Chapter 6
SELENA
He enters me again as I'm standing with my back against the glass wall of the shower, and this time, I'm ready. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tuck my head against his neck as he slowly slides in, holding my right leg up against his hip.
He’s even more beautiful fully naked with the lights on. His body is strong, muscular, every ridge and valley of his perfect form exquisitely defined by the water cascading over us.
I'm not going to lie—having him come inside of me and then treat the thought of a possible child like a disease I need to take a pill for is off-putting.
Yet, to his credit, Griffin has never pretended to be somebody he wasn't. He told me he was here for sex.
He told me he was looking for a transaction.
People who randomly fuck each other don't plan families together; they do their thing and leave.
I knew this. The problem is, I was getting attached. In the few hours we’d been together, a crazy fantasy formed in my mind that maybe we’d date or, at the very least, become friends.
When he handed me that black box, I realized the evening was just a deposition for him.
He’s a lawyer, and the condom breaking was an unfortunate liability he mitigated with stipulations and chemical clauses.
I'm not used to men like Griffin. I thought Landon was a "decent man," but he cheated on me.
At least Griffin is honest about his ruthlessness.
This is what I'm thinking as Griffin thrusts into me, reclaiming my body.
My senses ignite one last time. I look into his eyes, and there is genuine affection in those deep grey orbs.
I know people well enough to read that he is, at the very least, enjoying this as much as I am.
Seeing me staring at him, he kisses me again, and I realize I'm becoming addicted to the taste of his mouth.
I love the way he feels—so tall, big, and consuming.
He envelops me as the warm water pelts us both.
All I feel is his rock-hard length deep within me, and it's a wonderful, intoxicating, scary place to be.
Not once during this whole exchange do I feel cheap. In truth, I feel adored.
He starts moving with more intention, his breath hitching. I giggle, a nervous release of pure joy. He’s lost to his lust as he thrusts into me, pulling me into a crushing embrace so our bodies are flush. For that one moment in time, he’s a part of me.
“I’ve lost my mind,” he groans against my throat.
In this frantic state, he slips a hand between our bodies and finds my clit.
With expert pressure, he tips me over the edge.
I shatter against him, my body shivering with release.
Before my pussy can cage him again, there’s a sharp intake of breath, a whoosh of movement.
He pulls out just in time, pumping his release onto the shower floor where it swirls away with the soap and water.
“You drive me nuts,” he pants, jerking the last of his spent desire out. “I’m like a blathering idiot with you; I nearly did it again.”
He turns to me and smashes a kiss against my mouth. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
I’m fucking stunned, is what I am.
He pumps expensive shower gel into his palm—it smells of sandalwood and money—and slathers it over my body. He doesn't miss a single inch, worshiping me with his soapy fingers. We don't speak over the rush of the water; his benediction is enough.
When he stands up and faces me again, his smile is a little sad. “You’re all clean,” he says quietly. He quickly washes himself, the intimacy shifting back to efficiency.
“I can do that,” I tell him, though my eyelids feel heavy. I might fall asleep standing up.
“If you touch me again, Selena, you’re going to end up pregnant,” he laughs, though the sound is rough. “No pill in the world is going to stop me next time. My instinct is too feral around you.”
He kisses my forehead to soften the blow. “I have a meeting in...” he checks his waterproof watch, “four hours. Let’s get some sleep.”
He shuts off the water and wraps me in a big fluffy towel. He rubs me dry robustly, then does the same for himself before scooping me into his arms. He carries me to the massive bed, and moments later, we’re nestled into buttery soft sheets, covered by a thick, warm duvet.
I feel sleep tugging at me immediately. He must as well, because he leans over and kisses me one last time.
“I have to leave early,” he whispers, “but you can sleep in this room as long as you’d like. Order room service. There’s a digital menu on the wall. Call yourself a car from it. It all goes to my account. Don’t balk at me paying; you’ve more than earned it.”
There’s one more weak smile, and his eyes close. “Go to sleep.”
“Thank you,” I murmur as he starts to drift.
“You shouldn’t be doing the thanking,” he slurs, and then he is out like a light.
His circadian rhythm must be ironclad because within seconds, his breathing evens out.
I lie there for a moment, absolutely wrung out.
Despite the exhaustion, I find it difficult to sleep.
My body aches in a good way, but my stomach feels absolutely horrific—like Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees are having a knife fight in my gut.
I chalk it up to the stress hitting me all at once. The adrenaline crash is making me nauseous. But before I can analyze it further, I slip out of bed, run to the bathroom, and literally puke my brains out. I do it a second time, and a third, until there is nothing left but dry heaves.
I didn't eat much pizza. Maybe two pieces, and a few spoonfuls of crème br?lée. Two chardonnays. This is a five-star hotel; surely it wasn't food poisoning. Maybe it’s the morning-after pill? I've never taken one before. Maybe the hormones are rejecting me.
Instead of crawling back into bed, I get dressed. I quietly slip my shoes on. I look at the iPad on the wall, thinking about the car service, but I’m only two blocks away. I can walk two blocks without getting murdered.
I open the door and take one last look at the sleeping man who changed my life. Then, I walk away from Griffin, forever.
I don’t know his last name. I don't know anything about him except that he’s a lawyer who likes sluts. This thought makes me laugh, and laughing feels better than crying.
I walk through the hotel lobby, which is surprisingly busy for the early hour. I say goodbye to the bouncer as I walk out, only to realize it's a different guy who has no idea who I am. Suddenly, I feel like an idiot.
There’s some liberation in the fact that I've had an incredible night with a stranger I’ll never see again, but mostly, I feel cheap. Griffin didn't make me feel bad; I am making myself feel bad.
I walk into my sad little sublet and throw my keys on the table. I kick off my shoes and fall into bed fully clothed. I don't even get under the covers; I just crash.
The sun coming through my window wakes me up. Disgusted that I’m still in my suit, I grope for my phone. It's almost five o’clock on Saturday afternoon. I've slept for nearly twelve hours.
Granted, I've been sleeping in a train seat for three days and had marathon sex all night, so I deserve the rest. I check my notifications: three missed calls from my sister and fifteen from an unknown number. I assume those are from Landon. I block the number immediately.
One missed call is from the temp agency, barely twenty minutes ago. I shake as I hit redial. I can't miss my first paycheck.
“Hello, this is Selena Thompson. I’m returning your call.”
“Hi, Ms. Thompson, this is Craig from Staff Savers. We have you marked for a week-long assignment at a law firm in Manhattan. Paxton, Gill, and Associates. You’ll be assisting one of their senior partners.
Be there Monday at eight a.m., corporate upscale attire.
Half-hour lunch, finish at six. Any questions? ”
He speaks so fast I can barely scribble it down.
“What’s the lawyer’s name?” I ask.
“You’re checking in with Elinore. I’ll text you the address. Thanks.” Click.
Seconds later, a text comes through with the address. I have Sunday to prepare.
I call my sister next.
“Oh my God, I’ve been so worried!” she screams.
“Chill out, sis. I’m good. I’ve got an apartment and a job starting Monday. Don’t tell Landon where I am.”
“I won’t. But he’s already involved the police.”
“Why? Leaving a cheater isn't a crime,” I snap.
“That’s what they told him. They said he’s lucky you only took half the honeymoon fund. You’re in the clear, Sel. But are you sure you don’t want me to retrieve your furniture?”
“Nope. Clean slate,” I say. As I say it, my stomach pitches again. “Listen, I gotta go. I think I have a bug. I need to grocery shop and spend an hour on the toilet.”
“You always had a nervous belly. I love you, Sel.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and run to the bathroom, dry heaving over the sink. Whatever I ate—or whatever pill I took—really messed me up.
I order groceries via Instagrub: ready-made meals and three pints of ice cream because that’s the only thing that sounds edible.
While I wait, I survey my studio. It’s tiny, but it has a deep soaking tub and a sketchy pull-down ladder to a private rooftop. That’s a win.
When the food comes, I binge-watch TV and eat ice cream. I take a shower to wash Griffin’s scent off me, and immediately regret it. I miss him.
I force myself to stop thinking about him. He’s gone. And I force myself not to think about Landon. Instead, I climb up to the roof, sit on an upturned bucket amidst the debris, and cry my eyes out for exactly one hour.
Then, I go to bed.
***
Monday morning, 5:00 a.m
I am ready. I’ve "Pretty Woman-ed" myself a wardrobe of seven outfits and comfortable heels. I look the part.
I arrive at Paxton, Gill, and Associates at 7:55 a.m. sharp.
“Great, you’re here. I’m Elinor, everyone calls me El. You’re Sabrina, right?” The woman at the front desk doesn’t even look up.
“Selena,” I correct softly.
“Right. You’ll sit here and take overflow calls. When this phone rings, you answer,” she pitches her voice up, “‘Griffin Calloway’s office,’ then log the message. Name, time stamp, message, number. He needs a record of everything for litigation purposes. Any questions?”
Griffin Calloway.
The world stops spinning. The air leaves the room.
The lawyer I am working for...
His name is Griffin.