20. Honey, Don’t Hurt Me
Honey, Don’t Hurt Me
E very day last week, Charlotte texted me in the morning. The same message, like clockwork. “Come over.” Every day, I left my house early and came here. She took my hand at the entrance, then led me to her room, where she stripped off her panties and told me to get on my knees.
And every day, I did.
But since the awkward lunch we shared with her mom yesterday—when she returned to the kitchen and we ate in uncomfortable silence, my briefs wet and sticky—I haven’t heard a peep from her, and there was no message this morning.
What’s going on is no mystery. She knows I’m Cole—that I’ve outright lied to her when she asked me if we’d ever been on a live. And I don’t know how she figured it out or when, but she must be livid. Too pissed off to want me around, apparently. Maybe too angry to ever want my mouth on her again.
I told myself to stay home, to take the silence as a sign.
But my feet carried me here anyway, my body too used to the routine she’s carved into my mornings.
I came early, the same as always, hoping to find her waiting.
To feel her fingers curl into my shirt and pull me in.
To hear her exhale, sharp and wanting, when I touch her.
But she isn’t here.
I drop my bag onto the counter and hesitate. Should I go to her room? This is clearly a message, and the silence means I should walk away, let this thing fizzle out before it ends in disaster. Before I’m left wanting more than we could possibly have.
Maybe this is what’s happening—she’s setting me free. Except it feels like being chained to the ground after learning how to fly.
I’m considering leaving when I hear a noise from deeper in the penthouse. Guttural. Pained.
Shit .
She’s sick. My body moves until I knock on the second door—the bathroom. “Charlotte?”
There’s a pause. Then a hoarse, “Aaron?”
“Are you okay?”
The toilet flushes, then the sink runs. A few seconds later, the door swings open and she steps out, her skin pale, her lips pressed together like she’s annoyed to find me standing there. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair messy.
“Why are you here?”
I hesitate. “Uh, I?—”
“I didn’t text you.”
“I know.” Yeah, she definitely hates me. “I was worried.”
She glares like I’m being ridiculous, then moves past me, retreating to her room. She doesn’t close the door, so I take it as permission to follow, stopping just inside the threshold.
“Can I make you tea or something?”
“I’m fine.”
She doesn’t look fine. She looks exhausted, like she barely has the energy to stand. But I know better than to push, so I nod, shifting on my feet.
“I was going to make mushroom risotto for lunch, but if you?—”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Okay.” Her voice feels final, like a door slamming shut. I should leave it at that, but I need to say something. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She doesn’t look up from her phone. “About what? Nausea?”
“No, not that. About what happened yesterday.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yesterday?”
“Yes. The . . .” How do I phrase it? “The whole . . . Cole situation.”
She hisses through her teeth. “Yeah, Aaron, that’s not really a yesterday thing.” Her finger traces a circle around her face. “What’s the one game you should never play?”
“Poker,” I mumble on auto-pilot. Wait, does that mean . . . “You knew ?”
“The moment your eyes went all deer-in-headlights when Beatrice introduced us.”
Oh, for crying out loud. She’s been playing me this whole time—probably laughing at my expense when I tried to hide the fact that I have a cat, or when I slipped up and told her about the art equipment in her room.
I should be mad, but I deserve it after lying to her.
“So you’re not . . . angry?”
“About you not wanting to share with your client’s daughter that you’re the guy who burst into tears after she gave you an orgasm?” Her nose wrinkles, but she’s clearly amused. “Nah, I kind of get it.”
“Not exactly my proudest moment.”
“I know you think so.” She drops onto her bed. “But it was what you needed. I’m just glad I could provide.”
Okay, so that’s...sorted, I guess. But if that’s not the reason she didn’t text this morning, then there’s gotta be something else. Is it because she feels sick? That doesn’t explain her bad mood.
“What’s going on?” I ask, blanking on something better.
“Nothing’s going on.” She still keeps her nose buried in her phone, avoiding my gaze. “I’m on my period, cramps are killing me, and you heard what just happened in the bathroom.”
So that’s why she didn’t text. She didn’t need me. Simple as that.
A bitter taste fills my mouth. What did I expect? That she’d call me just to talk? That she’d ask me to hold her, to stay? She was clear about what this is—she told me yesterday, before she made me spill into my briefs. Feelings aren’t part of the deal.
“A heads-up wouldn’t have hurt,” I say before I can stop myself.
She looks up sharply. “I need to explain myself for not wanting to have sex with you?”
“Sex?” I bark a laugh. “We don’t have sex .”
“Really? What’s with the attitude, Chef?”
Unbelievable . “We don’t have sex, Charlotte. You use me—not even all of me, just my mouth. My lap, if you want to piss off your mom. And when you’re done, you toss me aside.”
She lets out a sharp, mirthless chuckle. “And what do you do with me on TOP? You watch me. You use me. And then you leave.” Her gaze is razor-sharp. “Why should I act any different?”
My chest tightens. I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. Is she mad because she thinks I’ve been watching her on TOP? She’s always known I’m Cole, so she must know I haven’t. Not since that night we talked for hours.
“I’m not . . . I haven’t been on TOP.”
She tilts her chin slightly, studying me from beneath her lashes. “That’s right. You’re not on top.” She glares. “ I am.”
The words land like a slap, cold and cutting.
“What did you think, huh? That because we’ve been fooling around, I now owe you something? I don’t . You don’t even know me, Aaron. You don’t know the first thing about me, and if you did, you wouldn’t be here. If you knew the real reason?—”
She cuts herself off, but I want to know. “The real reason...for what?”
“Forget it.”
“No, Charlotte, I?—”
“I said forget it.” Her gaze holds mine. “Just do me a favor, all right? Don’t pretend this is something it isn’t, and don’t leave the door open on your way out.”
I watch her for a beat, then, with a tight jaw, I turn and walk away.
She wanted to hurt me, and she fucking managed.
My phone rings, and holding back a curse, I pull it from my pocket, my pulse kicking up when I see Sadie’s school’s contact flashing on the screen.
“Hello?” I say into the phone, scrambling to answer.
“Hi, Aaron. It’s Penny.”
“Yes, hi. Is everything okay?”
“I—yes! Oh, I’m so sorry I worried you. Sadie is perfectly fine. Currently giving Thomas a lecture on waiting for his turn. Between the two of us, he needs it.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Oh. Good.” I wait for her to say something else, and when the silence stretches, I prompt, “What can I do for you?”
“We’ve hit a last-minute snag with the Mother’s Day event.” There’s hesitation in her voice, like she’s worried I’ll shut her down. “I’m sure you have a lot going on, but?—”
“That’s okay. What’s wrong?”
“Well, you’re a cook, right? Sorry—a chef?”
I lean against the counter. “Had issues with catering or something?”
“Something. A mom offered to cook, but she’s sick, and...”
“I could take care of that.” Cooking, I can do. It’s the easiest thing to control in my life these days.
“Really?” Relief floods her voice. “You’re amazing . Seriously. I couldn’t ask any of the moms, and I’m not—I mean, I can cook, but I’m not a chef.”
“Happy to be of service.”
“Great. Great. Should I meet you at your place? Maybe tomorrow?”
“You want to meet?”
Movement catches my eye, and I glance up just as Charlotte steps into the room. Her gaze flicks to me, then away as she opens the fridge. Even though I know she’s listening, I turn slightly.
Penny continues. “Yeah. I’m not going to let you do all of it by yourself, with how busy you are. I can help you come up with a menu, at least.”
“Right.” Clearing my throat, I grip the phone a little tighter. “Sure, you can come over. Say, eight p.m. tomorrow?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect. I’ll bring a bottle of wine.”
I blink. “You want to drink?”
“Oh! Not—not for us . Just as a thank-you.”
I switch the phone to the other ear. “No thank-you necessary, really. It’s my pleasure.”
“Well, I’ll see you then.”
“Sure. Bye, Miss Delaney.”
“Penny.”
“Right. Bye, Penny,” I say, ending the call.
When I look up, Charlotte is still standing by the fridge, one hand braced against the door, her eyes fixed on the near-empty shelves like there’s an actual choice to be made.
Then, without turning, she says, “Date?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“It’s not like you care either way, right?” I say, knowing I shouldn’t. I can’t beat her at her own game, and besides, I don’t want to. I don’t know what’s wrong, but something happened. Just like something happened yesterday, when her mom started chatting me up.
I can’t make Charlotte talk, but I don’t want to fight her either.
She moves, closing the fridge door with a sharp click before turning to face me.
“Sadie’s teacher needs help with Mother’s Day,” I explain, folding under her watchful gaze. “The mom in charge of it bailed.”
“Sure they did.” I wait for her to say more as she steps closer, arms folding across her chest. “You’re a newly single father. Handsome and well-mannered. Sweet, with a decent job and a beautiful daughter.”
“And?”
“And you can’t be that naive.”
I stare at her, irritation bubbling up. I suspect Penny is interested, but Charlotte has no right to act jealous. Not after the way she just treated me.
She lifts a shoulder. “Who knows. Maybe you are.”
“So what if she’s into me? Nobody else is.”
She scoffs. “If you expect me to beg?—”