone, I can’t come.
And I don’t know why.
I talked to a sex therapist. I talked to a regular therapist. And too many times, I’ve tried to think my way out of the issue, going round and round in my head over what could be stopping me.
And no, it’s not overstimulation from toys. It’s not porn or the number of kegels I haven’t done or any number of the other reasons men have offered me.
Honestly? Good porn paired with a clit vibe has done more for me than anything else has.
It’s like being hungry but never feeling full unless you’re eating Oreos in a closed pantry with the lights out. It’s good, but sometimes I want to eat a full meal. Plus dessert.
So, like every other problem I’ve come up against in life, I refuse to let this stop me.
If there’s a way to work this out, I’ll find it. It’s all in the approach.
I’ve gotten extremely good at getting myself off. I have a box full of toys, a subscription to Quinn, and the results of multiple kink quizzes.
I’ve done my research.
Hours upon hours of extensive research.
And I think I know what the problem is.
I’m not insecure about my looks or personality. I’ll say it… I’m a catch. I have given men some of the best orgasms of their life. Emphasis on their orgasms .
I focus on meeting their needs while putting myself aside. And boy, am I phenomenal at putting myself aside.
I’m so focused on them, it’s impossible to stop thinking and relax.
Are they enjoying themselves? Are they getting annoyed that this is taking too long? Am I moaning enough? Can I scratch that itch, or will it ruin the mood? Should I just tell them to tap out before they get lock jaw?
Every one of those guys who swore in the beginning it was okay that I didn’t come became frustrated in the end. Even Logan, who lasted the longest.
But what if there is a way to break through the dam by sleeping with someone whose pleasure I’m not invested in?
Someone I don’t particularly care about?
Someone that I might not even like ?
Every Thursday at two p.m., there is an hour blocked off in my calendar titled update weekly report . It’s Ivy’s idea. There’s no report. It’s our go-to code for “I need you.”
Right now, I’m using it to show her my list of pros and cons.
“Think of it this way,” I tell her. “He’s already screwed me over once. He might as well finish the job.”
Ivy looks like all her birthdays have come at once. Eyes bright, an impossible-to-stifle smile. “I don’t know, Em. The way you talk about him?—”
I know that look. “Whatever you’re thinking?—”
“It sounds an awful lot like when you had a crush on Dominic.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “It’s nothing like that. I hate Charlie.”
Ivy nods, still smiling, clearly not believing me.
I amend my previous statement. “ We hate Charlie.”
She raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, we hate him. He fucked you over, and I have your back no matter what. Just give me a heads-up before there’s a body to dispose of, and don’t search poisons on a work computer.”
“No promises on that last one.”
Ivy is sitting on my desk, feet swinging, the distressed cuffs of her jeans hanging over her sneakers. Her attitude toward work attire has always been “my brain works the same in jeans as it does in a pencil skirt, but only one of those options is comfortable.”
She’s a wondrous, sassy prism of light, and I love her.
“If you hate him so much, why even ask him?” she asks.
Because as much as I hate to admit it, I’m curious. And I can’t stop thinking about him. The kiss we shared replays in my fantasies often enough to prove that. “It’s a gut feeling, I guess. I think he can help me fix it.”
Her feet still, and she tilts her head, homing in on me. “You’re not broken, Em.”
“I know,” I lie. It’s so much easier to say than believe. “It was a bad choice of words. But I’ve tried just about everything, and I miss sex. Right now, all I have are my vibrators, and last night, two of them died on me before I could finish. I’m all for edging, but that’s just ridiculous.”
Ivy throws her head back with a laugh, gripping the edge of the desk.
“It’s not funny,” I say, but I’m already giggling.
A throat clears, loud and exaggerated, and my heart spikes with panic. Shit. Please, please don’t be Roberts.
It’s not.
It’s infinitely worse.
When I can muster the courage to look at Charlie, I stuff my embarrassment all the way down to my So Kates and fight to keep my voice even. “Is there a problem?”
“You tell me.” He’s smiling gleefully. I imagine this is how the Coyote would have looked had he ever caught Road Runner. “Do I need to inform Pam to keep an eye on the stationery cupboard? The batteries are for office use only.”
“Oh, would you look at that.” Ivy hops off the desk. “It’s time for me to get back to work.” As she strides off, she blows me a kiss.
It’s deathly silent after she’s left. I still haven’t responded to Charlie’s comment, but if he’s bothered by it, it doesn’t show. Sometimes, I think he just likes trying to get a reaction out of me.
“You know,” he adds as he saunters back to his desk. He removed his jacket about an hour ago, but he hasn’t yet rolled his cuffs. The pale blue of his shirt makes his eyes ethereally bright. “There are other options, if you’re interested. For example, I never run out.”
I think I could roast marshmallows on my cheeks.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I croak out, my pulse pounding in my ears.
I look back at my list.
The pros are numerous.
On the cons side, there are two words.
One name.
Charlie Walker.
Hours later, when Charlie drives me home, I decide it’s not a con at all.