Restoring Jordan

Elizabeth Finn

Published 2012

ISBN: 978-1-93176-111-6

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2012, Elizabeth Finn. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

When Adeline Parker decides to celebrate landing a coveted internship at one of Chicago’s most prestigious architectural firms by indulging in a brutally dark and handsome man, she gets more than she bargained for.

Lost in a maze of hallways on the first day of her new position, she stumbles headlong into a boardroom of suits. Very expensive suits. They are the somebodies of this prestigious firm, and she is, by all accounts, the very definition of a nobody. And sitting at the table with the rest of the principals from the firm is a man—the very man who unwittingly deflowered her only days before.

From the look of it, Jordan Ellinwood is none too happy to see her again; by his own admission, he’s a one-night-stand man, and the fact she conned him into taking her virginity isn’t sitting well with him either. But as her path is inextricably attached to his, their closeness will no longer be a choice.

As an intern, she’s off-limits, and that says nothing of the fact he’s twelve years older than she is. But when coworkers bent on jealousy and resentment threaten her reputation and internship, the long-dormant emotions Jordan has so effectively stifled fight to break free. And as he struggles to get out of his own way long enough to let her see his compassion, her career is jeopardized and leaves him fighting with every last ounce of himself to save her.

Will it be enough? Can he overcome his emotional shortcomings in time to rescue her future and his own—now so very attached to hers?

Dedication

Thank you, dearest J, for allowing me to share your humiliation with my readers. What can I say; I needed to humiliate my girl, Adeline, and your humiliation will never be forgotten by those of us who were there. Always remember your slips, ladies, if you intend to tear your skirt off on a stage…

Chapter 1

“Do you want to fuck me?”

His words stop me cold in my tracks. Can you just ask someone something like that and expect them to answer? Well I certainly couldn’t, but this man … I’m sure he gets away with it all the time.

I caught sight of him instantly upon entering the bar with my girlfriends. Far too old for me—I’m guessing mid-to-late thirties at least. But he’s gorgeous, dressed like a man with money. And obviously puts the cock in cocky. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. But while my gaze followed him from the moment I caught sight of him, his gaze did not find me. Of course it didn’t; I’m me, and he is … breathtaking. He was with a group of other men of similar age and, I’m guessing, stature. But he takes the cake on looks.

It appears more business meeting than men out on the town, especially given it’s only three o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Just because my closest friends think this is an appropriate time to celebrate my new internship doesn’t mean the rest of the world is on our clock. And as we chat, laugh, joke, and behave in ways no respectable women should in the middle of the day, I continue to sneak glimpses. But like I said, he does not appear to even know I exist. For that matter, he doesn’t realize our group of young women is even there at all. He’s most enthralled with the conversation of his group, and while the other men at their table have taken turns glancing our way, he glanced at us perhaps once before dismissing us and returning to his group.

When I exit the restroom and come face to face with the man and his oh-so inappropriate question, I freeze. He’s more handsome than I initially thought from forty or so feet away. In fact, he’s incredible to look at. Why a man like him would proposition a girl like me is beyond my comprehension. And in my frozen state, I take in his calm and impassive expression. The question deserves an answer—hell, it deserves a swift slap across the face—but instead, I just stare. And he stares back—waiting.

As his hand reaches out to my body, I don’t stop him. My heart pounds, my brain panics and demands I run, but my body betrays me and flushes and tingles. It’s as if his very masculine, long-fingered hand moves in slow motion as it closes the space between our bodies. When his unfamiliar fingers touch my blouse right above the waist of my pants, my stomach muscles instantly clench and quiver, but I still don’t move. When he undoes the button of my pants with only the fingers of his one hand, I maintain my position. When he slides the zipper of my pants down, moving far slower than necessary, my breaths come in quick desperate gasps, but I still don’t move an inch.

His eyes are smoldering, wide, dark, and intense. I have no good reason to let this complete stranger touch my body, but at the moment, it’s the only thing my body wants. At any moment, someone could enter the small corridor we are standing in, but he isn’t concerned in the least. And as his hand slips past the waist of my underwear, pushing its way to my sex, I stop breathing altogether. His hand is warm and demanding, and I should stop him, I should scream, anything at all to keep this from happening. But he knows I won’t; he knows I have no intention of stopping what is to come. I want his fingers on my skin. I have from the moment I caught sight of him upon entering the bar. Wasn’t this what I was imagining while sitting with my best gal pals celebrating? It’s my celebration after all. Shouldn’t I be able to have a little fun? But the truth of the matter is this isn’t me! I don’t have fun; I don’t fuck around with strangers in narrow corridors of swanky downtown bars. This isn’t me … but still, I won’t stop him. I want to be exactly the type of girl who fucks about with a man like him.

When his finger touches the top of my sex, my hips instantly thrust toward him, and a gasp escapes my lips in my want for more. But his finger doesn’t linger there for longer than a second before sliding between the lips of my vagina, passing over my clitoris as it makes its way to my entry. This man has no idea just how inept I am, and at the moment, I’m far too in heat to stop his touch, slow his movements, or challenge him in any way. I’m without doubt the oldest virgin in the near vicinity, and in the cover of anonymity I won’t be announcing just how inexperienced I am. He is anything but inexperienced, and with any luck my pathetic naïveté won’t be too obvious.

He smells amazing. It’s the smell of expensive cologne, but it’s light and subtle. It isn’t musky, but clean, earthy, and warm. He’s clean-shaven, and his dark hair is tousled but professional. His suit is wool and probably cost more than my rent for the better portion of the year. His teeth are perfectly straight and white. And when I use his arm to steady myself while his fingers explore and invade the most private part of my body, the well-developed muscles of his upper arms ripple and contract at my touch. The quiet, husky moan that emanates from his lips reveals what his impassive and dark eyes don’t: he wants this just as much as I do. That’s impossible, and yet it’s as true as my own desire.

“Come home with me.” He speaks with a warm, purring voice that has my knees shaking.

There’s nothing purring about my voice as I respond, “You could be a serial killer.”

“And yet oddly enough, I’m not…” The slight smile that crosses his delicious-looking mouth assures me he’s not offended by my question … but I’m not sure I should care. This is reckless. But his fingers still tease and linger between my legs; his palm is snug against my skin, brushing over my most sensitive nub and held tight to my body by the clothing that is still firmly in place. I swear I’ll cry if he pulls away from me. But this isn’t me. I don’t do this. I can’t do this. I’m responsible, not reckless. I’m frigid, not a slut. I care about my career, not sex. But still, this man…

His finger plunges into my entry, filling me and releasing a groan so unfamiliar I clasp my hand to my mouth. His eyes watch me. He’s waiting for my response … as though my moan weren’t enough. Didn’t I remain chaste for a reason? Wasn’t there a purpose to it? But even as the questions enter my mind, so too does his finger enter my tight, virgin sheath once more. And I’m reminded I’ve thought often and with intense longing of an experience such as this. Remaining a virgin was nothing more than my immersion in my studies, my fear of becoming attached to something other than my goal. My friends have cried; they’ve languished away at ended relationships. I’ve never had such a problem. Instead, I’ve been focused, driven to the point of obsession on my studies. It’s how I managed to remain at the top of my class. It’s how I managed to land the best internship my grades could buy.

Foster Architectural Designs, to be exact. They award one internship per year for the second half of the spring term, and in two short days I’ll be walking through their doors to my new, albeit temporary, place there. It’s the final hurdle between me and my diploma. They rate brutally, but if you survive … moreover, if you thrive, you will be assured the very best job offers at the very best firms. So, it’s all a reason to celebrate; there is no doubt about this fact. And so the question remains: why not him?

His mouth moves to my neck, and when his gaze passes beyond my periphery, my body clenches in waiting anticipation. The warmth of his breath is the first I feel of his impending touch, and it sends a searing warmth and wetness flooding to my core. When his lips touch my neck there is little I can do to stop the gasp from my throat and the quiver that runs through my body. When his tongue flicks across my neck, my gasp turns into a cry as the pleasure courses through my veins and straight to the pulsing warmth between my legs. I will absolutely be going home with this man.

* * * *

Entering his home is intimidating. It’s a beautifully restored mansion in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago, and it’s expensive. Far more so than my renovated old turn-of-the-century house that’s been broken up into a fourplex. Where my apartment has old, lumpy, plaster lattice walls, his house has perfectly leveled, pristine ones with an impossibly flat finish. Where mine has old, worn hardwood with dinks and grooves aplenty, his are as pristine as the walls—smooth, satin finish, unblemished, and shimmering. His fixtures are restored to perfect original working order, as is nearly every other aspect of his home. Mine are original as well and haven’t been touched since the home was built … a gazillion years ago. His home smells of him—clean, warm, enticing, and my intimidation may be just as much for the impressive surroundings I’m standing in than what I’m getting into.

The ride over was just as erotic as our time in the corridor. His hand remained on my leg, stroking, caressing as he maneuvered his equally expensive car through the streets of downtown. I tried my best to act normal, but my stomach was fluttering in anticipation. I’m not immune to sexual desire, even if I’ve managed to avoid it for the most part. My virginity, if you’re wondering, is not something I have a particular attachment to. I never have. I didn’t set out to avoid relationships, but my introversion certainly didn’t attract them. I’ve wanted to be done with it for a while now, but where every other man I came across simply failed to catch my attention, this one for some reason did not. Was it his looks? Perhaps his smell, or more than likely his maturity. There’s something so very arousing about a calm, controlled, confident man—qualities most often found in an older man. He’s hardly old, but when you’re twenty-two, it doesn’t take much for your age to be dwarfed.

When his hand catches the strap of my purse and eases it off my shoulder and to the floor of the entryway, I pause. He steps closer to my back as I hear the strap of my bag gently fall to the floor. And I wait in pathetic excitement for his next touch. I do not care what this man does to my body; I just want it to be him. I have no excuse for my want. I have no cause for my sudden uncontrollable urge to give myself to this stranger. I have no purpose but my long overdue need for this. I’ve set this part of my life aside for so very long. I’ve denied and refused to pay it any attention, and now it yearns, begs to get out. Was it the celebration, the culmination of my years of hard work that have unleashed this part of my soul? Do I care? My skin is on fire. My body is suddenly hypersensitive to every touch, every wisp of air, every glance raking over my skin. I will take my needs from him. He will serve my purpose and release me from my want.

His hand meets my shoulder with a gentle unexpected touch, and his words follow. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” he warns.

“You needn’t tell me I’m a booty call. I’m not stupid.” Aren’t I?

“I’m a little old for the term ‘booty call…’”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be having a booty call,” I challenge.

“Perhaps… Call it what you wish. I want to fuck you … very much … but I don’t want a relationship with you. If that’s going to be a problem, I’m happy to drop you off wherever you’d like.”

“Oh, another relationship-challenged man.” I sarcastically feign exasperation. I’m actually making shit up at this point. What the hell do I know of relationships after all?

“I see you know this story…”

“Who doesn’t?” Again, totally full of shit. But I’m in this for the fun. Isn’t that what I’m telling myself? Isn’t it the truth? Can I really make this separation? Can I really be the woman who fucks and then forgets?

When he leans his mouth to my neck for the second time this evening, I resolve I’m exactly the woman who can do this. It’s high time to be done with this virginity nonsense. How many women can be so lucky as to give themselves to a man such as this? The touch of his mouth on the skin of my shoulder sends stabs of pleasure coursing through my body. And as his hands meet my waist and with slow, deliberate movements travel around my hips to my lower abdomen, I hold my breath waiting for his next touch. I don’t have to wait long.

His hands travel with that same slow, deliberate, and incredible intention to the button and zipper of my pants, undoing both with ease. And as his fingers sweep the sides of my waist on their way to my lower back, my breath leaves my lungs in a deep and slow exhalation. His fingers slip below the waist of my pants and underwear, easing both over the cheeks of my bottom as his palms massage their way over the round cheeks of my backside. If that weren’t enough, his tongue trails across the back of my neck as the fabric of my pants and underwear are dropped to the floor around my ankles. I’m left standing there with my ankles restrained in the fabric of my pants, naked from the waist down aside from my knee-high boots.

He works his fingers with infinite slowness to unbutton my blouse from the bottom up, ending at my neck. His hands work with a light touch as they pull my shirt off my shoulders and allow it to drop to the floor with my pants. The clasp of my bra is undone, freeing my breasts as he lets my bra slide from my arms to drop again to the floor. Next, I feel his hands. The same long, overtly male fingers move over my shoulders and down my arms to my elbows before clutching, grabbing, and all out squeezing the small roundness of my breasts. When his fingers pluck the tight nipples and pull them away from my body, I cry out. It hurts … and yet, it floods my core with warmth and a sudden surge of wetness.

I thank God for my anonymity once again. This man will never know my fears, my desires, my embarrassments, my insecurities. He will never know me. There is a comfort to that … and yet a sadness as well. I need him to remain unknown to me, but it’s not the whole of what I want from this life. I want a man to give this to me without the shadow of mystery. Some day… Perhaps when my career is secure, my education finished, my life on some discernible path. But not tonight. Tonight, he is just a man—incredible and beautiful as he may be—that I will use to give me what I want. And so far, he has not failed to deliver.

“You can’t imagine how incredible the view is from back here.” He’s purring again, and the sound of his warm and silken voice alone has me trilling with excitement. I should be nervous of what’s to come. I should fear the loss of that most treasured gift I hold, but I don’t. He’ll have it freely from me.

My nipples ache from the pinch he’s still inflicting on them. But even as I note the pleasure this pinch incites, he lets loose my nipples, and his hands run down to my waist, gripping my hips and pulling my bottom to his groin. Holy shit, he’s hard. More than hard, he’s large, rigid, and his hands clasp me with a vigor that holds so much desire. Why this desire for me? Who the hell knows, but it belongs to me and only me for this moment. And beyond this moment is not a concern of mine on this evening.

He grinds his pelvis against my bottom with my hips held firm in his grip as his mouth nuzzles and purrs against my neck. And when he pulls me around to face him, his eyes flash with unrestrained need. His brow flinches as he takes me in, and he pulls me along after him through his incredible home. His bedroom is large, and his bed likewise. The large picture window faces a valley of thick trees this neighborhood is built in to. I can’t imagine ever being able to own a home such as this, but this is my fantasy—to restore every last interior detail to original beauty. This man has everything I ever hope to have one day.

“Sit,” he speaks as he rests a gentle hand on the back of my neck. I turn toward him, lowering myself to sit on the edge of his bed. He towers above me as I look to his eyes that smolder even in their darkness. He loosens his silk tie, pulling the end through the loop to free himself from it. He then unbuttons his shirt. His eyes are studying mine as I study his hands, waiting for the present he’s unwrapping for me. As the skin of his chest starts to show through, my heart rate quickens. When his well-muscled stomach shows as the fabric of his shirt is parted, my breath leaves me. And when his hand undoes his pants, I swallow hard over the golf-ball-sized lump in my throat. He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his pants and underwear as he gently pulls them both down, and I’m left with my heart lurching in my throat at the sight of him.

All of my confidence leaves in an instant. He’s magnificent … and terrifying. This will definitely hurt me. But he leaves me no time to ponder the logistics of it before settling on his knees in front of me, and with a quick hand he reaches for the zipper of first one boot and then the other. He eases the zippers to my ankles and pulls the boots from my legs. Next, his fingers pull my knee-high stockings to my ankles. His fingers trail down my calves, and my nerves go crazy at the touch. His hands may be all man, but his touch is so very soft. It’s intentional. I’m guessing everything this man does is intentional. He knows what his touch is doing to me; the look in his eyes makes this clear, and if that isn’t enough, the goose bumps that have flushed my skin speak volumes.

As caught up as I am by his touch, my eyes are drawn between his legs to his engorged and hard penis. He’s kneeling on the floor at my feet, and his hand moves to the shaft of his rigid arousal and strokes up, rounding the head with his palm before stroking back down once more. He knows I’m watching his every move, and he’s enjoying my gaze on his body. But moments later he abandons his body for mine and pulls apart my knees in one gentle but swift and demanding movement. If my heart was racing before, it’s racing at a furious pace now. This isn’t the first man to touch me—demand me to open up in this way, but he is the first man I’ve wanted to open up to.

He looks to my face as he leans to my naked sex, and with one final comment he moves in to take my body with his mouth.

“Don’t take your eyes off me. I want you to see every last taste I take of your sweet pussy.”

I watch. I watch his first lick, his first kiss. I watch as he parts my lips with his gentle fingers. I watch when his tongue meets my sensitive folds of skin, and I watch as he claims every last inch of flesh between my legs. When a quiet moan escapes from his mouth, which is still latched to my vagina, I am watching. And as his tongue moves to my virgin entry that is so very ready, I melt … and I watch. His tongue pushes within me, plunging, tasting, taking over my body. I want more of him there. I want all of him there. My fear is gone, and I’m ready. And as his tongue glides back between my slick, wet lips to my innervated nub, my orgasm tears through me in a scream that leaves me shuddering and shaking as he pulls his mouth from my wetness.

Incredible. I had no idea it could be so powerful. It’s not my first orgasm, but like all other experiences with this man so far, it supersedes any previous experience I’ve had. His tongue was warm, and he touched in just the right way—soft and yet firm and demanding. The nerves of my body were bent to his will the moment his mouth was on my skin. He now pulls away from me and returns his hand to his long, hard length, and I quiver in anticipation. He’s stroking his length, and I want to reach for him, but he’s a stranger. Can I simply touch him uninvited? He’s touched me, but can I do the same? Do I have that kind of nerve?

Before I can work up the nerve to be so bold as to touch him, he stands swiftly, walks to the door of the bedroom, and shuts off the light, leaving only the dim floor lamp in the corner to illuminate the room. We’re suddenly enveloped in warm, dim lamplight that creates a soft and comforting cocoon. He approaches the bed once more, grabs a condom from the drawer of his nightstand, and climbs to the bed behind me. My heart rate quickens once more, as I know the time has come. Sink or get off the ship, as they say. Shit or get off the pot—not nearly so sexy an adage, but you get the picture. His hand touches mine, and as I turn my face as he waits patiently at the head of his bed, he coaxes me to approach him.

I move slowly up the bed, crawling on my hands and knees toward his body, and as he stretches out, he guides me up his body to hover over him. Now I’m scared. I don’t have any idea how to do this, and lest I own up to my inexperience with this incredible specimen of a man, who will no doubt laugh at my naïveté and kick me out, I’m going to have to do a damn good job of hiding my apprehension. He wants me to fuck him. He wants me to take the lead, and while self-confidence is hard to find on a good day in the real world, it will be damn near impossible in this world.

“Will you be on top?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound desperate and pathetic.

His shrug is mild as he responds, “If that’s what you’d like. Though, I had hoped to watch you ride me…” He smirks but moves to his side so I can stretch out beside him.

As I’m shifted to my back beside him where he can gaze at me, I return the comment. “Maybe next time.”

It was meant as nothing more than an expression, but he’s quick to respond. “I don’t do ‘next times.’”

The sudden and swift emotional reaction I have to these words stops me cold. I know what this is—a one-night stand. It’s what I wanted, but his quick response to my words is still a small rejection. Odd I’m lying next to a man more beautiful than any other I’ve ever met, I’m here of my own choosing with no qualms about how this will play out, and yet I’m hurt by the resolution in his voice when he makes it clear we won’t see each other again. Perhaps this is more than what I’m capable of. But I won’t be turning back now.

Having taken my place next to his body, I reach with a slow hand to his chest. The skin is warm, smooth, and covered with a smattering of dark hair. His muscles are tight, and as I run my hand down his chest to the rippling, tight muscles of his abdomen, he shudders at my touch, and I watch his reaction. His eyes have closed, and he’s breathing slow and deep breaths as my fingers linger on his stomach. The head of his penis nudges against my hand, and to this point I’ve ignored it, but it was the reason for my hand’s descent, and as I watch his contented, relaxed face and his eyes that are closed and seeing nothing at all, I reach for the head of his cock, which has drawn my attention since the moment he lowered his pants.

At my first touch, his cock flexes and jumps, his breath catches in his throat, and his eyes flash open to find mine. When I stroke the long and hard shaft my body has been begging to touch, his breath releases in a sudden rush. He is larger than any man I’ve ever seen; of that I’m certain. Touching his skin is intoxicating. He’s smooth yet ridged and veined, and his response to my touch is the encouragement I need to continue.

After studying his face for endless moments as my hand explores his body, I let my gaze catch up to my hand and take in the up close and personal view of him. He’s just as beautiful as he feels. The length and breadth of him is intimidating but arousing—even in my virgin fear of him. And while it promises to be all the more painful for me, it also promises to be all the more intense as well.

When at last he pulls my hand from him and rolls to his side to face me, I freeze. He’s ready. And when his hand travels back to the place his mouth so enticingly pleasured shortly ago, I tremble. He explores my body some more, stroking, gliding, and finally plunging his finger into my tight depths. His lips move to my ear as he comments on a husky breath, “You feel like liquid silk on my fingers—so very fucking wet.” He moves easily into my tight sheath as I continue to gulp calming breaths. However inexperienced I may be, my body is ready—more than ready, but my nerves are shot.

He pulls to his knees and pushes his way between my legs, spreading them wide open to his body. And as he eases back to sit on his heels, he tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth, slips the condom out, and drops the wrapper to the floor beside the bed. He pinches the tip between his fingers, positions it over the engorged head of his cock, and slowly rolls it down his length. His gaze is on mine as I watch his every move. His movements are so deliberate, and his eyes remain always on mine. He takes in my hitching breath, quick gasps, and flinching brow. He’s studying me as I study his movements, and it turns me on in a way that’s unexpected.

When he moves to cover my body with his and hovers over me, poised to invade my body, I panic. But when I look to his eyes and they once again watch my expression with interest, I stow the fear and focus on him. As he guides his cock to my sex and allows the head to nudge against my entry, I inhale sharply. He slides his length between the wet lips of my vagina, coating himself in my wetness, and as his length passes over the tight nub of my clitoris, I moan with no remaining control over my throat. His cock returns to my entry, and with his gaze still attached to mine, he nudges, pushing and readying himself to invade.

His first thrust is a savage invasion of my virginity and destroys that last barrier in a painful harsh explosion. I fight to control my response as the pain tears through me, and a moan escapes me, sounding more like I’ve been punched in the gut than fucked by a man. Truth be told, it hurts worse than a fist to the gut, and hearing my gut-wrenching groan, he stills and his brow furrows harshly. His lips are parted and he’s panting as he watches me, suddenly frozen. He looks concerned—truly, legitimately concerned at my reaction, and when he moves his hand to my cheek in what appears to be an inadvertent reaction to my pain, I melt.

He shouldn’t care, and yet he’s worried at my reaction. I didn’t take him to be a cruel man by any means, but I didn’t expect the panic flashing in his eyes, and it stills him in fear. Painful as his invasion was, I don’t want him to leave my body; I don’t want him to stop. I shake my head as he looks in my eyes, searching for some explanation for my reaction.

I say the only words that come to my mind. They’re pathetic but honest. “Please don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

His brow is still furrowed and with confusion etched across his face, he responds. “Am I hurting you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

I shake my head. Even that gesture is a lie, but I so desperately want this. I’ll take the pain, but I’m not turning back—not from this man. He watches me for many long moments longer as I try to calm my face, cool the flush of my cheeks, and act normal, and after watching me, studying me, he moves. He pulls slowly from my body, still studying my eyes and searching for my pain. I fight to disguise it as the tearing hurt rips through my body at his retreat, and when he thrusts again, far slower this time, I force my groan to stay in my throat. Eventually, convinced by my forced response, he sets aside his worry and concern, and his pace slowly builds. With every thrust, my body adjusts more and more, and the pain recedes; it hardly disappears, but it becomes manageable and even pleasurable. It’s done, and every invasion is taking me inexplicably toward a release I didn’t expect.

My body is responding to his incessant pounding force, and while the pain is present and intense, so too is the building orgasm that waits to be released. His eyes focus on me, and his panting and groaning fill the room as much as mine. He’s nearing release and waiting desperately for me to find mine. Watching his beautiful face as he continues to pound thrust after thrust into my tight sheath, I find it easily. When my orgasm takes over my body swiftly, I’m shocked and relieved. There’s pain, and coming does little to assuage being overfull and invaded, but there’s an incredible amount of unrelenting pleasure as well. His orgasm comes on the heels of mine, and as a guttural growl takes over his body in response to mine, it becomes worth every pain, every fear. His body spasms, and he releases himself within me.

My pain is subsiding, and my orgasm fades from my body. Experiencing the pain and pleasure of this orgasm in one breath was incredible—so completely alien to anything I’ve experienced in my life, and as he pulls from my body and pulls my back into his body, enfolding me in his arms, I revel in the closeness. His heart beats into my back as his breathing slows. His arms are strong and hold me tight to his body, and I thank God he can’t see my face that struggles to keep the smile from pulling at my lips. He was incredible, and it was more than I imagined it could be—painful but so very powerful and fulfilling. The image of his concerned expression taking in my expression touched my heart in a very personal way I didn’t expect. I shouldn’t have cared. He’s certainly not supposed to have cared, and yet his face and eyes very clearly showed worry and fear at my response.

His breathing slows and deepens as I stay in his arms, and the pain in my body slips away, leaving nothing but a dull ache. He falls asleep as I’m still reliving every intoxicating moment of this night. Even the most painful moments of it are tinged in a sweet, erotic haze that brings his aroused image to my mind and forces the worst of the hurt from my memory. I wanted this, and I got it, and now listening to his deep and contented sleeping breath behind me, I can safely acknowledge I don’t regret it for a moment.

In his sleep he rolls from me and releases his possessive grip on my body, and as he does, I sit on the side of the bed and look back to him sleeping soundly on his back. He’s beautiful, and in the quietness of his room, I watch him. There is a slight part to his lips, and he breathes steadily. One of his hands rests under his head and the other is on his chest. I follow his body from there to his stomach and to his groin, which is now covered by the sheet. I don’t want to leave his bed, but I need the bathroom. And as I walk to the bathroom that adjoins his bedroom, pain courses through my groin. There’s no denying it was far more painful than I realized it would be, but it’s finally done.

Entering his bathroom, I take in my surroundings. It is immaculate, just like the rest of his home. It’s incredible. The bathtub is an amazing claw-foot. The floor is perfect white hexagonal tiles interspersed with three black tiles throughout. The walls are subway tiles, and the vanity is a custom piece that looks like furniture rather than cabinetry. It’s perfect. I look around appraising every inch of this room, wondering again if I’ll ever be fortunate enough to design something so incredible—not on the salary of a designer, for sure. Conceptually, I may be able to create such a design, but these materials alone would bankrupt me.

As I continue to explore his space, feeling perhaps a bit guilty for the time I’m spending ogling his world, my eyes catch on red. It’s my red, and as I look to my thighs, I realize the inside of them are streaked with it. Fuck! I appraise my appearance in the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door, and I panic. There is no way I can be here when he wakes. If my blood is on me, it’s without doubt on him too. There will be no explaining this, and I can’t stand the idea of this man finding out how truly pathetic I’ve been. Thank God I will never have to face this man again, but when I return to the room and steal one last final view of him, my heart falls. He’s beautiful; he’s experienced me in a way no other man has, and I’m now walking away, never to see him again. He showed me concern when I didn’t expect it. He showed me an intense passion, though I can hardly be worth it to a man like him. I could fall for a man like him … someday. But not today.

He looks peaceful and beautiful in his sleep, and as I turn my gaze from him to leave silently from his room, it’s with a sadness I don’t want to acknowledge. I don’t want to say good-bye. I don’t want to walk away and not see him again. How could I have thought I could fuck and forget? I know nothing about this man, not even his name, but I’m human. I crave attachment, and having shared something so very personal with him makes it hard to separate my emotions from him. I got what I wanted, just to realize it wasn’t at all what I wanted. I want to be wanted by him enough he yearns to see me again. But he doesn’t do “next times”. Stupid, Adeline. What was I thinking?

*

I should have known better.

When I met my consciousness as the sun shined through the large window, I wanted her instantly. While I cursed myself for allowing her to stay, I was oddly relieved I’d have her again, but rolling over to meet her body and finding nothing but an empty expansive bed, I was smacked with more emptiness than just my bed. I wanted to find her there. I wanted to taste her again; I wanted to fuck her again. And neither of these feelings am I at all familiar with. Why her? Why this one? Was she so different than any other woman I’d been with?

But there was something different about her. She was innocent; even in her intense want and need for me, she oozed a purity I rarely see, let alone experience. She was too young for my thirty-four years, but she wasn’t immature. On the contrary, she carried herself with a grace not so befitting a woman in her twenties. I’m guessing she must be in her early twenties at most. She had style but on a budget. The label of her generic pants alone told me that as I admired the round cheeks of her bottom while sliding her pants down her backside. She smelled amazing, and not just her cheap drugstore perfume. I wanted to taste her the second I caught her watching me in the bar. She had no idea I was watching her as closely as she was watching me, thanks to the reflection in the window that played out the scene for me the entire time we were there. Catching her in the hallway of the restroom, I was ready to pull her into the men’s room and have my way with her there, but she’s not cut out for such things. Innocence.

The shock in her eyes when I asked her if she’d fancy a fuck was priceless. She tried so hard to be the woman she thought I wanted her to be—confident, brazen, experienced. She had no idea at all I wanted her nervous and trembling. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no misogynist, and frankly on any other night I’d want the brazen slut, but once I saw her, I wanted her. Just her—innocence and all. Was I looking for a challenge? Did my masculinity need a boost for some odd reason? Who the fuck knows; who the fuck cares. She was incredible. Tighter and more delicious than any woman I’ve experienced, and now finding my bed empty, I’m disappointed.

I made it clear she was a one-night stand. Should I be so surprised she took me at my word and disappeared before the sun was up? I didn’t even ask her name, and a guilt I’m not often prone to has crept into my conscious. I didn’t want anything beyond a night with her, but still, when I woke alone and found her gone, I wanted her back. I could have at least found out her name; hell, a phone number might have been nice. I wouldn’t be completely opposed to an encore with this one. I guess she’ll just become another notch on the post.

I rise from bed and walk to the bathroom, but as I catch the image of my body in the bathroom mirror, I still. Fuck! I really should have known better.

Chapter 2

After waking the next morning, I crawl from bed and stumble to the coffeemaker before hitting the shower. Fortunately, Hyde Park, while a place I could never afford, is at least close to public transportation. After making my way home to my apartment, located in a decent neighborhood within the south loop, I crawled into bed and crashed. My apartment is historic and looks as though no one has maintained it since it was built, and now as I move my way around my small, boring home the next morning, I’m humbled by the memories of his beautiful home. His house was one of those amazingly restored Hyde Park mansions, and I feel more pathetic than ever looking around my apartment today.

My best friend Kelli shows up midmorning ready to pick my brain clean. I sent her a picture message of the man’s license plate the night before, which was met with an amused smirk by him of course, and that was the last Kell heard from me.

She bursts through the door as I’m emerging from the bathroom half-naked—never should have given her a key, but at least she’s carrying a bag from my favorite bakery. “Spill it or no Danish.”

Kelli is a textile major who I met during my first week at Columbia College. They have a great design program that spans everything from interior, architectural, textiles, any arts design craft you could wish to go into. We’ve been friends ever since, and she will graduate with me in a few short months.

I fumble to find any words that don’t show my awkwardness and finally give up and just say, “It was nice.”

“Nice? What the hell does that mean? Nice.”

“Nice.” I walk away toward the kitchen for coffee. If she’s not happy with my answer, she can keep her damn Danish, but as she hands it to me, I pour her a cup of coffee. She’s smiling as she takes a seat at my small table, and I join her.

“He was quite handsome.” She’s giving me a sly smile—she’s still prying for information.

“Yes, he was … whoever he was.”

“You didn’t even get a name? You slut you.” She has no idea how much her words ring true. She’s kidding, but the morning after has me feeling all the slut my actions imply I am, but at seeing my face, she continues quickly. “Just stop. I can see that regret in your eyes, and you need to just stop now. You’ve waited forever. Don’t start apologizing now for what you chose to do last night. Cut yourself some damn slack.”

I feel guilty. I can’t explain it to her because she wouldn’t understand. It’s not that I thought I’d wait until marriage, but I wasn’t raised to think sex should be so casual, and I’m not sure I want it to be casual. Growing up in a farming community outside of Des Moines, Iowa was like being in a different world than Chicago. Life was simple, morals were strong, community was understood. It was very different from this place, and I still struggle to feel a part of this city, though I’ve been here for four years now. I miss the countryside, the stars, the smell of fields and earth. Life was just simpler, decisions easier, gray areas of the mind were just far clearer.

I speak with my parents nearly every day, and I shudder to think what their response would be to my new adventure in sex—not that I’ll be sharing this bit of information with them. They’re proud of me, and that pride means the world to me. It gets me through being awkward and out of place in this city, and as my cell rings shortly after Kell and I have sat for coffee, a wave of guilt passes over me. It will be them; they always call on Saturday morning, and as I answer, Kelli watches me with a tight smile on her lips.

My mother is getting ready to go antiquing and my father is getting ready to mow, and I’m homesick just talking with them. I visited them both only a week before when I was on spring break. While most of my friends were off on a trip somewhere warm and tropical, I was excited just to go home to the country. It was a great week, and now sitting in my kitchen with Kelli, I miss it so much. I’m confused, and I’m like an alien in this life at the moment. Who knew my actions of the night before would cause me so much confusion today? I can still see his eyes, feel his touch, smell his home, and I ridiculously miss him. I don’t even know him, and yet I would do anything to be near him as though closing that space would somehow ease my mind, reassure me my life was still my own.

Once I hang up with my parents, Kelli pulls me to my feet and out the door. She keeps me busy for the rest of the weekend until I can immerse myself in my internship Monday morning. Keeping busy with no time for life has been my existence for the past four years, and I’m craving this new adventure. Once I’m busy, my confusion, my uneasy spirit will surely be at rest once again.

Chapter 3

Paperwork done, I’m ushered out of the Human Resources office to a waiting woman who is sneering at me even as she extends her hand for me to shake.

“I’m Vera, like Wang for the interior design world … and I don’t like interns.” Oh yeah? Well I’m Adeline, and I don’t like bitches! But rather than speaking the words my mind is muttering, I laugh as though it was nothing more than a joke. However, the look Vera Bitch Wang shoots me makes it clear her comment was no joke.

She’s pretty in that cold, harsh, mean sort of way—silky, black hair, which is straight as a board, blunt cut bangs that hit just above her brow, and hair tied back in a neat knot at the nape of her neck. She’s tall and slim, wearing a winter white pantsuit that fits her to a T—not a cuff too long or short, not a patch of fabric that doesn’t skim her silhouette in just the exact way it should. Her nails are manicured with a perfectly lacquered shade of burnt umber. Midthirties perhaps, but it’s hard to tell; her pinched and unfriendly features make it impossible to know for sure.

She turns without a word but with hatred showing clearly on her face, and as she walks down the corridor away from me, I scramble to catch up with her. The building we pass through is amazing. Foster Architectural Design is part of the trendy neighborhood of Lincoln Park. The building is actually two old renovated warehouses linked by a single story addition, and it’s this addition that houses the Human Resources offices, Accounting, and Payroll. A long corridor joins one building to another, and exiting this corridor now, we enter the large open space of one of the historic warehouses. It has stained concrete floors and open ductwork suspended from the ridiculously high ceiling. There is a stationary catwalk-type system of walkways that create an open second floor, where offices can be seen surrounding the exterior perimeter of this enormous room. The windows are all massive arched style that let in plenty of natural light and open to incredible views of the surrounding city. I, however, don’t make it anywhere near the upper level, natural light, or incredible views. Instead, I’m whisked down a corridor of small cubicles and dumped in one that has no view of anything whatsoever and is so obviously reserved for someone of no status.

Vera deserts me without another look and leaves me staring after her wondering what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. What the hell am I supposed to be doing? I try to log on to the computer, but that’s too much to hope for. I try to call Kelli, but can’t get out of the phone system, and finally after fidgeting and fretting and allowing my boredom to consume me, I venture away from my quaint little cube buried in the land of cubes—some occupied and some empty. Odd so many of the empty ones are larger, have natural light, and even a view of a window, and yet I’ve been assigned the smallest with no visible natural light whatsoever…

Within moments, I’m lost in a maze of hallways and not one of them leads anywhere of particular interest, but as I round a corner into an open expansive room with an amazing view of the downtown skyline, I freeze midstep. I’ve just walked into a room of six men sitting at a massive boardroom table. The conversation stops instantly as all eyes move to me, and I’m suddenly feeling more underdressed than when I met Vera Bitch and her pristine winter-white pant suit. Instead, I’m standing by in my black pants, white shirt, and gray cardigan I attempted to dress up with a thin black belt. These men, on the other hand, are clad in suits—expensive by the look. And while I’ve not yet had the chance to regard any one of the men in particular, I haven’t missed the many thousand dollars’ worth of expensive wool fabric.

“Please come in. We weren’t expecting company, but since you decided to pay us a visit, you might as well stay.” His words aren’t unfriendly; he’s amused at my interruption, and he appears to be in charge here. He’s handsome but older, and his expression remains calm and good-natured. But it isn’t he who stops me in my tracks as I approach the table; it’s the brutally handsome dark-haired man staring from the opposite side of the table. And while I may not know his name, I do know him. I can’t take my eyes from his, and as I continue to hold his gaze, my breath escapes me in a rush that leaves my mouth hanging open. His composure shows his control and calm, but his jaw tenses with a slight shake of his head. His eyes flit from mine, and I catch the “fuck” mouthed silently.

The older man who spoke upon my entrance is watching in amusement, and it’s he who speaks first. “I’m Jonathan Foster. I’m the owner, and you are?” His smile is genuine, and his interest in my presence at Foster’s is likewise.

“I’m … I’m so sorry to interrupt. I just … got lost. I’m … Adeline Parker—the new intern.” I sound terrified, mortified, and I am. I’m the nobody, as my pathetic cubicle has made abundantly clear today, standing in a room of somebodys, and not just any somebodys, but the somebodys. As my gaze returns to the unknown stranger who deflowered me a mere three nights previous, he meets my eyes and speaks.

“Adeline, hmm?” and after a long and drawn-out pause, “lovely name,” and his gaze remains on me. The other men in the room all stand and introduce themselves, and when it’s his turn, he stands and reaches for my hand. His eyes remain on mine as our hands touch, and he enfolds my small hand in his much larger, masculine grip. “I’m Jordan Ellinwood, Principal of Restorations.” Jordan. My skin tingles and trills at the warmth of his touch, and my mind flashes with memories of his hands, his touch, his mouth on my skin, his intense invasion of my body, and as my mind rewinds to the night we spent together, my gaze drops to his lips. They’re beautiful lips. He never kissed me, and now, in this most inappropriate place, it’s all I can think about.

His hand still holds mine, and as my gaze returns to his, he speaks once more in a near whisper as he releases my hand from our overlong touch. “Adeline.” As the other men in the room eye us with curiosity, Mr. Foster speaks.

“Do you two know one another?”

Yes, we fucked three nights ago. “No.” Sometimes I lie, and Jordan’s raised brow speaks volumes as my gaze returns to his. I’m not sure what his brow is actually saying, but it’s definitely saying something. But he doesn’t out my lie. Instead, he shakes his head with slow deliberation, feigning unfamiliarity of me. This was not supposed to happen. When I regretted I wouldn’t see him again, this wasn’t quite the solution I was imagining, and the unreadable expression on his face has me confused and nervous.

*

How the hell did this happen, and why the hell can’t I stop staring? Adeline. She looks like an Adeline … not that I’ve met any Adelines to know what an Adeline is supposed to look like, but it’s her. The virgin … former virgin, whose name has plagued me for days now—never mind the memories of her that have followed me around these long days since our parting and allowed me no restful sleep. Realizing I’d slept with a virgin was perplexing. I wanted to yell at her. She had no right to put me in that position, but at the same moment, I wanted to see her again—have her again. This is most definitely not a typical response for me; beyond that, it’s unreasonable. I don’t know her. I have no reason to desire her, but I do. And now standing in front of me just as nervous as she was three nights before, all I want to do is fuck her … and maybe yell at her.

She looks out of place. Again, she’s clad in what can only be generic garments, including the same pants I had so much fun removing last week. She looks put together and neat, but her style is lacking in comparison to the style of Foster’s. Her warm chestnut hair is piled on top of her head in a loose bun with long, trailing wisps of hair cascading along the line of her jaw and neck. Her small pink lips are damn near trembling in her nervousness, and her light crystal-blue eyes are wide and terrified. Her jewelry looks as cheap as her delicious perfume smells. Yet, I want her. The why is unclear, but my God, the want is undeniable and strong. Were I alone with her, I’m not at all certain I could stop myself from touching her. One-night stand or not, this one has left a mark.

It’s impossible of course, especially now. I’m a principal, and she’s an intern—nepotism clause bullshit, but the rules are the rules, and even if there were no rules, a one-night stand is just that. This will no doubt complicate the next few months of my life, but still, I’m now looking forward to this time with a much-improved outlook. She will definitely be fun to have around, even if I can’t fuck her.

As she makes her escape with one last glance over her shoulder to my eyes, I let my gaze trail after her. Her tight little tush is a joy to see leaving, and even clothed in black I can imagine the small cheeks moving sweetly with every step she takes. Once away from me again, my mind refuses to think about anything but her, and once I’m finally set free from my obligations to the other principals and Foster, I’m pissed when I finally manage to locate her pathetic little cubicle buried in cubicle land and she’s gone for the day.

Chapter 4

Well, I won’t be caught dead so underdressed again—least of all with the dear Mr. Ellinwood around. This is what I get for thinking a one-night stand was a good idea. Serves me right. My mother would kill me, my father would disown me, and yet I plunged headlong into this catastrophe with enthusiasm usually saved for my studies. Celebration gone wrong, that’s what it was. But there was nothing wrong at all with him—just me. I’m the pathetic one who so cluelessly walked into this disaster, thinking I knew what I was doing.

I certainly don’t intend to be seen by him and his colleagues and their power suits looking so ridiculous. The moment I walked into the building I was out of my league. Whatever education I may have garnered, it did not prepare me for these people. I’m like orphan Annie meeting Daddy Warbucks for the first time—so very out of my depth.

Kelli picks me up almost as soon as I walk through the door of my apartment after a hasty and desperate call begging for her shopping expertise. If anyone can make me look good, it’s Kell. She always looks like a model, and while I’ve never cared to put so much thought into my appearance, I’m finally most appreciative of her gift for beauty. She will be thrilled. She’s been waiting for four years now for me to jump on her bandwagon of good taste. It’s not as though I have bad taste; I’m studying to be a designer after all. It’s just always been an expense I couldn’t afford, and I chose my studies instead. I thrift shopped, bargain-bin dove, and coupon hoarded my way into a wardrobe that worked … just not up to par in a place like Foster’s.

Two hours later, we’ve had dinner and found me three tailored jackets, four new pairs of slacks, five blouses, and a new pair of pumps. Every last piece can be mixed and matched, and if I’m lucky, I won’t ruin anything before the end of my time at Foster’s, for I surely can’t afford to replace any piece of my new wardrobe. It isn’t terribly expensive clothing but more than I typically spend. As it is, I spent nearly a month’s rent on these clothes, and it will be hard enough to get by until I graduate and can get a job making actual money, or more likely, run home to my parents broke.

Exhausted, I quickly hang all of my new garments in my closet and collapse into bed, but I don’t sleep. Instead, I think about him. I never imagined I would see him again, and as much anxiety as the idea of tolerating his presence for the next few months causes me, I’m also excited. He makes me nervous, especially now. It was one thing to give my body to this man, who knew nothing about me and would never see me again, but now he’ll be around all the time. He knows my name, and he’ll be witness to me fumbling my way through this new and terrifying chapter of my life, and when it comes to fumbling, I tend to be great at it.

Dressing the next morning, I am marginally more confident than my previous day left me. I’m still terrified of running into him, but at least I feel better about my appearance; it’s a start at least. Entering the building and finding my way to my cubicle, I’m happy to find a man from IT already at my desk, getting me logged on and up and running. Once he’s gone, I log into Outlook and explore the different programs. They use one of the most robust programs on the market for design, and the oversize, wide-screen, high-definition monitor is amazing. I worked with software and hardware of this caliber at Columbia, and I’m relieved I’ll at least know my way around the applications of Foster’s even if I can’t find my way around the building without throwing myself headlong into boardrooms I’m ill equipped to handle.

After I’ve had time to familiarize myself with my cubicle, a bubbly but quite nerdy young woman pokes her head in and introduces herself as Bridget. She’s sweet, and she’s the first person I’ve met here I’m not intimidated by in some way. Bridget shows me around some more, and I discover the two buildings that make up Foster’s serve to divide the two divisions of the firm. The long hallway that contains the accounting department, payroll department, and human resources links the two renovated warehouses. The opposite building from the one I’m located in is devoted to the architects of the firm, including Mr. Foster, Jordan, and most of the other principals. Our building is reserved for the interior design division of the firm. Only one principal comes from the interiors department, and like most combined architectural and interior design firms, the management of projects falls squarely on the shoulders of the architectural division. More or less, interior designers rank lower on the totem pole than architects—perhaps a throwback to the division of the sexes from years past. How this translates to me, I will be working with and trained largely by the interiors division, but any project I work on will be managed and at the very least overseen by the architects.

As I pry information out of Bridget on our way to tour the sample room, I hope my interest sounds casual.

“So I met some of the principals yesterday and Mr. Foster. Will I be working for any of them do you suppose?”

“Well sure, but you’ll be managed by Vera, and trust me, she won’t let you get too involved with the architects.” A slight stab of disappointment even as relief washes over me.

“So which architects work with the intern?” I must sound like an idiot, overly eager for information, but Bridget seems not to notice.

“Residential is a good place for interns to start, and that is led by Strahm. Commercial usually doesn’t involve interns too much; the scale is just too vast for an intern to really dig into during the course of half a semester, and then there’s Mr. Ellinwood. He heads up restoration. Frankly, it’s a great place for interns to work, but he never allows interns on his team—doesn’t like working with them for some reason.” Now it’s a shade of hurt that passes over me—just another ridiculous emotional response that makes no real sense whatsoever, but there it is. I won’t be working for the good Mr. Ellinwood. I should likely be happy about this. I acted like a blithering idiot when I ran into him in the boardroom; I cannot fathom having to constantly tolerate his presence that seems only to make me quake in my cheap pleather boots.

As we enter the sample room housed in the corner of the second floor off the main catwalk system, I forget instantly about Mr. Ellinwood, or at least I stow him to the back of my mind for the time being. I’m in heaven. There are worktables aplenty, and walls and shelves, and bins of everything from wood samples, finish samples, flooring samples, paint samples, and fabric samples. There are light boxes set up around the room, and project boards lining an entire wall with various samples affixed. I could live here, and as I pass by a rod of fabric swatches, letting my hand pass over the expensive fabric, excitement runs through my body. Some of these fabrics cost more than a thousand dollars a yard. I am definitely way in over my head, but I don’t mind drowning in it here. The room is so vast, but also organized to a T. It’s for the use of all designers, and where most projects end up. Every vendor in the world wants their product to end up in a room like this where it can be easily picked and chosen for one project or another, and there is never a shortage of new product samples coming in. And that is where Bridget comes in.

She is the office and inventory manager. It’s her responsibility to ensure all the samples stay in workable usable organization. She is the organization that keeps this part of the company moving smoothly. The fact she is friendly and easy to talk to makes me like her all the more.

When I finally return to my desk after exploring and daydreaming in the sample room for half an hour, my instant messaging notification box is lit. When I open it, I still, my heart starts racing, and a warmth floods through my groin.

“Meet me in the lobby at noon. Lunch.” Bossy jerk.

“I don’t eat.” Two can play at this game, but even as I type, my excitement builds and a smirk pulls at my lips. He may have caught me off guard the day before, but with the safety of my cubicle walls, the internal e-mail system and an entire building between us, my confidence is quite healthy for a change; it doesn’t hurt I’m now dressed appropriately for Foster’s. That alone is worth the few hundred dollars it cost me.

“Damn Catholics at Lent. Well I do eat, and you can watch me.” I smile at his sarcastic response, and as the minutes tick off the clock I check my mirror, check my hair, straighten my clothes, but I feel good about my appearance today. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt with my knee-high boots, a new silver-and-black striped fitted blouse under a coordinating gray jacket. I’ve pulled my hair back in a knot that sits at the side of my neck, and loose strands fall over my opposite shoulder. I at least look like I belong here, even if I don’t actually belong, and as I grab my deep, structured, red, patent-leather tote—borrowed from Kell of course—I’m confident.

I enter the lobby, and he’s already waiting. It’s chilly out today, and as he helps me into my belted peacoat, his fingers brush across my shoulders. Even through the fabric of my suit jacket and blouse, there’s a prickle where his touch has innervated my skin. I follow him from the building to his car, already warm and waiting at the curb. As he opens the door for me, and I sink into the warm leather seats, I’m taken back to Friday night. I can still see his hand stroking my thigh as he steered his car easily through the downtown Chicago traffic. Now, however, he keeps his hand to himself and his eyes on the road as he pulls from the curb.

As excited as I was he wanted to take me to lunch, I lurch and gasp at his first words, and more than that, the harsh and serious tone of his voice as he speaks to me.

“Do you think perhaps you should have told me you were a virgin?” He’s accusing, and frankly, he has every right to be. I should have known he’d be upset when he realized what he’d done to me—hell, what I more or less tricked him into doing—but he raises a good point; should I have told him? He wanted a one-night stand. How much of me did he really deserve?

“Perhaps you should have asked my name. Perhaps you should have asked anything about me at all, perhaps you should have asked any one of a million questions you could have asked if you had a mind to know!” I’m accusing too. He wanted a one-night stand, and he got it. But wasn’t that what I wanted too?

“And you weren’t seeking your own anonymity? Huh?” He must be reading my mind. “I made it clear I didn’t want any involvement with you.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised I withheld my personal business from you!” Now I’m getting pissed—or is it hurt?

“If I’m too old for booty calls, I’m sure as hell too old to be fucking virgins. You should have had some schmuck your own age help with your little … agenda.” And then in a quiet voice that borders on a whisper and softens his face in an instant, he continues, “I could have hurt you.” His eyes glance to my own that are now still and without doubt showing my guilt as his own face registers some unknown turmoil.

“Well it’s something of a moot point now, isn’t it?” I mutter. It isn’t really a question.

“That’s for certain.” His words sting with the smack of rejection, but this rejection is hardly a surprise. So, why do I care?

We are silent on the remainder of the drive to the restaurant. He’s taken us to Alinea, a place I could never afford and intimidates me as much as Foster’s, and after he parks and rounds the car to open my door, I’m still very much coursing with irritation, hurt, and absolute confusion I care. When he pulls the door open and offers me a hand to stand, I accept, struggling to meet his eyes though his steady gaze is on me, and as we’re seated at our table my body still bristles with anger.

We manage to almost make it through lunch without returning to our negative conversation of before—almost. But when I make the mistake of asking him why he doesn’t like working with interns, our meal suddenly sours.

“I don’t have time for design interns.” He says it simply as though there is no question to the factuality of what he says.

“You say that like being an interior designer is a crime.”

“No, I say it like being a design intern is a waste of my time.” His eyes are serious, and he believes every word he says.

“But we’re free labor,” I try.

“Free? Nothing’s free in this world, dear Adeline. What in God’s name makes you think that? The principals you will work under will be forced to double-check every last choice you make; they will have to babysit you when they ought to be doing their own work. You will be the most necessarily micromanaged person in this company, and someone will be saddled with all that time and effort on your behalf.” And with a very literal tongue in cheek, he shakes his head before continuing. “I’m being rude. Welcome to Foster’s, Adeline.” He’s not just being rude; he’s being a sarcastic dick. “Regardless of what a pain in the ass you’ll be, it will be a good experience for you.”

He’s an asshole—a very nice-looking asshole, and this conversation has just taken a nosedive. “I’m top of my class, and I’m smart. I don’t need to be babysat by arrogant architects and bitchy designers!” What was supposed to belie confidence ends up showing my resentment instead, but my blood is boiling at his words, and I’m failing to restrain my feelings in any way. He’s a jerk, and he doesn’t know me at all, but my pathetic, juvenile words have failed to sink in as he continues, his irritation starting to show.

“Your intelligence remains to be seen, and you may someday be a great designer, but right now, you’re green, darlin’—supergreen. Don’t let your arrogance trip you up. If you want to learn, I suggest you pay attention and grow a thicker skin than you obviously have at the moment. Grow up and stop acting like a wounded puppy.”

At that, he waives the waiter to our table and drops a credit card on the check. He’s pissed, but frankly, so am I. Not for the first time today, I wonder why I should care what he thinks. He’s no one to me. We had sex, and it was quite clear his interest was in nothing more than my body for one night. This is not a man who deserves my concern or care. Who the hell am I kidding? I’m no victim of his whoring. I asked for it, and I got it. But I feel victimized; I’m hurt. There’s no sense to it, and yet the pain is rejection. This realization is unwelcome; it means I’m exactly the same as every other pathetic woman so intent in believing my life is somehow attached to a man—as though his approval should mean anything to me. But it does, and with a swift and overpowering surge of emotion, I decide I’m going to prove him wrong, and I’m going to make him eat his bullshit words.

He stands swiftly to leave, and I fall behind his steps. He’s walking with a brisk pace, his irritation showing in his every swift footfall, and as we near his car he approaches my door. Rather than opening it for me, he pushes me gently but firmly against the door with a strong hand to my hip. His touch is possessive, his eyes are on fire, and I’m certain his harsh irritation has finally cracked. He’s going to touch me, and in all of my irritation and hurt, I want him to. I want him to soothe the pain he’s caused me. I want his hands on my skin and to push away his painful words with them. And as he slips his hand past the lapel of my jacket to my breast, my breath catches audibly, and I stop breathing. And with one final look to my eyes, he destroys me.

There’s a ripping sound, but it’s many long, confusing moments before I can figure out why his intimate touch my body is so craving sounds more like ripping fabric than the gentle kneading of my breast through my shirt, but as he dangles the long, clear, sticky clothing label, announcing I’m a size S in front of my face, I die. He continues to appraise my eyes as I stare at the sticker he now holds in front of me, and with one swift move, he pulls my hand to his, places the sticker in my palm and moves to the driver’s door without a second glance to me. I quickly wad the sticker in my hand and fumble for the door latch. Humiliation is washing over me in tsunami-size waves. I don’t want to be in the car with him, and the irrational childish part of my brain pleads with me to run, but it’s not an option. And sinking into the seat next to him, I look out the window, praying I can restrain the embarrassment and the tears pricking at my eyes in humiliation.

*

I’m not prone to getting pissed off easily, but she managed it in less than thirty seconds. Quite frankly, most people don’t challenge me so openly as she did, but she had no problem firing back at me. What happened to the innocent, sweet fuck from Friday night? Hard to believe this resentful bitch is that same girl. I told her what she needed to know. I don’t sugarcoat anything outside of my bedroom, and she might as well get used to that fact. What does she expect? I’m not here to hold her hand … but God, I wouldn’t mind touching her leg.

She’s sulking beside me in the passenger seat as I return us to the office. I had thought the ride back would be awkward, but my mind has been racing in irritation, and I’ve paid little attention to her whatsoever. But as she crosses her leg away from me, her black skirt riding up a few inches on her thighs, I stop hating her for long enough to fantasize about her. She had no business withholding the fact she was a virgin from me, but at the same time I can understand why she did. Would it have made a difference? I’d like to say the answer to that question is yes, but my cock begs to differ, and as I steal glances at the perfect, smooth, pale skin that peeks out between her knee-high boots and the hem of her skirt, my groin aches in want. I’m hard just sitting next to her in the car as she stares out the window in anger, and I have to concede I want to fuck her. I want to pull over and push that skirt to her tight, little waist and take her body. I want her to submit to my demands and fuck every last ounce of her obstinacy from her mind, but I don’t make a move. I keep my hand on the wheel, guiding the car through the traffic, and once we’re back at Foster’s I park quickly, desperate to get away from her but not wanting to.

I round the car to her door, and as I help her from the car I freeze. She’s been crying, and while she won’t look at me, her eyes are still damp with her tears, and her cheeks are splotchy and red. I humiliated her. I was angry, and rather than sparing her feelings, I let my anger get the better of me, and now seeing her in this state I hate myself.

Her pain is a punch to the gut. I want to touch her. I want to apologize. I want to take the hurt and embarrassment I caused her away, but as I open my mouth to speak she beats me to the punch. “Please stay away from me.”

Her eyes meet mine for the first time since stepping from the car. They are bright with her tears and twinkling from the glossiness. The blue is stunningly clear, and she looks beautiful—hurt but beautiful. And as she turns to leave, she stops and looks back with one final comment. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” And then she’s gone, and I feel like an asshole. More than that, I feel rejected. How the hell did this happen?

Chapter 5

Vera has fast become a pain in my ass, and when she approaches me the week following my lunch with Jordan, every muscle in my body tenses. She’s as much a bitch today as she was on my first day here, and when I see her coming I become nervous and jittery in an instant.

“We have a briefings and assignment meeting in the executive boardroom in ten minutes. Stay out of the way and try not to say anything stupid.” In Vera form she turns on her heel and leaves my gaze trailing after her in confusion. I’m guessing the executive boardroom is where I first met the executives, but it surely doesn’t mean I can find my way back there. In a fortunate coincidence, Bridget stops by my cube a few minutes later to see if I’d like to walk with her. Thank God for sweet Bridget, who doesn’t hate me for being supergreen.

I haven’t seen, spoken to, or instant messaged Jordan since our lunch, and I’m guessing I’m about to be face to face with the handsome asshole any minute. The butterflies in my stomach are an unwelcome reminder this man still has the ability to stop me in my tracks, get under my skin, and intimidate the hell out of me.

As we enter the room, I hold my breath. Standing quietly against the wall as Vera instructed will be no problem. The expansive table is taken by Foster, the principals, and all the senior-level managers, including the toxic Vera. As she sees us enter, she glares at me but waves me to her side. I have no choice but to pass right by Jordan on my way to Vera, less I circumvent the table in a most out-of-the-way manner, and as I approach the table, rounding the end toward him, his gaze follows me. Vera is sitting two seats down from Jordan on the same side of the table, and when I approach, she speaks.

“Get me some coffee. One cream, half a packet of Equal.” My mouth drops open. It’s not as if Vera has ever been civil to me, but to treat me like a damn waitress in a room full of people has my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I hurry toward the side bar at the end of the room, wanting nothing more than to be done with this humiliating errand, but as I approach the side bar there’s a hand on my elbow. Looking over my shoulder, I see Jordan. He leans to my ear as my breath hitches in my throat.

“Go stand by Bridget.” I watch his eyes as he pulls back from me. They are serious but warm. He’s embarrassed for me. I round the table toward Bridget’s side as Vera watches after me with openmouthed hatred etched across her face, but my eyes pass quickly from hers as they return to Jordan. He fills a coffee mug with coffee, grabs a handful, yes a handful, of creamer packets and sugar packets before returning to Vera. He sets the cup in front of her and literally dumps the packets on the table, dropping a few directly into her cup and sloshing her coffee on the table. He doesn’t say a word as he returns to his seat, but his eyes find mine and hold my gaze. He’s expressionless but refuses to look away. I’m likewise unable to look away from him. Mr. Foster breaks the spell when he speaks, and it’s as my eyes pass to Foster I catch the look of abject hatred planted on Vera’s face, but this expression isn’t for Jordan, which would of course make sense; rather it’s for me.

Foster starts the meeting as Bridget whispers a commentary in my ear. The meeting is a roundtable discussion by the principals as they review their lineup of projects and what support they’ll need from management and staff. Lower-level employees really aren’t expected to be there, and it’s clear the only reason I was included was so Vera could make a fool of me. Jordan heads up the restoration department of Foster’s, and when it’s his turn to speak he runs down his list of ongoing projects. When he gets to a historic building restoration that is in progress and will ultimately end up being high-priced condos, it’s time for the other principals and managers to discuss the necessary workforce required for the project. Vera reports directly to the only principal on the interior design side of the firm, and it’s her job to assign interiors support, but when she starts speaking Jordan cuts her off quickly.

“I’ll be working with Adeline on the interiors.” Vera’s mouth drops open, as does mine; Jordan’s eyes find mine, and the entire room suddenly goes quiet … but not for long.

“She’s just an intern. You can’t pull her into a real project.” You guessed it, Vera McBitch.

“Watch me.” Jordan, of course. “This is a great project for an intern. The condos will be custom per buyer, and I’ll need a model unit as well as the common spaces. The scope should fit perfectly into the remainder of Adeline’s semester.”

“But you don’t work with interns.” Now it’s Foster who is speaking, but unlike Vera he is smiling quizzically and curiously at Jordan. I haven’t yet closed my mouth, and like an idiot I’m just starring back and forth from one to the other, but at Foster’s comment, Jordan’s gaze returns to me.

“Well there’s a first time for everything.” His eyes are serious, and his expression is intimidating, but the look on Vera’s face is priceless, and as terrifying as the prospect of reporting directly to Jordan is, it’s worth the terror for this small victory. I have to clench my jaw to keep the smirk from pulling my lips. The rest of the meeting is a blur, and I don’t catch a single bit of the conversation. Jordan has returned his attention to the meeting as well, and it’s only occasional glances I catch in my direction from him.

As Bridget and I move to the door at the end of my first executive-level meeting, Jordan again catches up and places a hand on my elbow, stopping me, and while his eyes are on mine, he speaks to Bridget.

“Please make sure Adeline finds her way to my office at two this afternoon. We’ll need to start hashing out a schedule.” His hand leaves my arm, and he exits without another word.

The entire way back to my minicube, Bridget talks a mile a minute. She’s shocked, as apparently everyone else in the room was as well, that Jordan brought me onto his project; she’s blown away by his obvious jabs at Vera, and though she doesn’t directly say it, her expression questions mine in curiosity about Jordan and his attention to me. I say nothing at all in response to the eye inquiry, but my curiosity is peaked as well. I guess when I told him to leave me alone, he had other things in mind, and while this brings a threat, there’s a longing and excitement as well. He’s blunt, confident, and without a shred of weakness, but his every action in that room was for my benefit in some way or another.

By two o’clock, I’m wired and nervous. When Bridget stops by my cubicle, I jump a foot and yelp in surprise. As I follow her through the maze of hallways toward the other building of Foster’s, my mouth goes dry and my breathing becomes shallow. She leads me to the open second floor and around to the back wall of the building, stopping outside an office. She knocks and enters, and it’s with great force I will my feet to move forward. Once within, I look slowly around, not wanting to meet his eyes. His office is large and nice. The back wall is original brick with an overlarge arched window that runs from the floor, peaking at the high ceiling above. His desk is simple and vintage. His drafting table is as vintage as his desk, and the office shows the same appreciation for old architecture as his home does. The color on the walls is warm tan, and the artwork is framed drafts of some of Chicago’s most notable features; I’m guessing the drafts are originals, and I would also guess this man has no patience or interest in knockoffs.

As Bridget is dismissed, I finally look to him, and as the door is closed behind Bridget, Jordan indicates the chair in front of his desk.

“So I see you’re getting along well with Vera.” He’s studying me.

“You’re one to talk.” I return the mild note of sarcasm, and at my words a small smile takes over his beautiful lips. He may intimidate, but he also sets my body on fire, and one look at his lips leaves me craving him. He was rude, offensive, and above all else, thoughtless and hurtful last week, but he wasn’t any of those things today, and I’m finding it far easier than it should be to set aside the hurt from last week. I have no choice really. If I hope to get out of this place with my GPA intact and my dignity as well, I have no choice but to figure out how to work with this man.

The meeting is quick as Jordan outlines the timeline we’ll be working on. The structure and layout of the condos is, for the most part, already complete in order to maintain as much of the original brick and windows as possible, but spatial planning and interior design will take up the majority of the project work. And as he reviews the different elements of the project in order of most time intensive to least, I comment.

“I thought you didn’t have time for micromanaging interns.” I regret the comment immediately, but as I look to his amused expression I calm in an instant.

“Perhaps I like the idea of micromanaging you.” With that, he dismisses me for the day with plans to visit the site the following morning.

Chapter 6

Bringing Adeline onto my project was likely the stupidest choice I’ve ever made, and yet I’m more than ready to spend some one on one time with her. When she rejected me after our lunch, I was cursing myself for being such a prick, and I’d found no way to bridge the gap I’d created until our meeting. Vera disrespecting Adeline turned my blood to lava and gave me all the excuse I needed to take her away from Vera and put her firmly in my presence.

Inappropriate as my actions were, I at least now had a chance to fix the embarrassment I’d caused her during our lunch, or better stated, after our lunch when I lashed out. Even as I was reaching to her breast where I’d caught sight of the still attached size sticker, I could see her eyes widening and her breath hitching. She didn’t pull away. She wanted my touch, and while my body was responding as well and wanted nothing more than to stroke my finger over her nipple, my irritation from lunch and the challenge she’d given me pushed me to humiliate her. I regretted it instantly but didn’t realize until we’d arrived back at Foster’s just what pain I’d caused her, and now I’ve been obsessing about it for the past week.

When we arrive at the old warehouse that will become the trendiest new building in Lincoln Park and will be Adeline’s first project, we are met by Mark Lear. He is the developer who commissioned Foster’s for this particular restoration. His company, Trigg Enterprises, appreciates restoration rather than renovation with properties such as this, and I’ve always appreciated Mark’s enthusiasm for old architecture, but as soon as he looks to Adeline and then fails to look away from her, I suddenly hate him. For whatever reason, I’m jealous. All I want is to take her hand, pull her into my arms, kiss her sweet little mouth, whatever I need to do, quite frankly, to make it known to Mark she is off-limits. His gaze moves over her body in much the same way mine does, and as he studies her bottom, clothed in gray pinstripes that contour to the roundness of her cheeks, I want to punch him. When he pries her for personal information, I want to tell him to butt out, but I listen, hating him in my head.

Admittedly, I find out far more about her than I’ve managed on my own; Mark has no qualms with prying, whereas I’ve been reluctant to ask anything lest she realize just how interested I am to know about her. She’s from a small town in Iowa. She grew up out in the country on an acreage—not a farm. Her parents still live there, and she visits often. Her mother is an avid self-made decorator, and her father is retired from law enforcement. She’s an only child. The more I hear of her and the more my mental picture of who she is emerges, the more I want. It doesn’t really matter of course. She’s as off-limits for me as I want her to be for Mark, but it still hits like a punch to acknowledge this fact.

I want her. I don’t understand why, but I want her more than I’ve wanted anyone in an incredibly long time—since my ex-wife left me, I suppose. We were only married two years before she announced at dinner one night she was in love with another man. I’m not sure I even blamed her. I was young. I was driven. I was working the pace of a madman. She was neglected, and my neglect is what drove her away. After her, it was easier to just keep things casual, and now it’s seven years later, and the first sign of life is beating through my heart. I don’t know Adeline, but I crave her anyway. She’s far too young, she’s far too innocent for an asshole like me, but I want her to belong to me, I want to protect her and fight for her, and I’ll be damned if I can figure out why.

She’s beautiful. Her curves are subtle and very womanly. She is nothing like the sophisticates I’m constantly surrounded by, and for some reason this draws me to her more. I believed her when she proclaimed her intelligence at lunch in desperation to gain a foothold with me. She’s intelligent; she wouldn’t have made it to Foster’s otherwise, but beyond that I see it in her. She’s feisty, but reserved. She’s unsure of herself, but proud as well, and she leaves me wanting to boost her and propel her forward in her life. I have no doubt she doesn’t need my help to succeed, but I want to be a part of her success anyway, and as my gaze trails after her as she walks with Mark, my body shivers in need to be close to her.

When we reach one of the condos under construction with the construction company we contract for our restorations, we stop in what will be the kitchen. This is her show now, and I stand back watching. She’s nibbling on her lower lip as she looks around. Her sketchpad is in her hand, and I’m rolling out the blueprints on a nearby workbench as she continues to inspect the space. When she approaches the workbench and starts looking over the drafts I’ve brought, she makes notes and writes dimensions and measurements. I can smell her subtle scent, and I want to touch her. Mark is still watching her like a hungry dog, but I’m zoned in on just her now. She knows her way around blueprints, and within moments she has the rudimentary shape of the room sketched out. It’s up to her to design the most functional and aesthetic layout of cabinetry and appliances, and it’s up to me to make it happen from a logistics standpoint. I’ve defined the room, she just has to fit her design within my shape; it’s such a perfect team effort and not one I usually appreciate so much as I do in this moment.

Watching her is intoxicating, and I nearly forget Mark is still present until his unwelcome voice interrupts the silence. He’s excusing himself to check on the progress of the construction, and as he leaves us in peace at last her eyes find mine watching her hungrily. She stills in an instant at the expression on my face. I’m making her nervous, and she has no idea my expression isn’t harsh in a bad way, but rather harsh in a sexually dominating fantasy sort of way. I force a gentle smile on my lips that are begging for her mouth, and as she returns to her work I continue to watch her.

Fifteen minutes later, she has a layout sketched. It’s good and exactly what I hoped to see, and I’m now excited to get her to the samples room to see where she takes her layout. We move on to the two bathrooms to tackle the layout there as well, and when we finally return to the workbench and the blueprints she starts reviewing her measurements. As I approach the bench, I stand beside her and breathe in her scent deeply. She’s wearing the same perfume I’ve come to recognize, and I study her hands as she continues to work. They’re small and delicate, her fingernails short, clean, and unpainted. She wears only one ring on the thumb of her left hand, and it looks antique. Those very hands caressed my body into a frenzy only two weeks ago, and I still remember her touch so clearly. She was hesitant but trying so hard to hide her fear. Her first grasp on my cock nearly had me begging to fuck her, and as her palm stroked up my length and her eyes studied my body, I felt more ecstasy than women with a hundred times her experience have shown me.

As Mark rejoins us, I chastise him in my head once again for interrupting us. He asks us to lunch, and I decline before Adeline has a chance to respond, but once we’re back on the road I take us to a nearby quiet hole-in-the-wall café. She smirks as I help her from the car, and I comment drily, “Shut up. I changed my mind.”

She smiles her precious sweet smile, and my cock stirs in response. I spend the meal taking a page from Mark’s book, asking her question after endless question about growing up in Iowa. Not only did she grow up in a small town but she also graduated in a class of less than thirty students; I had no idea that was even possible. Admittedly, I grew up in the city. She was an officer for her school’s chapter of the National Honor Society—nerd, and she was heavily involved in music and band—double nerd. But nerd or not, I’m drawn to her more and more with every passing divulgence.

When she turns the tables, I put on a brave front though I’m nervous of her delving into my life. We cover my private school upbringing in Chicago, the fact I’ve made my home in the same neighborhood I grew up, the fact my parents now live in France and only care to talk to me once in a blue moon, which is only marginally more than they cared to speak to me when I was a kid; I’m the epitome of latchkey, and as her sadness registers on her face I regret being so honest. I don’t want her pity even though it sends a warmth through my body. When she asks if I’ve ever been married, I tell her the truth, and though the question was hers to ask, she looks shocked when I tell her I have. When she asks why we divorced, with a hesitant look on her face and a nibble of her lip, I respond I’d rather not talk about it. And when the embarrassment reaches her face, I regret not forcing myself to open up more, and I reach for her hand and apologize.

By the time our meal is over, I want her more than I did just this morning. She was supposed to be a one-night stand, a booty call as she described it. What the hell have I allowed to happen?

Chapter 7

Working with Jordan has become challenging and incredibly arousing. He has no problem telling me if he disagrees with one of my decisions, but his feedback is genuine. He doesn’t disagree just to disagree, like the good Vera seems intent on doing; rather, he gives me honest opinions and justifies them. If I make a decision he agrees with, he’s quick to let me know, and I’ve decided he’s shortchanged himself and every intern that has passed through Foster’s by refusing to work with them.

After our time at the warehouse, drafting and plotting the spaces I would be working on, we moved on to the samples room. The next week was spent together, building the palette and color scheme and creating the boards to present to Mark. The furniture will be largely custom or vintage and has required a number of trips to local antique stores and an upholsterer as well, and each time we leave the building to some new destination, my body courses with excitement for our time alone. I crave it and look forward to it with constant want.

Jordan has told me I’ll be the one pitching the scheme boards to Mark, and I’m terrified. Not only will it be my first pitch like this but I’ve also been given one more reason to worry about the meeting. On our last trip to the construction site, Mark cornered me when Jordan was away and asked me to dinner. I turned him down quickly, and while Mark kept his composure, his demeanor suggested resentment for the remainder of our time at the site. I was happy to be away from him when Jordan finally returned and we left for the day, and now on the night before I’m to pitch my concept for the model condo, I’m all nerves. Mark makes me nervous, and having been forced to reject his advances isn’t helping things.

*

She looks terrified. Hell, I’m terrified for her. She worked hard on the designs, and as much as I want to do this pitch and save her the terror she so obviously feels, I want this for her. She deserves the credit. Her taste is impeccable. Most designers, especially those straight out of school, tend to go über contemporary. Bringing an intern into restoration is a great way to introduce them into the historical art of design, and while it’s my fault this avenue hasn’t been opened for our past interns, I also have to concede it has its importance. How many times has a newer designer been assigned to one of my projects just so I could replace her for a more seasoned designer because she lacked the ability to visualize the style of the period? And yet I’m the one who closed that door to every up-and-comer entering our building.

Watching Adeline now though is just painful. She is practically jittering next to me in the passenger seat, and as I touch her hand she jumps, before looking at me with warmth and appreciation in her eyes. I take my hand away quickly, wanting to hold the touch, but not wanting to overstep this line.

As Mark ushers us into their conference room, we are met by three other men who have joined him. I take my seat at the table and introduce Adeline to them. I’ve worked with all four of these men for years, and for the most part we’ve had an amenable working relationship. Adeline takes her place at the head of the table, and in a voice just a bit too quiet for the room, she speaks. She stumbles over her words on more than one occasion and trips on the leg of the easel her boards are propped on, and more than once I catch her gulping air while we discuss some random architectural detail that doesn’t concern her. Every sign of her nervousness hurts in my chest and leaves my conscious begging to rescue her. But the worst comes when her presentation is over, and it leaves me ferociously defending her.

When Mark starts questioning her cabinetry choice, which she’s chosen perfectly and with my full support, I don’t think much of it. Opinions differ in this field, and it certainly isn’t the first time Mark and I have disagreed, but it doesn’t stop my guts from clenching and my hands from fisting in response to Adeline’s worried expression. I step in quickly and pacify the situation. One change is nothing, and certainly not worth Adeline’s concern. But when Mark continues to punch one hole after another in her presentation, often interrupting her response just to hurl another ridiculous insult at her work, my fury builds.

Adeline is still at the head of the table, doing her best to defend her design while being open to change, but Mark is being an asshole, and every time I step in to take the heat off her, he ignores me completely and attacks her once again. Within moments, I’ve taken my place beside her at the head of the table. Mark’s eyes are on her, and I’m confused, furious, and ready to beat him to a bloody pulp. The other men in the room are witnessing the exchange with confusion as well, and as things get more heated they step in to calm Mark. He’s not only attacking Adeline’s design but also my choice to bring an intern onto their project, and when the conversation has gotten heated to the point of Mark muttering “bitch” under his breath, that’s when I turn to the three other men who are watching Mark with gaping mouths.

I growl at them between gritted teeth in fury. “I suggest you get him the fuck away from her, now.”

When they pull their collective eyes from the spectacle that is Mark, they take in my deadly expression and waste no time ushering Mark out the door. Turning to Adeline, I take in her expression. She’s holding it together, but tears are threatening to spill over, and in a shaky voice laced with desperation, she begs, “Please get me out of here.”

My hand moves to her elbow as I gather her boards in my hands, and I lead her to the nearby elevator. When the CEO catches up to us and stops the elevator door from closing, I stop him as well. “We’re done here. Call Foster if you have any questions.”

He stands back from the elevator and allows the doors to close. I have no idea what to say to Adeline. Quite frankly, I have no idea what has just happened, and I’m still stunned into silence. I want to touch her, I want to hold her, but she’s staring at the floor, and the regular sniffle of her nose and the finger that dashes away the occasional tear tell me everything I need to know about how she’s feeling.

She’s silent on the way back to Foster’s, as am I, and when we finally arrive I drop her off at the door. She says nothing to me as she climbs from the car, and as much as I want to check on her once I’m parked and inside, I want to see Foster far more. I was the one who put her in this position, and had I known she’d come under such heavy fire, I’d have never put her up there.

I vent for the better part of an hour, yelling a good portion of the time, but it’s unnecessary. Foster is as pissed as I am our intern was subjected to this type of treatment. He’s decent and kind, and Adeline is beyond lucky to be in this place in that regard. There are plenty of firms that would make assumptions about the quality of her work based on nothing more than her inexperience, but not Foster. He can see the boards as clearly as I’ve laid them out on his desk. They’re impressive for any designer, least of all a student. She didn’t deserve this, and I don’t understand how this happened. A week ago, the man couldn’t take his eyes off her, and in the space of mere days he’d decided to torture her and destroy her in front of me.

When I finally make my way to Adeline’s desk, she’s gone for the day. When Vera catches me at Adeline’s cubicle, she stops. Vera does nothing but flirt with me when we’re alone, and even the meeting last week wasn’t enough to dampen her attempts. I can’t stand Vera and have paid her no attention for the three years she’s been at Foster’s, but she just doesn’t get the hint. When she asks if I’ll be coming to the Q1 dinner that night, I have to thank her for the reminder. I hate these damn dinners we have at the close of every quarter to celebrate just how profitable and super awesome we are, but a sudden and swift relief passes over me at her question, and I ask one of my own.

“Will Adeline be there? I need to speak with her, and I’d rather not wait until Monday.”

Vera’s smile is tight and her expression is cold, but she responds quickly. “Oh, yes. I made sure to invite her.” The smile that passes her expression is vindictive, and I worry perhaps Adeline has more enemies than just Mark, but I will see her tonight and the tightness in my chest releases with this knowledge.

Chapter 8

“We’re having our Q1 dinner tonight at Architectural Artifacts. You’re expected to attend.” And as Vera starts to move away, I stop her quickly.

“Is this for the design group or the whole firm?” She stops.

Looking back with her trademark sneer of hatred, she responds. “It’s the whole firm. Frankly, I have no idea why an intern should come; it’s not as if you bring any real benefit to this place.”

Without another glance, she turns to leave, and I spend the next fifteen minutes trying to find Bridget. I’m a bundle of nerves at the prospect of spending the evening with the better part of the firm, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to dress for such an occasion. Finally discovering Bridget has left for the day for an appointment, I hesitantly approach Vera’s office, hating I’ll have to speak with her intentionally.

I knock on her door and wait for a response. “What!” Good, at least she’s in her normal Vera-bitch mood.

I peek my head in and she glares. “How should I dress tonight?”

She lets out an overly exaggerated sigh of exasperation before responding. “Jesus, Adeline. Can’t you even dress yourself? Any old dress will do.” She smirks a completely sarcastic and cruel smile at me, and I slink off.

Jordan hasn’t come to find me or contacted me since depositing me at the curb in front of our building, and I have no idea how to feel. He was furious when Mark was grilling me and challenging my every design decision, but at the same time, my design was rejected. He must be upset. I’ve made a fool of us both, and while I have no doubt Mark’s rejection of my design had more to do with my rejection of him, I’m still responsible. I’m inexperienced, green as Jordan made clear, but my time here is limited, and I’m rated brutally. This one rejection could seriously affect my credit for this internship, and that would be a devastation I’m not sure I can endure.

Jordan will no doubt be at this dinner, and I’m torn between wanting to see him and fear of seeing him, but it’s been made clear I am expected to go, so whether I’m prepared to deal with the fallout of this afternoon or not I’m just going to have to suck it up. Vera’s given me no real time to prepare, which leaves me to my own devices as far as what to wear, but at least it’s just a dress—any old dress as Vera clarified.

I choose a fitted dress that falls a few inches above my knee. It’s a midnight blue and strapless. I pair it with silver strappy sandals and hope the weather stays warm enough to get me through the evening. When I hop the ‘L,’ my appearance gets more than a few attentive stares, and as I’m finally let off near enough to my destination, I’m relieved to be away from the crowd. I’m too dressed for the ‘L’ crowd or to be walking the street alone at seven thirty in the evening, but as I enter Architectural Artifacts I realize however overdressed I was for the ‘L,’ I’m in no way dressed for Foster’s. That bitch! Evening gowns and black-tie tuxedos as far as the eye can see greet me upon my entrance, as do the curious eyes of most of Foster’s employees. They look me over, judging and dismissing me as I stand by mortified. Not one woman is dressed in anything that doesn’t sweep the floor, and here I am in a short dress. Fuck!

It takes no time at all for me to run into Jordan, and when I do he looks me over from twenty or so feet away. He stares uncomfortably. He’s noticed how poorly dressed I am for the occasion, and as his brow furrows when he finishes looking me over, he swallows over a lump in his throat. Moments later, Vera stumbles up to him and places a hand on his arm. She is smiling adoringly, and she is very obviously drunk. She looks nothing like her normal cruel and cold self. She’s flirting, and she’s doing it well. She is dressed in a long, flowing, rusty-brown satin gown. Her hair is back in a chignon at the nape of her neck, and her bangs are swept perfectly to the side. She’s nearly as tall as Jordan, and as I watch them, wanting to look away, I can’t help but think they look perfect together. She’s just as harshly beautiful as he is. I managed nothing more than curling my long, boring locks into loose spirals, and while I pinned the hair around my face back with multiple jeweled pins, it’s hardly dressy and sophisticated—very much like my dress. I may look cute, but I sure as hell don’t look beautiful like the pristine couple in front of me.

Jordan looks to Vera, and I take the opportunity to disappear in quick retreat. I spend the majority of the evening hiding in a side hallway, coming out only for wine. When Bridget finds me, she drags me from my hiding spot and pulls me to the bar. While it’s a lie, she gushes about my dress and does her best to make me feel like something other than a fish out of water. When people dance as the music begins to play, I count the minutes until I can safely make a run for it without being rude. I don’t want to be here. I’m embarrassed and still recovering from the mortification of my meeting with Mark earlier in the day, and every time a new person eyes my poor choice of a dress, ridiculing me with their gaze, my resolve fades.

When at last I’ve put in enough of a presence to leave, I’m caught off guard when a hand touches my elbow. I’m standing at the bar sipping my third glass of wine. Bridget left me to dance with a nerdy-looking man named Charles from the accounting department, leaving me awkward and uncomfortable once again, and as warm fingers enclose my elbow in a gentle grip, I turn to find Jordan looking at me. He is beautiful, and I’m once again drawn to his mouth. His lips are parted as his tongue grazes over his bottom lip while he stares at me.

When I drag my gaze back to his, he demands, “Dance.” He watches me coolly as a warm shudder runs through me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” It’s all I can manage to say. Truth be told, I want to dance with him, I want his hands on me again, but keeping my distance is the only way to protect myself from him right now. I have no idea what he is thinking about our meeting gone to hell earlier in the day, and not knowing has me vulnerable and terrified.

But leaning to the side of my face, he whispers in my ear. “Really? My cock has been inside your body, and you think a dance is inappropriate?” Now my body is on fire, and the fear before has suddenly become a surging warmth, leaving me trembling and gasping for breath, but he’s not finished. “My tongue has tasted the most intimate part of your body, but a dance is too much to ask? Do I need to remind you your blood has been all over my groin?” Of course he doesn’t, but he is intent on reminding me of our every last intimate touch, and as he tugs on my elbow toward the dance floor, I set my drink on the bar and obediently follow.

His hand moves from its warm grip on my elbow to trail an equally warm path to my lower back. His other hand enfolds mine. My hand finds his bicep and the strength of his well-defined muscles through his tuxedo jacket. Jordan moves us slowly through the crowd and people part away from us. I’m sure this is how he lives his life, people constantly stepping out of his way as he moves easily through the world. His eyes stay on me as we move together, and his hand remains at the small of my back, inching just marginally lower as the orchestral piece moves along slowly. He says nothing to me, but continues to watch. The intensity of his eyes is incredible, and it brings memories flooding back—his body, his large and rigid arousal, his desire, his pounding force that so painfully took my body, and I’m left desperate for escape as the song winds to an end. I’ve enjoyed the past week, working with him, but he can also be a complete asshole, and even if he can be kind and touch gently, he has the power to destroy me. He’s done it once, using my humiliation to strike back at my challenge of him, and I won’t put myself in that position—least of all now that I’ve given him a reason to be angry with my pathetic performance earlier today. But he’s not angry, and as he apologizes quietly for Mark’s behavior, his eyes full of sincerity, I melt.

I owe him an explanation. “Jordan … Mark asked me out to dinner a few days ago, and I turned him down. I can’t say it had anything to do with what happened today, but he’s definitely treated me different since then, and…”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?” His face is suddenly harsh; his expression serious. “Jesus, Adeline.” He’s angry.

“I didn’t know this would happen.” I’m barely whispering as his harsh eyes bear down on me.

“I would never have put you up there to pitch the design, knowing that. I’d have at least put a stop to it sooner had I known there was no basis for his bullshit! Damn it, Adeline.”

But as quickly as our most enjoyable dance turned sour, it now turns toxic as Vera appears out of nowhere and takes Jordan by the arm. I pull myself from him, trying to quickly retreat. The last thing I want to endure is the hatred of Vera as I steal myself from Jordan, but it’s too late. Jordan’s grip on my arm clamps down as I step away from him. His eyes bore into me, and as Vera looks between us I look only at him. Vera is as intoxicated as ever and smiling warmly at Jordan, but as her eyes pass to me the hatred radiates from her.

“Throwing the intern a bone, are we?” She’s speaking to Jordan, implying I’m nothing more than a pathetic title not even worthy of a name, let alone a dance with this man.

But Jordan isn’t interested in offending me on this night, and I’m thankful for that much. “Her name is Adeline, Vera, and I doubt she refers to you as the interior designer, so perhaps you could show her the same respect and use her name.” His words bite, and she recoils and removes her hand that is so obviously not welcome on his arm. His hand is still holding my arm gently but firmly. I want to be away from Vera, but I’m suddenly most engaged in being near Jordan.

“Fine, Adeline.” And turning to me, she speaks once more. Her expression is hateful and her words are as well. “I should have mentioned this would be black tie … my mistake. But hey, you won’t be around long enough for anyone to remember how ridiculous you look, so take heart, dear Adeline.”

And as Jordan opens his mouth to likely berate her, Mr. Foster appears and claps a hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Adeline, right? Are you enjoying your evening?” I nod but am still flustered by Vera’s words. I’m embarrassed, and now I have yet another pair of eyes taking in my appearance. Mr. Foster is kind though, and after appraising me he continues. “You remind me of my daughter in that dress. It’s exactly something she would wear, and it looks lovely.” The quick wink of his eye is all that’s needed for my emotions to unravel and for the impending tears to prick my eyes, and as I look to Jordan, begging him with my eyes to release me, he understands. With a furrow of his brow, he finally lets go of the warm grip on my arm. I bid both Mr. Foster and Jordan a quick good night, ignoring Vera as I turn and stumble through the crowd.

I’m done. This day has been more than I can handle, and I’m emotionally exhausted. I’ve fought my tears for the last time, and there is nothing that will keep me here any longer. Vera is a bitch, and Jordan intimidates and confuses me far more than my fragile emotions can tolerate at the moment. Mr. Foster may have been kind, but I can’t handle one more person appraising me in pity or ridicule. When I exit the building, however, I’m devastated to see it’s pouring rain. I have no umbrella, and I will now be forced to walk the three blocks in my uncomfortable shoes through a rainstorm. Brilliant, but at least I’m free of the intimidation of Foster’s dinner.

As my tears finally fall freely, I plunge headlong into the wall of rain, shuffling my feet quickly down the sidewalk. I’m moving as swiftly as I can, but the rain is coming so fast the sidewalk is moving with a sheet of water over its surface. My strappy silver heels are protecting my feet in no way, and by the time I reach the street in front of Architectural Artifacts, I’m soaked to the skin and not an inch of my body is dry. I make it a block before my first mishap. When I take a wrong step, my heel catches in a sidewalk grate, and as my foot is propelled forward by my step, my shoe unfortunately is not. I end up with one shoe on and one sticking out of the grate in the sidewalk, but as I pull and yank on the shoe it won’t budge. A car turns down the street, but I’m so immersed in my fight against the grate I don’t realize this car is looking for me.

With one final tug, I loosen the shoe and topple backward on my butt, hitting hard with a thud. I’m now sitting drenched on the sidewalk with my shoe in my hand, crying pitifully. The car has now made its way to me, and the moment the car is stopped at the curb, Jordan exits quickly and approaches, pulling me to stand in front of him. His eyes are dark and intense as they take in mine, and in one swift moment he lunges for my lips and captures them with his own. His kiss is passionate, harsh, and desperate, and it feels so good. The rain is cool on my skin, but his lips are warm and send their warmth coursing through my body. He moves his hands to grip my hips and pushes me back to the side of his car. In haste, he pulls the fitted skirt of my dress to my waist, strips my underwear down my legs, lifts me to the hood of his car, and pushes between my thighs.

His mouth remains locked to mine, and his tongue thrusts and forces its way between my lips. He tastes of wine, and his tongue runs along mine as it searches every last surface of my mouth. His hands abandon my cheeks he’s held in his clasp since lifting me to the hood, and he pulls out a condom from his pocket and presses it into the palm of my hand. With his hands free, he hastily unbuttons his pants, slides the zipper down, and grabs the condom from my hand. His mouth is still owning mine, but as he tears open the condom wrapper, he leaves my lips and looks to my eyes while he works with quick hands. I want to hold his eyes that are dark and searing and so damn seductive, but instead my gaze moves to his incredible arousal jutting between our bodies, and once he’s rolled the condom down his length, he pulls my hips to teeter on the edge of his car. He holds me still as his penis glides between the slick lips of my sex. The rain continues to pound our bodies, and the cooling effect on my heated and sensitized skin is arousing. He leans to my mouth for one last sweet kiss before his lips trail to my ear. His breathing is coming in gasps, and as I push my groin toward his, he lets out a deep and warm moan against my neck.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since I woke and found you gone from my bed. Ask me for it. Please.” He thrusts gently against my sex as he speaks, and there is no denying my want as well. My body is drenched in wetness, not just from the rain that beats down on us and around us, enveloping us in a soft echoing waterfall.

“Please fuck me.” Without hesitating, he grips my hips and pushes his entire length inside my body as his gaze holds mine and his mouth drops open. The pain is a stab to my womb, and as I cry out he patiently watches my eyes for the pain to subside. I nod when I’m ready for him to move again, and he withdraws quickly before thrusting back within my tight sheath. His hands remain on my hips as he continues to stroke in and out of my body, his intensity building with each stroke, and as his thrusts quicken and the pounding force as well, my body loosens and relaxes to his invasion.

The orgasm building within my body promises to erupt in ecstasy at any moment, and as his breathing becomes faster and his movements more desperate, I come with an incredible moan and my head falls back. The spasms that wrack my body are ceaseless, and as they work their way through my body, the rain beats down on my upturned face and chest. Jordan’s release comes soon after, and as a growl is released from his throat he pulls me to his body, holding me tight to his chest with my head buried in his neck. His stomach muscles quiver as surge after surge of his cum is released within the condom.

He holds our bodies together while our breathing slows and eventually returns to normal. The rain continues to cascade over us. It cools and refreshes my skin as the flush finally abates, and when he pulls from my body, the water runs down my stomach, washing over the sensitive skin of my sex. As I slide from the hood of his car, he pulls the skirt of my dress back down my thighs, and once his clothes are back in place he opens the passenger door of his car for me.

I look at the leather and then at myself with a grimace on my face, and he leans to my ear and speaks. “You’re not getting any dryer standing out here. It’s okay. Get in.” I settle into the seat as he rounds the car to the driver’s side, sliding in next to me. And as he starts the car and pulls into the quiet deserted street, his hand moves to my leg and then eventually to my hand.

*

God, she’ll be the death of me, but I will surely enjoy every moment of my demise. Watching her on the street tugging at her shoe, standing drenched and frustrated was a turn on. I wanted to help her; like some chivalrous prick from another time, I wanted to be her knight in shining armor. Seeing her fall to her butt didn’t help matters. I was practically out of the car before I’d put it in park to pull her to her feet.

The entire evening was one long build-up to my cock invading her body. Catching site of her in yet another failed attempt at style had me wanting to defend her to the death from the pariahs at Foster’s. They’re not all cruel, judgmental assholes, but there are certainly enough to cause my sweet innocent crush more than enough embarrassment than I can handle. My nerves were already shot from our nightmare of a meeting earlier in the day, but then Vera came along and my hackles were raised at once. Adeline looked amazing, underdressed but ten times more beautiful than any of the other women in the room. Pins held back her long, chestnut hair from her face. The length trailed down her back in loose curls that nearly reached her waist. The dress had me drooling. The fabric was a structured little piece that fit to a T. The strapless top showed me exactly where my lips wanted to be on her collarbone, and the skirt that fell above her knees was a constant temptation to my hand that so wanted to caress her thigh.

When I finally had her within my arms on the dance floor, I was ready to mount her body. Her breath was ragged, and she wanted it. Her admission that Mark had come on to her threw me for a loop completely. I wasn’t mad at her, but I was livid at him. What a pompous prick to think he could behave in such a way just because she turned him down, but again, my frustration came out aimed in her direction. I was more hurt she hadn’t confided this bit of information in me before now, but I wasn’t angry at her; not her. She suffered so much at Mark’s hands this afternoon that all I wanted was to take her away from the nightmare she faced at Trigg’s, and now I’ve managed to cross the line I’ve been fantasizing about crossing for weeks now.

The very act of driving with her beside me in the car is a turn-on. It reminds me of our first night together when I knew nothing about her at all and didn’t care to. How very much things have changed since that night. I don’t like that I want her still. It complicates my life and, more than that, my emotions. Life is easier when you don’t care, and I’ve lived my life by that mantra for years now. Quite frankly, I’ve enjoyed my life very much as a result. But I want to care for her, and that fact alone socks me with a vulnerability I don’t want anything to do with.

She guides me to her apartment in the South Loop. It isn’t in a bad neighborhood, but the old house turned apartment building is in a sorry state of disrepair. It’s evident by the hanging gutters, the chipped and broken stucco, the paint-peeling fascia, never mind the tired and skimpy-looking shingles that gave up doing their job years ago. I want to go in with her, but once I’ve walked her to the door I stop short of entering. She is nervous, and she wants to ask, but she’s terrified of my response.

“I should go.” And though I say the words, I can’t pull my gaze from hers or turn to walk away.

I’m watching her eyes, but as I do my gaze drops to her lips. I wanted those lips so much I could barely contain myself, and even now, imagining that taste once again is hardening my arousal. Her door is standing wide, and I can smell the scent of her home through the opening. It smells deliciously of her, and it’s beckoning me to follow. I can see the interior of her living room. The ceilings are tall with original crown molding, and the trim work is wide but pitifully painted over. Her floors are old, worn hardwood that looks rustic and charming. Naturally, my only real thought is what it would be like to have her on that floor grinding splinters in my knees as I took her body; yes, I’m that pathetic at the moment. Her furniture is cheap and likely used, but eclectic. Even on a budget, she has taste. God, I want to follow her in.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Nope! Not sure at all!

“Maybe next time,” I reply, stifling my real desire. She catches my reference and gives me a sheepish smile, and as I take her lips once more, exploring and getting absolutely lost in her taste, I admit what I don’t want to admit: there will absolutely be a next time.

* * * *

When I arrive home, I drop my keys on the kitchen island and open a bottle of wine. I retreat to my bathroom and jump in the shower. I’m confused, and I don’t do confused. I do confidence, and I’m thrown for a loop. Why didn’t I stay? She gave me all the permission I needed. She wanted me to stay, and there’s no denying I wanted to be with her; my still-hard arousal is proof enough of that. So, why the hell did I leave? I used the only condom I had with her on the hood of my car, but still, I could have had plenty of fun with her even without one. Even the first night we were together, I wanted to wake to her body next to mine, and I had that very opportunity tonight and chose to pass. It was hard to turn down. Even as I spoke the words, my brain was throwing its hands up in exasperation, but I needed space. I needed to think. I need to screw my fucking head back on.

When I climb into bed with my wine and a book, I look to the emptiness that surrounds me. I used to like this emptiness. It meant I was untouchable, I was in control, I was safe, and my life was easy. But looking around now, I am just pathetic. I’m alone, lonely even, and she is sleeping in her bed where I want to be, miles from me. I toss the book to the floor and shut the lamp off quickly, hating my life for the first time in a very long time. The easy, simple, hedonistic life I had created is no longer easy or simple.

Chapter 9

As I hop off the ‘L’ Monday morning, I’ve nearly forgotten about the debacle of Friday… Correction: debacles. I’ve thought of little else except Jordan, and not our meeting with Mark, nor about dinner, but about the hood of his car. For the second time in as many weeks, I’ve been reckless. I’ve decided being reckless is kind of fun … Jordan is kind of fun. After a weekend away from him when I wanted nothing more than to see him, I’m restless, I’m eager, I’m pathetically excited.

However forgetful I might have been about the events of Friday, I’m reminded swiftly the moment I sit at my desk and Vera approaches. “Come on. You’re expected in Foster’s office… I said come on! I don’t have all day.” Bitch. As I stand to follow, Vera takes off like lightning, leaving me in the dust. I have to jog just to catch up, and as Vera looks back once and regards me with her normal dose of Adeline hatred, I cringe. I don’t want to think about the catastrophe that was Friday, but apparently that’s exactly what I’m in for.

As I enter Foster’s office, I look around expecting Jordan, but he’s absent. Vera, however, is not, and she makes her presence very well known as she speaks. “Here she is. She was apparently late this morning.” I was not! I had no idea I could hate a person so much, but I’ve discovered I’m really quite good at hating her. Mr. Foster pays her comment no mind and asks me to sit. As I do, Jordan enters, and I’m left craning my neck around to see him as he approaches behind me. He looks glorious and amazing as always. He’s wearing another ridiculously awesome suit that fits to a T. This one is an indistinguishable shade of gray or brown, and he’s paired it with a deep brown-colored shoe that has a squared off toe and looks as perfectly antique as his designs. I’m left catching my breath as he takes the seat next to me without the slightest hint of nervousness at my presence—good to know only one of us is so pathetic.

When Mr. Foster speaks, I stop breathing once again, but not because of Jordan’s presence in any way. “I’m sorry, Adeline, about what happened on Friday with Mark Lear, and it should make you feel better that Mark has been removed from the Market Street project. However, when I spoke with Andrew Trigg at Trigg Development, he asked that you be removed from the project as well.” His eyes hold mine with a gentleness and sincerity that threatens to leave me in tears yet again.

Though I’ve lost my voice, and breath for that matter, Jordan has not. “What the hell are you talking about?” Apparently he’s more than okay with addressing Foster in such a way, but my gaping mouth must make it clear I’m shocked, and I am shocked.

“Relax, Jordan, I reassured him Adeline wasn’t the cause of this problem with Lear, and it would be inappropriate and unfair to punish her for Mark’s behavior. You know full well I’m sympathetic to what Adeline endured from Mark on Friday. But it was no small feat convincing him to leave Adeline on the project.” And with hesitation he looks to me. “It’s difficult with an intern. Though they recognize Mark was out of line, they were also defensive. Regardless, they’ve agreed to let you continue to work on Jordan’s team, though they’ve cautioned you’ll be removed if there are any further … misunderstandings… Apparently, Mark is being quite vocal at Trigg and painting Adeline in a less than favorable light.”

“Misunderstanding! A misunderstanding was Mark thinking it was a good idea to proposition Adeline in the first place. His reaction to her rejection was inappropriate!” Jordan is very close to yelling, and I’m still and frozen by his side. My heart is warm with his defense, but my body is cold with the unspoken threat. Should I lose my internship, should I receive bad marks for my time at Foster’s, my career will be off to a decidedly bad start. I’ve strived to maintain the highest grades my stamina would allow. This coveted internship was the final hurdle to seal my career path. To think Mark’s unfavorable, albeit vindictive, opinion of me could affect Trigg’s willingness to allow me to continue work on their project could ultimately have a lasting impact on my internship and moreover my career. Hell, it’s damn unfair frankly, and while I’m pissed, I’m also terrified.

But Jordan reads my mind as he speaks once again. “She doesn’t deserve to have her record tarnished because of Mark’s misplaced and inappropriate affections.”

“Jordan, I’ve kept her on the job, and she’ll have a chance to see this project through to the end. I’ve reviewed her design boards. They’re impressive, and you know I won’t remove her from this project unless absolutely necessary. However, her department head at Columbia is asking to speak with her. Apparently, Mark decided to take it upon himself to fill him in on the events of Friday, naturally giving his own personal, skewed rendition of the meeting.” Foster is shaking his head in disgust as he looks to me and continues. “Dr. Lynch would like to see you today as soon as you can make it there. You don’t need to return to the office today. I want you to take the rest of the day off, and please don’t think it’s any reflection of what happened Friday. You have my complete support on this matter, and it’s quite apparent you have Jordan’s as well.”

I nod. It’s the only response I can muster. I can’t say I’m shocked, but I’m certainly terrified. Dr. Lynch is the head of the Interior Design Program at Columbia, and while my experience with him has always been positive, I suddenly feel as though I’m being sent to the principal’s office. I’m the good student, not the one who causes chaos such as this, and on top of all of that I’ve done nothing wrong! I should be furious, and I am to a degree, but at the moment I’m more terrified of the threat this holds over my future than anything else.

I say nothing. I have no idea what to say, but as both Jordan and Foster continue to watch me while Vera glares from the wall she’s standing next to, I panic, feeling as though I ought to say something. I manage an, “Okay,” but nothing else. Vera is being oddly quiet, but the smirk that passes her expression as I stand to leave tells me she’s enjoying my predicament.

Jordan stands with me and comments to the room, “I’ll walk you out.”

I nod without making eye contact as I move toward the door. Jordan follows me in silence to my cubicle as I grab my purse, and just when I think he intends to say nothing, do nothing, regard me in no way, he brushes a tender and gentle hand on my shoulder as I turn to walk past him out my cubicle. I still at his touch, wanting more, wanting him, wanting some sort of comfort, and he gives it. As I stop midstride, he pushes me back to the workspace desktop and reaches for my face.

We’re hidden by the interior of my cubicle, and as his hand touches my cheek, I look to his eyes, and in intense slow motion he leans to my lips, places a gentle kiss, and moves his mouth to my ear. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t forget that.” My heart is fluttering with intense longing, and my knees are wobbling in my desire, but I have other battles to fight before I can think of him. I thank him and walk again from my cubicle with his gaze trailing after me.

* * * *

Upon arriving at Dr. Lynch’s office, I’m left waiting in the reception area, my nervousness mounting by the second. When at last I’m called into the office, Dr. Lynch smiles warmly but hesitantly. My hands are clammy, shaky, and I’m struggling not to let terror touch my expression. I’m offered a seat and sink to the soft surface, thankful to take my weight off my wobbly knees.

Dr. Lynch sits, regarding me only a moment before he starts speaking. “I’ve spoken with Foster, and I want you to understand you’re not in any kind of trouble. He feels strongly you’re not to blame for Mr. Lear’s behavior on Friday, and I can assure you while Mr. Lear may have contacted me, his portrayal of the events doesn’t fit with any experience I’ve had with you, and quite frankly reeked of resentment. I’m sorry you had to endure such awful treatment by him. But I want to be clear with you, this job is a large undertaking for an intern, and if you are in over your head on this one, I want to know. You’ve been one of my best students, but you are still a student, and I would rather remove you from this project than see your rating on this internship suffer.”

This last comment isn’t appreciated in any way, and I’m left defending myself. “I am more than capable of handling this job, and my design boards are spot on! This whole mess had nothing to do with my ability to handle the project!” I don’t want to sound angry, I don’t want to sound defensive, but I do.

Dr. Lynch raises his hands in placation and responds. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t suggesting you weren’t doing a good job on this project. In fact, I only just got off the phone with your manager, and it was made clear your performance was impressive.”

“Who, Vera?” My face must register incredulity.

Dr. Lynch is quick to correct. “No. The project manager—Mr. Ellinwood. He’s sending over your project boards for me to review, and he made it quite clear your performance on this project has been top notch.” I can’t stop the small smile that takes over my mouth as I drop my gaze to my lap to disguise my response, but Dr. Lynch isn’t done speaking yet. “Is there any reason I need to worry about you going back to Foster’s? I don’t want to be responsible for putting a student in a negative atmosphere or situation.”

Vera’s face pops into my mind but is quickly replaced by Jordan’s as I shake my head. I don’t want to leave Foster’s. I’m offended about what happened with Mark, but it’s not Foster’s fault and certainly not Jordan’s. I have a lot riding on this one project and my successful completion of it, but I want to be there. I want to be near Jordan. He’s an amazing teacher, and he’s been an amazing influence and support to me over the past few weeks—more than I could ever have thought he might be. Truth be told, I want to work only with him. He makes me competent, capable, even proud of my abilities, and I can imagine no better teacher at this point in my education. He’s important to me. I’m attached in many more ways than just my physical attraction, and dangerous as this is, I’m powerless to pull away now.

Dr. Lynch is watching me as I process his words. There’s plenty of threat that hangs over my head at Foster’s, Vera being only one, but I need to be there. I shake my head in response to Dr. Lynch’s question, and he eyes me suspiciously. He must think I’m insane for wanting to stay after the Trigg disaster, but he eventually accepts what I say and walks me to the door.

“Good luck, Adeline. Please let me know if you need anything. You have two very strong supporters in Foster and Ellinwood, but if you have any problems, I want to know about it.” I nod as we say our good-byes, and I leave.

The moment I’m out of the building, I relax and breathe an enormous sigh of relief. I was terrified what would happen during this meeting. Dr. Lynch has never been mean or intimidated me before, but I’ve always been the star pupil, not the problem child. I hop the ‘L’, still with relief coursing through my veins, and I sit enjoying the peace that has come over me. It’s starting to rain and there is a spring chill in the air, and a lovely quiet afternoon alone sounds like just what I need, but looking out the window to the passing city a sadness tinges my mood. I want to see him. I’ve craved him since the moment we parted Friday evening. This morning was filled with stress and worry, and having him by my side was so appreciated—his touch, his kiss. Now my fear has passed, I am alone, and I don’t want to be.

Chapter 10

I mount the stairs to her door two at a time. It really is an interesting house. Wide, expansive porch that leads to her doorstep, but it also looks as though it may crumble at any moment. I ring the door, and my heart flutters in anticipation. I’ve wanted her every moment I’ve been away from her. Ducking out for the afternoon was perhaps a bit reckless, but I’ve spent years being overly committed to my career, and at the moment I want to be overly committed to only her.

Her fear this morning had me ready to fight for her, protect her. As always, my strong need to take care of her took over my mind the moment she was in my presence. Vera was enjoying Adeline’s fear far more than any decent person would, and I hate her for it. I want to make Vera disappear from Adeline’s world, and I’ve never wanted to punch a woman more in my life.

As she answers the door, standing in only yoga pants and a college sweatshirt, I hold out a small gift bag. She looks incredible. Her long hair is pulled up in a high, messy ponytail, and she’s wearing no makeup. Her skin looks fresh and clean, unblemished, pale, and smooth. She takes the bag from my outstretched hand with a small smile passing her lips. She pulls the gray tissue from the gray bag and peers inside. Now it’s my turn to smile, and as she looks to my eyes she pulls the small box of condoms from the bag, laughing. I take the opportunity to sweep her into my arms and lift her gently to straddle me. I’m already hard, have been since the checkout line at the drugstore, and I move us quickly down the hall to the first door, hoping it’s the bedroom.

I get lucky and plant her on the bed, taking my place above her. I’ve not been inside her apartment, and while I’ve thought about her home and my want to explore it, at the moment I can think of only one thing: my cock and her tight pussy. I pull her sweatshirt over her head and gaze at her naked skin. She’s braless, and her small, round breasts are stunning. Her nipples are tight and erect, waiting for my mouth. I run my thumbs over the tight nubs slowly while I watch her eyes. She’s watching me, and her breath is ragged and her expression needy.

When I lower my mouth to her neck, she turns her head to give me all the access I could want. I nibble, suck, and trail my tongue to her clavicle while her body shudders and her muscles tense and release. I move down farther to her breasts, tasting her sweet skin tinged in her unique scent. I flick one nipple with my tongue as her stomach muscles clench in response, and then I latch myself to her needy breast. First one and then the other is laved, tormented, and teased until her back arches into my mouth and her pelvis writhes at my touch.

When I pull back to meet her eyes, her eyes are hooded, seductive, and very impassioned in her need. I lean to her lips, claiming them slowly and gently before pushing past them with my tongue and invading her warm, delicious mouth. I explore and stroke her tongue with my own, savoring her flavor and the silken skin. Her hands are on me, clutching my shoulders, stroking my biceps, and pulling me to her body. She fumbles with the buttons of my shirt and pulls it off me. Her hands then find my pectoral muscles and knead, squeeze, and caress my tight chest muscles. Her fingers are demanding and warm against my skin, and I’m so ready for her I want to explode without her even touching my most sensitive appendage.

I’m stiff as a rock and desperate to enter her body, but I’m patient. Her hands move down my chest to my stomach, and I want her touch. I’ll give her all the time she needs to make this journey, knowing her touch will be worth the wait. I continue to kiss her mouth, moving back to her neck, nuzzling and nibbling my way to her ear as she continues to let her hand wander. I haven’t felt her hand on my cock since our first night together, and it nearly undid me then. I’m desperate for her, and as her fingers undo the button of my pants and then work the zipper down slowly, my cock practically thrusts out of my pants and the parting fabric. She pushes me gently with her hands on my chest to my back, moving her body to rest on her side beside me.

She lets her gaze travel down my body, starting at my eyes. She stops at my groin and slowly reaches for me. Her first touch has my body jumping. She runs a gentle hand down the length of my still-clothed, rigid shaft, and as my sigh escapes my lips, her eyes snap to mine. A very sweet, small smile passes her lips as her eyes return to my arousal. She slowly pulls the waistband of my underwear out and along my groin as the head of my cock springs free. I flex my hips, lifting them from the bed as I pull my pants and underwear down my hips. She picks up where I left off as my bottom returns to the soft quilt on her bed. She pulls the pants and underwear down as her eyes focus on my penis. When she finally has me unclothed, she looks to my eyes once more.

Her nervousness is an expression she always struggles to hide. I’ve seen it so many times, but it has never been more appreciated than in this moment. I usually want to push it from her mind, protect her from it, but right now I want to see it. It means she’s taken over as powerfully as I am by our coupling, and it frightens her; it frightens me too.

Leaning her mouth to my groin, I hold my breath, waiting for her lips. At her first touch, I moan. Her lips are warm as they pass over the head of my penis. Her lips distend to take all of my breadth, and I’m mesmerized by her mouth taking in my body. She sinks as far as she can along my shaft before pulling her mouth back up slowly, passing over every inch of sensitive skin. When she reaches the head again, she doesn’t push back down. Instead she lets her lips pop over the tight skin of my cockhead. She pulls back from me as I watch in fascination. She’s taking her time, and her torture may just kill me.

Her eyes are focused on my penis, and she reaches her hand to me. I prop myself up on my elbows, not wanting to miss a moment of her touch. She trails her fingers over the rigid, throbbing veins. She traces the line of my foreskin, watching my cock dance and jump at her enticing touch. She brushes the pad of her thumb over my opening, trailing a line of my precum down the length of my shaft with her finger. Her lips are parted, and she is studying me so closely. When she reaches the base of my cock, her fingers continue to my scrotum. I’m tight in my arousal, and she trails her fingers over the sensitive skin, rounding my tight testicles with the palm of her hand, and when she’s finally done touching, she looks to my eyes once more before lowering her mouth to me again.

When her lips pass over the head of my penis once again, I shake, my muscles clench and I have to fight not to come. She’s tortured me for too long, and I’m pathetically at the end of my rope. I let her suck and fuck me with her mouth for as long as I can bear, before grabbing her underarms and pulling her to mount my body.

She watches me in confusion, wanting to understand why I stopped her so quickly, and I admit my weakness while stroking my finger across her lips. “I don’t want to come here.” And then reaching between our bodies and between her legs to her still clothed sex, I continue. “I want to come here, and right now, you’re driving me crazy.”

I move her from my body to her knees beside me, and once there I slide her yoga pants and underwear down her hips. She’s lightly haired, and as I lean my mouth to her sex, I take in her scent. I want to devour her body, but my cock has been patient enough. I pull her body to lie on her stomach as I finish pulling her pants and underwear from her body. Her bottom is round and her cheeks are perky and tight. I want to knead the globes harshly with my hands, but I’m done with anything but fucking her at this point. I’ll play with her body later.

I move my body to hug against her backside with my knees outside of hers and my cock resting between the cheeks of her bottom. I reach one hand under her body and around her waist, lifting her hips slightly off the bed, and as I lean to her ear, I whisper my instructions. “Now part your knees just a bit so they touch mine.” She complies, and I continue. “Push your bottom up.” She does as I ask, and as I let loose her waist to brace my weight, I move my other hand down her bottom to her only slightly exposed pussy. She’s slick and wet with need, and I will have no problem entering her this way.

I tear open the box of condoms left abandoned on her nightstand, and in record time I’ve rolled the condom on and taken my place once more against her body. My hand has returned to holding her around her waist, while my other guides my rigid length to her body. She is still and nervous, and when the head of my cock nudges at her entry, she tilts her bottom upward some more. I thrust a gentle and shallow penetration into her constricted passage, made all the more tight by her barely parted thighs, and finding my way in between the folds of her wetness I pound one swift, harsh thrust to my hilt within her. She lets out a loud and unrestrained moan as I sink to her depths, and I stay still within her, pulling her body back to mine by my arm around her waist.

I pull slowly from her body, before thrusting with one more harsh, pounding drive to her core, and she again lets loose a moan from deep within her gut. I pound over and over and over, nearly losing myself with each and every thrust. Her tightened closed thighs have her passage constricted and unimaginably tight, but I want to watch my cock taking over her body, so I pull from her completely, move my knees within hers, and push her knees out wide with my own. I can see every last inch of her most private entries, and I want to invade every last one of them, but I don’t.

I align my penis to her wet and needy pussy and watch as I enter her inch by inch, slowly distending her entry. I watch every thrust, every penetration, as it takes over her body, and with my arm once more around her waist I reach lower to her clitoris and stroke and brush my fingers over her tight, sensitized nub. Her stomach muscles quiver and contract in her need for release, and as I close in on my own release, hers tears through her and leaves her collapsed on the bed panting as I continue to push my cock in and out of her while my orgasm overcomes me and then fades.

I finally leave her body, collapsing beside her and stroking her back in slow circles. She looks to my eyes and watches me as my hands caress her pristine, smooth skin. I lean to her shoulder and kiss the soft, pale skin that covers her shoulder blade before returning to her side and pulling her body into my arms. She drifts off to sleep, but I stay awake, thinking endlessly of her.

I’m alive again. I carried a weight of guilt I more often than not refused to acknowledge with every woman I indulged in for one night before turning them loose. I wanted nothing more from them than their bodies, and I made that fact clear. While they accepted this for their own reasons, I used them to satisfy my hunger for sex, but in that dark corner of my mind I pretended didn’t exist, I felt guilt. I was using them and denying my emotional needs.

But the girl beside me is different. God only knows why, but she is so compellingly different. I feel guilt with her as well, but for a completely different reason. My guilt with her is for sharing her bed but not a bed that belongs to us both; it’s for being in her home rather than a home that is ours together; and it’s for taking her body but not fully giving her my heart. Her whole being begs for more than meaningless, cold sex, and while she doesn’t ask for more than what I’ve given her, I want, for the first time in so many years, to give her more.

Chapter 11

When I wake, I’m alone, but he’s tinkering with something in the kitchen. I move from the bed and grab my clothes, tossing them on quickly before padding barefoot down the hall. Entering the kitchen, I find him half in and half out of the sink cupboard—must have found my leak. Not going to say that’s not embarrassing. Jordan is lying on his back, and as I clear my throat he slides forward to peer at me while leaning back on his elbows. He’s smirking.

“You realize using a pan to catch a leaky pipe is only effective if you intend to change the pan occasionally?” He’s still smirking, and I give him my best snarled lip.

He chuckles, shaking his head, and sits, slinging his arms across his knees, still holding the wrench he was working with in his grime-streaked hands. He’s wearing his charcoal-gray wool slacks and nothing else, sitting on my ugly, old, dirty kitchen floor. It’s a travesty really. I’m guessing the slacks alone are worth more than my kitchen.

“So what exactly is your point?” I feign ignorance with another screwed-up face.

He’s quick to respond, his amusement showing in his sarcastic smile. “Well since you asked. I got up thinking I’d make dinner… Then, I discovered there is literally no food in your fridge.” His turn to screw up his face in a sarcastic grimace that makes me laugh. “Then, I found a frozen pizza in your freezer. Then,” and yes, his “thens” are becoming quite exaggerated, “I found out your oven doesn’t work. Then, I cleaned up the cheese that fell off the frozen pizza, and then, you won’t believe what happened when I rinsed the washrag in the sink.” He pauses for effect as I shake my head in mock consternation. “Water started pouring from under the sink onto my feet. And now you find me here.” He’s smiling his beautiful seductive smile once again.

“Hmmm. That’s…”

“I’m not finished.” He cuts me off, laying on the exaggeration full force. “I’m now starving, and not just starving, but starving for pizza. I’ve decided your landlord should be arrested for allowing you to live like this, and I’m starving. Starving. Pizza starving.” Enunciating each word. He’s having fun. Mr. Serious, or is it Mr. Sexy-Serious, is really quite funny when he wants to be. “I’m glad you’re dressed. We’re going out for pizza.”

“Can I wear this, or do I need to change?” I’m suddenly feeling a bit underdressed.

“You can go naked so far as I care as long as I get my pizza … and a shower first.” He holds up his dirty hands. Then, letting his eyes rake over my body hidden beneath my baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants, he continues. “Perhaps your body first, and then a shower. Take your shirt off.”

I waste not even one second before pulling the sweatshirt over my head, already tingling in anticipation at his words, and once I’m standing in front of him in only my yoga pants, he asks me to turn around. I do slowly, and as I move, I hear him stand from the floor. He closes the space between our bodies in an instant, and suddenly his warm breath is on my neck where he places a small kiss.

“Do you know how incredible your ass looks in these pants?” His voice is husky in my ear as my body continues to respond.

I’m in too good a mood not to let my sarcasm play his game. “How incredible?”

Rather than words, I feel his mouth. First his lips graze my shoulders, but they quickly move down my back, trailing tickling kisses as they go. Once at the small of my back, he plants warm, sucking kisses on the skin just above my waistband, slipping his dirty fingers gingerly past the waistband and easing my underwear and pants down my hips to my thighs.

“Lean over the counter.” I bend at my waist as he watches. He sinks to his knees behind me and slowly and gently kisses, sucks, and trails his tongue along the round cheeks of my bottom. His touch is relaxing and soothing to my tense and aroused body. His mouth moves enticingly close to the cleft of my cheeks before moving to the exposed lips of my vagina as they reach the apex of my thighs. I shudder at the light teasing touch of his mouth, craving more.

When his mouth makes very deliberate contact with the sensitive lips of my sex, my stomach muscles clench and contract. He’s so close to my bottom, and the exposure has me quivering in nervousness and excitement. He runs his tongue between the slick folds of skin as my muscles continue to go crazy, but he abruptly stops, stands, tells me to stay still, and walks from the room. He returns moments later and tosses a condom on the counter by my hand and tells me to spread my legs farther apart. I do, waiting for him to undress and reach for the condom, but he doesn’t do either. He returns to the floor behind me, and his mouth latches to me quickly, licking, sucking, and laving every inch of my needy skin.

He torments my flesh until I come unglued, and my orgasm wobbles my knees and I slacken against the counter. Standing behind me once again, he leans to my ear and speaks as I fight to catch my breath. “My fingers are too dirty to touch you. Is this?” He’s touching the handle of the polished marble pestle sitting in the mortar directly in front of me. Holy shit! He can’t be serious, but of course he is, and as he grasps the handle and holds it in front of me waiting for my response, he speaks again. “I need to know because I’d hate to fuck your sweet little pussy with this if it isn’t clean. So tell me, is it clean?”

I could lie. I could say it isn’t. Save myself this little game he has in store for me, but I don’t. I don’t want to stop him, and as much as I want him inside of me, I want to give him what he wants. I nod, unable to find any words, and as I do, he pulls the pestle out of my line of sight and behind me, trailing the cold, hard tool down my back. It sends a shiver through my body as it runs its course over my bottom, landing at the warm, wet entry still begging to be touched. The cool, hard material soothes the warm, desperate need radiating from my body, and as he gently pushes the phallic instrument into my body, I tense. The invasion doesn’t compare to Jordan’s breadth and size, but it’s hard as steel and cold against my warm and wet skin.

Every slight and slow movement into my tight sheath spreads the cooling sensation deeper. He’s working it into my body slowly, withdrawing it after every small thrust, pushing deeper and deeper with every penetration. Once he’s reached my depth, my channel is cool and soothed from the foreign shaft. He thrusts with a gentle and controlled power as he moves his body to close the space beside me. His unoccupied arm rests easily on the counter next to me as his hand caresses and pinches my nipples. He’s watching the side of my face as I pant and writhe next to him, and leaning to my ear he speaks once more. “How does that feel?”

I have to fight to get the words out in my utter lack of composure. “Cold … hard.”

“Do you like it?” I nod quickly as he pinches my nipple and nearly sends my body into the throws of another orgasm, but he isn’t done with me yet. “I want to watch you fuck yourself. Reach between your legs.” I do, and as my hand meets his, still thrusting his gentle strokes, he moves the pestle to my hand, and I take the cool handle within my shaky hand. I push gently, feeling the ease with which it enters my aroused body, and as I continue his strokes he steps back behind me and kneels again.

His mouth moves to the cheeks of my bottom, once again kissing and sucking the muscles of my buttocks with his powerful lips. He sucks, grips, releases, and starts all over again as I continue to thrust. His breathing is quickening, and I can hear his arousal in the shuddering breath that escapes his lips, and when he orders me to come I fall apart in an instant, once again fighting to stay on my feet. Standing swiftly behind me, he grabs the condom packet, tears it open, drops his pants, and pulling my hand from the pestle lets it drop to the floor before pounding into my entry.

His heat fills me and his girth stretches me as his groin pins my weak body to the counter, and what was cool and hard becomes a tingling, thick warmth that invades me and distends me. He thrusts harshly one stroke after another, pausing only long enough to spin me around, lift me to the counter, and then drive another powerful stroke to my core. His lips attack mine as his tongue takes over my mouth, and he continues to claim my body. Coming with clenched jaw and a nearly pained look on his face, his strong body spasms and pulses within me. He finally drops his forehead to mine as his breathing slows.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He finds his voice after I’ve spent long moments listening to his body calm.

“Umm. The … uh … hot knob is cold and the … uh, cold is hot…” I’m humiliated, but he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “And … uh … you have to be quick or the tub will flood… drain’s not … working so well.” He pulls from my forehead, smiles gently, and leans to my mouth. His kisses are sweet, all the fervor and fury of his body released with his orgasm, and his lips are now gentle and soft.

He pulls his still-hard length from my body as he bends to grab his discarded pants from the floor. He pulls his wallet from his pants, pulls out a credit card, and after asking me to order whatever kind of pizza I want so long as it’s pizza, he kisses me one more time before he turns and walks from the room. I’m mesmerized by his figure and strength.

He intrigued me and aroused me the moment I first saw him in the bar nearly a month ago, and he’s more intriguing and arousing in this moment than I ever imagined he would be. I know him, and yet, I don’t. I feel close to him, but I can’t say I understand why. He doesn’t do “next times,” yet he keeps coming back for more.

Chapter 12

I stayed with Adeline as long as I dared before leaving. I didn’t want to seem too desperate, though I without doubt am, and while I wanted to drag her off to my house to enjoy for the remainder of the evening, I willed my body to leave hers and left alone to suffer the loneliness I feel anytime I’m away from her. Amazing how quickly she’s taken over my thoughts and mind. I used to enjoy my freedom, the ease of my life, but it’s now more pathetic than desirable.

When I arrive at Foster’s the next morning, I seek her out before I even make it to my office. At least at Foster’s I have a valid reason to be close to her other than being obsessed with her. When I pop my head into her cubicle to see her chatting on the phone with someone, a quick pang of jealousy hits. I have no reason to think she’s talking to another man, but her ease and casualness with the other unknown person leaves me wanting her to have that same comfort with me. She’s close to whoever it is, and I want to be close to her too. She hangs up quickly, flashing a beautiful smile, and though I shouldn’t, I duck quickly into her cube and plant a gentle kiss on her warm, supple lips.

“Who were you talking to?” I hide the intense interest in my voice by standing nonchalantly by.

Her smile is gentle and unknowing as she responds. “My best friend. She wants to take me to lunch today.”

“We’re going to be at the site later. You should have her pick you up there.” And introduce her to me. I can’t help but wonder if she’s spoken about me to her best friend. She lost her virginity to me. Isn’t that something worthy of sharing with a best friend? I’m like a jealous boyfriend, and aren’t I? I want to mean something. She sure as hell means something to me; what that actually is, I have no idea, but it’s unnerving to say the least.

“Sure,” is the only response I get, but it’s enough. At the very least she’s not afraid for me to meet her best friend. I’ll take it.

* * * *

When Adeline’s friend calls her cell phone for directions while we’re reviewing inventory numbers for fixtures at the site, I’m nervous. It’s like I’m getting ready to be interviewed. It’s ridiculous, but I have this incredible fear her best friend could make or break Adeline’s opinion of me, and it terrifies me. As I walk Adeline to meet her, I pull her into a side hallway and into my arms. I can’t understand what it is that has me so frightened, but this is a part of her life I know nothing about. I want to know every part of her life. I want to be a part of everything in her life, and I have no control, no grasp over this particular relationship. It’s ridiculous! I may have learned a good deal about Adeline over the past many weeks, but I’ve barely scratched the surface. I want to be fully engrained in her life. I’m ready for that, and yet it terrifies me. That’s not me. It’s not how I live my life. But suddenly, it’s exactly what I want, everything I want, from her.

I capture her lips with mine. They’re warm, and though moments before her path was laid to the curb in front of the building, she’s easily derailed by my mouth. I claim her taste until I can’t legitimately make a case for kissing her any longer before finally letting her go and returning her to her path. I take her hand, and she stills for only a moment before walking on. As we exit the building, I glimpse what must be her best friend standing by a lovely yet boring-looking economy-type car. She smiles at the mere sight of Adeline, and I have a swift flash of appreciation for this woman whom I know nothing about. She obviously cares about Adeline; the expression on her face makes this clear, and I like her for it.

When we approach, and without missing a beat, the best friend holds her hand out to me and speaks. “You must be Jordan. I’m Kelli. It’s good to meet you.”

My ego trills in excitement at her words. She has indeed heard about me. Thank God. But looking to Adeline, her wide-open and embarrassed eyes regard the dear Kelli. But Kelli returns her gaze with her own cool, knowing expression. I’m struggling just to keep the shit-eating grin from my face.

When Kelli speaks next it takes every ounce of my will power not to respond in exactly the way I want to respond. “Would you like to join us for lunch, Jordan?”

“Maybe next time.” My eyes flash to Adeline’s just to catch her expression falter as she matches my heated eyes. “You ladies have a good lunch.” And then to Adeline I continue, “I’ll see you back here in a while. Have fun.” And then rather than humping her leg, I lean to her mouth while Kelli watches. It’s just one sweet kiss, but it serves its purpose. Adeline blushes, Kelli’s mouth drops open before a smile flashes across her expression, and I turn, walking away without a second look. I want to look. I want to stare. I want to take it all back and go with them, but I feign calm and cool. I’m neither.

Chapter 13

Kell is relentless. She’ll give me no peace whatsoever on the Jordan front, and I do my best-friend duty and fill in the details. Every last detail, graphically explained. She can handle it; in fact, she’s eating it up. She thinks he’s gorgeous, just a bit terrifying, but smitten. I think she’s lost her mind, but I still like the idea of him being as passionate as me. I want him to desire me in the unrelenting pathetic way I do him, but it’s decidedly hard to imagine. I still struggle to dress myself in a way that falls in line with the dress of Foster’s. I live in a dilapidated, old apartment. My plumbing leaked on his precious, perfect feet, and his strong, beautiful hands dirtied themselves on the muck of my sink trap.

It’s hard to feel anything but inept with this man. And yet, though I’m not sure why or how, he wants me to be just as assured and confident as he. He relishes my success, and I love him for it. I can’t possibly love him after so little time together, and yet I do. He’s given strength and assurance at a time when I, by virtue of the newness of everything around me, had none. He fights for me, even though he doesn’t owe it to me, and I’ve given him no reason to think I deserve his attention, but it means the world to me.

When I return to the Market Street location, I’m surprised to find the drywall is going in on the model condo. It wasn’t expected until the next week, and being ahead of schedule is unusual in the industry, but who’s complaining? Jordan is already busy talking with the crew foreman who came to oversee the installation.

After fifteen minutes of feeling underfoot, I’m approached by Jordan, who has been speaking with the workmen. He never once looked out of place while I’ve been tripped over three times already. He takes my elbow and pulls me from the room and down the hallway to what will eventually become the bedroom. The room has been framed out, but only partially drywalled, and while we are alone in this part of the house, we certainly aren’t truly alone. At any moment one of the workmen could round the corner from the kitchen to the hallway and have a direct view of the majority of the bedroom’s interior.

One look to Jordan’s eyes makes it clear he’s not the least bit concerned with our privacy. Instead of thinking of such trivial things as discretion, he pushes me against the exposed brick wall. The location along the wall only affords the smallest measure of shelter from the open hallway wall, but it will do little to truly hide us from any would-be nosy workmen. The sounds of the occasional hammer, saw, and items being shuffled about are the only consolation I have the workmen are truly disposed at the moment.

He reaches his hands to the hem of my skirt, and as he starts inching it up my thighs, my body quivers. He moves quickly to work my skirt to my waist, and then pulling my underwear down and letting them drop to my ankles, he holds my hand as I step out of them. He grabs a condom out of his pocket, and dropping his pants to his ankles in one swift movement, he rolls the condom over his already rigid and erect length before moving his forearms to the inside of my thighs and lifting me to rest my back against the wall. He pushes his groin toward my exposed and ready sex and uses his erection to nudge at my entry, but he makes no further move to enter me.

“Go on. You know what to do.” His voice is quiet and husky in his arousal. His breath hitches as my fingers close around his length. I guide the head of his cock to my wetness, and once in position he pushes slowly and smoothly into my body. He’s pinning me to the wall with his groin, and as he starts to stroke in and out of my body, I watch his eyes. They’re dark, and the continuous furrow and release of his brow tells me he’s already struggling to control his movements. But he does restrain his release as he continues to pound into my body, and then leaning to my ear he whispers in a quiet voice, “Did you tell your friend how much you enjoy fucking me? Hmm? Does she know what I do to your body?

I can barely mutter the word “yes” as he continues to thrust and pull from me over and over and over. His words send electricity to my core, and I’m panting and wanting to scream my release desperately. As my orgasm takes over me completely, and I fail to restrain the cry, he takes my mouth with his own, stifling my cries.

Leaning to my ear once more, he mutters as his own release consumes him. “Oh God, Adeline. You feel so incredible.” He’s grunting, fighting to control his voice, and as his orgasm tears through his body and his moan escapes loudly from his mouth, I cover his mouth with my palm. His cries and the hitching release of his breath are on the palm of my hand as his eyes hold mine desperately, and as his head sinks to my shoulder I finally release his mouth as he fights to slow his breathing. He buries his head against my neck as he continues to pin me to the wall with his groin. He’s still hard and buried inside my body. He’s holding me to the wall, and it isn’t until many long seconds have passed and his body has relaxed once again that he sets me gently on my feet, leaning to kiss me once more.

Jordan bends swiftly to his pants abandoned at his ankles and pulls them up. He straightens his clothes, but as I reach for the hem of my skirt bunched at my waist, he stops me with his hand, pulling the hem right back where it started. Kneeling in front of me once more, he lifts one of my knees to sling over his shoulder, and his fingers part my slick, wet folds. When he’s exposed my tight and sensitized nub of nerves, he leans his mouth to me and takes a very slow lick of my sex. He stops over my clitoris and teases and tortures me, but just as quickly as he found my most favorite bundle of nerves, he runs his tongue to my entry, thrusting it gently within me. His mouth soothes the stretched and sore flesh he so harshly invaded only minutes before, and it isn’t until he’s tasted every ounce of skin there that he returns to pleasuring my clitoris.

I come again, clenching my fists to stifle the sound that begs to escape from my throat, and as soon as his mouth has left my body, he stands swiftly and plunges his tongue into my mouth, sharing my aroused taste with me. His lips pull at mine, and I match his vigorous and desperate need with my mouth. When his lips pull from mine, he pulls me into his arms and strokes my back, tracing all over the contour of my shape. He works the hem of my skirt back where it belongs at my knees, and once finished with my clothes he clutches and grips my bottom through the fabric of my skirt.

When he pulls us both back to the kitchen to the crew still busily working on the drywall, Jordan looks as cools as can be. I, on the other hand, swear my face is flushed bright red, my clothes must be in disarray, and God only knows what my hair must look like. Jordan steals glances at me regularly with a subtle smirk passing his lips whenever our eyes meet. He looks as amazing as always, and no one is the wiser for our little indiscretion.

As the workers finish up, Jordan and I walk them to the door, but rather than following them out, we stay. As soon as they are out of sight, Jordan pulls me back within the condo and into his arms for another long and slow kiss. When he releases my lips, I sink to the floor in front of him, intent on returning the favor he so willingly gave me earlier, and as I pull his cock from his pants and he feels my first touch, his body sinks to the wall behind him. I suck and I pull him within my mouth, and as I do his hand moves to my hair. His fingers twist, pull, and grip as his body becomes lost in desire. When he comes, he empties his seed within my mouth, and I taste his warm saltiness on my tongue as it is released in spasms. Looking to his eyes, I find them closed as the last of his orgasm moves through his body. He’s panting, and when I stand in front of him he pulls my body to his, and my head drops to his chest as he calms.

It’s late at this point, most people have left Foster’s for the night, and there is no reason to return to the office. As I relax into his arms and hope for more of him tonight, he makes my day when he says, “Let me take you to dinner.”

As though I’m going to refuse that offer. I nod, and after we lock up we head down in the elevator. Jordan’s car is parked at the curb, and as we approach and I reach for the passenger door handle, his hand clutches my hip and pulls me to face him. His jaw clenches once before he leans to my mouth and kisses me gently. I never tire of his mouth, the one thing he withheld from me the first time we were together but that he has shared openly with me since. His lips are needy, and his body closes in against mine, pushing me against the car door. His arousal, already hard with renewed desire, is against my stomach, and the heat between my legs is searing me to my core. I can’t get enough of this man, and for all intents and purposes he can’t get enough of me either.

He gives my body no space, not that I want space from him, as he continues to grind against me. I’m starting to envision the hood of his car again, and though it’s broad daylight on Market Street, I’m not sure it would stop this man.

Dinner is fading to the background of my mind as Jordan’s lips claim mine, but then we hear it. It’s a voice we both know well, and it startles and terrifies me in an instant.

*

“Well, well, well. Nice to see the two of you getting along so good. Though I have to admit, she hardly seems your type, Jordan. Don’t you usually go for the vain, easy sluts? Or perhaps she is a slut…”

I whip around, barely controlling my rage as I face Mark Lear head on. I put myself between Adeline and him as my fists clench at my side. I’m livid. “What the fuck are you doing here?” My words are strained behind gritted teeth, and I want to beat the shit out of this man.

“That bitch has caused me a lot of problems lately, getting me kicked off this project, but she hasn’t managed to get me fired from Trigg yet. I left a couple of things upstairs, and I intend to get them. Didn’t mean to interrupt your little playtime. Really should be careful who you fuck, Jordan; this one’s nothing more than a dick tease, and a pathetic one at that.”

I can’t imagine what it is he thinks Adeline has done that he’s not entirely responsible for, and his inappropriate anger toward her has my hackles raised and my fists ready to strike. Adeline is breathing with heavy, shuddering breaths behind me, and my body yearns to be done with this prick so I can comfort her. She’s terrified; I can sense it in her ragged, uneven breaths. And the terror coursing through my veins threatens to unleash itself in a fury aimed at the simpering Mark Lear.

“You did this to yourself you dumb fucking freak. And your misguided ploy to destroy her reputation because she rejected you made you look all the more a fool. You stay the fuck away from her. She’s done nothing to you.” My words are harsh and my expression is without doubt near crazed animal. There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do to protect her, and the realization of this nearly chokes me, but I’ve no time to consider it at the moment. Swallowing hard over the emotional lump in my throat, I step toward Lear.

He takes a step back from us, and I glare into his cold, cruel eyes as I continue to walk toward him, forcing him to retreat. When he reaches the door to the property, I give him my final words. “Get your shit and stay off our job site.”

He returns my glare, and with his final comment starts up the steps of the building, but stops as he reaches the door. “Tell me, is fucking the intern worth losing your job? I’m guessing you’re not exactly allowed to indulge in the student help, are you?” Adeline gasps behind me as I hold his harsh gaze without wavering. I give him no response, and he slips away into the building. Seeing him leave our space and a safe measure of distance put between Adeline and him, I breathe a desperate sigh of relief, but turning to see Adeline standing behind me in shock and terror stills me. I grab her and pull her into my arms, pushing us both back to the side of my car. I lean to her mouth for one last kiss before ushering her into the car.

Her body is shaking and the unease of the situation is coursing through her body, radiating to mine. As I take my place in the driver’s seat, I reach for her hand, and she meets my eyes. I’m begging for her reassurance, and she gives it. She nods as she sees my worry and tries for a weak smile. Lear’s presence has rattled us both and turned what was another incredible day with Adeline into a train wreck.

“Are you okay?” I want to take her away from this building, but I don’t want to leave with Lear still inside. I don’t trust the man on Adeline’s job site given his oh-so-resentful behavior toward her, and while I don’t want to leave her in the car alone, I won’t take her anywhere near him. She’s ready to be gone from this place and so am I, but not until Lear is gone. I leave her waiting in the car as she watches after me, and I run upstairs to babysit Mr. Lunatic. He’s snooping around when I enter, but he’s not destroyed anything.

He tries for another stab at Adeline. “She’s a lousy designer, and frankly, if you’re looking for a quick fuck, you could do a lot better.” I’m fuming at his words and bite my tongue to stow my fury. Adeline doesn’t need to be present for me to want to defend her, and besides, this freak is just plain wrong. Adeline is an impressive designer, and I could never and will never find a more amazing woman than her. There is no doubt of that fact in my mind.

I stow my rage as effectively as possible and follow Lear from the building. I will absolutely be changing the locks tomorrow. As I exit directly behind Lear, her eyes meet his for only a moment before flitting away. She’s so terribly intimidated by this man, and it makes me want to hurt him. She doesn’t deserve to fear him, and he doesn’t deserve her fear.

As I climb in next to her once more, she speaks. “I’m so glad you were here.” She reaches for my hand, and I spend the next many long moments stroking her hand, wanting to pull her to my lap but instead watching Lear to ensure he leaves. Adeline had no reason to be at the site alone today, but it’s more than conceivable she might be one of these days, and the nightmarish thoughts of what she could have endured had I not been here with her hit like a fist to the gut. I have no doubt that alone with Lear, he would hold nothing back and would do everything in his power to humiliate and destroy her.

Instead of going out to dinner, I opt to take her home with me. Neither of us are in the mood for going out, and once we arrive at my home we settle on ordering Chinese and curl up together on the couch. When the doorbell rings, she jumps in my arms, and I pull her tight to my chest before letting her go to get the food. She’s really rattled by our encounter with Lear, and I don’t blame her, but I want to push it out of her mind and set her soul at ease.

We sit on my leather sofa with the food between us. My appetite is gone, and from the looks of it, hers is too; the all too frequent glances she steals at me with a nibble on her lip tell me she has something on her mind. But so do I.

“I think we should talk to Foster about what happened.” I find her eyes as they open wide and hold mine, but she shakes her head. “Adeline…”

“What for? He showed up at the site. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was an asshole, but we already know he’s an asshole. Hell, he didn’t even touch—”

“He sure as hell would have if I hadn’t been there. I don’t trust him,” I interrupt. My expression must be harsh, given the tightness of my muscles, but she’s still shaking her head.

She shakes her head without saying a word, and it’s clear by the contemplation in her eyes she’s still debating something. Meeting my eyes once more, she confesses her worries. “Could you be fired for this?”

“‘This?’” I mock with a small smile. Her small smile passes her lips, but the wrinkle in her brow tells me she’s serious. She wants an answer more than my mocking. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Of course I do! I don’t want to be the reason you lose your job.” Her expression is concerned, incredulous even. “And for what? I’m the one-night stand, the booty call. You don’t do ‘next times.’ Remember? You can’t risk your career for this. Not for me.”

The passion in her voice is compelling were her words not so completely divergent from what I want, what I need from her. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop.” My guts clench even as my lips utter the words.

I feel as though she’s threatening me even though I know how irrational this is, but then she stops me cold with her next words, and a guilt I hadn’t allowed myself to consider grips my conscious. “What about me?” Her words are quiet as she seeks my eyes. She’s not accusing, not in the least, but I feel accused.

My gaze drops from hers. “I don’t want to jeopardize your internship.” But of course I have! “I just can’t stop with you. I’m sorry.” My eyes finally find hers again, and the emotion behind her eyes is everything I feel: sadness, defeat, emptiness, and dread. But it doesn’t really matter what pain this realization causes either of us at the moment. Her safety is still front and center in my mind. “Regardless, I want to tell Foster what happened with Mark today. I’m serious.”

“No! Tell him what? If you tell him, he’ll call Trigg’s, and they’ll ask Mark about it. Do you think there would be anything stopping Mark from outing you at that point? Outing me? We can’t hide what Mark saw today, and if we talk to Foster about this … No way!”

She’s once more incredulous, but so am I. “I don’t trust him, and I can’t stand thinking you could have been there alone, and frankly, that’s what scares me the most! I don’t know what kind of man Mark is. I’ve never seen him behave in the way he did with you during the pitch, and I’ve worked with him on and off for years. I just don’t know what to think of him at this point. He’s an asshole, I know that much, and I want Foster to know. You can’t pretend this didn’t happen, Adeline, in some misplaced desire to protect me.” She’s shaking her head, refusing, and she’s adamant. I finally give up the argument.

“I should go.” Her words hurt. This isn’t what I want. Mark has held a mirror in front of our little relationship, tossed a bit of fuel on our flirtation with trouble, and we now have a very real threat hanging over our heads, but I’m not ready to end things with her. I’m not sure I ever will be. I want her too completely, too emotionally, too intensely, and she’s pulling the rug out from under me. I don’t want to jeopardize her internship; it’s the last thing in the world I would want to do, and her decision to distance herself is a smart decision, but I can’t deny she feels so fucking right to me.

“Fine.” It isn’t what I want to say, but I have to respect her decision, even if I hate it. She’s being smart, and I’m being pathetic and reckless. I’m not upset with her in the least, but my next comment surely comes out sounding resentful and mocking. “So be it, and since we won’t be fucking anymore, your last couple months here promise to be great.” I’m muttering, but seeing the hurt in her eyes, I soften and apologize. I’m not finished with her; I can’t be finished with her. But I’ll give her the space she wants until she can bear it no longer. She desires me just as intensely as I desire her. I’ll wait until she can’t wait any longer for me.

Chapter 14

We’re silent on the ride to my place, and once we arrive he walks me to the door in silence. I’m not upset with him, and he isn’t upset with me either, but it’s uncomfortable, depressing. But I can’t stand the idea of him losing his job and destroying his career because of me. I was accusatory when I reminded him just how casual he likes to keep things. It’s not my lifestyle; it’s his. I would throw myself into his world, his life, his bed without a moment’s hesitation. I’m smitten: utterly, pathetically, taken by him, and the idea of being with him but not with him is painful to consider. I want him as much as I want this life I’ve worked so hard to achieve.

When I enter alone, he turns back to his car. I’m heartbroken for no reason whatsoever. It was my choice. I challenged him on our little arrangement. I made it clear I not only didn’t appreciate being the Jezebel in his life but he was also equally being my … Jezeman… Call it what you will, but our relationship has just as many threats to my future as it does to his. I made sure to remind him of this fact, and now I’m paying the price; I’m getting everything I told him I wanted. But this isn’t what I want at all. I don’t want to be alone in my pathetic apartment where he spent so much time pleasuring me only one day before. I don’t want to be in my bed alone, with him in his own. I want to be with him, but as I abundantly made clear, we won’t be indulging in our secret little affair anymore.

The night has closed in and darkness is all that can be seen from the windows of my apartment. I feel safe in my home; far more so than I did earlier outside the Market Street Condos, but it’s depressing all the same. Tonight was the first time I was in his home since our first night together. That first night he touched in need and desperation as much as I wanted in desperation. Nothing like my quick and unwanted escape from him tonight. I wanted to stay, and could I have stowed my worry and anxiety I would be with him right now. He wanted me to be there. He wanted me. I pushed him away.

My time with Jordan has been a confidence builder. He’s been an emotional boost I never imagined he could be. I am far more confident than I was entering Foster’s on my first day, and I owe that to him. He’s given me courage and on far more than a professional level. This beautiful man, who has no business indulging in the student help, as Mark described it, has made me feel as beautiful as he. I’m not, and yet to him I am. There is no question in my mind. But now that relationship is over, and I’m alone.

The cold abandon has set in, and I’m responsible for it—me alone. He would never hurt me, wound me, sadden me in any way. I can’t say how it is I’ve come to know him so very well, but I trust with no remaining doubt this man fights for me, and as painful as that is right now, it’s always for my protection, and I’m responsible for ending it.

I lie alone in the middle of my bed, thinking over and over about this long and draining day. I’ve had more than my fair share of them lately, and this one was as challenging as any, but I surely didn’t imagine it ending in this way—alone and lonely in my bed.

Chapter 15

On my way to work the next day, my mother calls my cell phone. She announces she and my father will be visiting me the next week. As excited as I am to see them, I’m also nervous. My life has been run through a blender since I last saw them, and I can’t help but wonder if it will show on my face or in my demeanor somehow. When she asks if they’ll be able to see the project I’m working on and have given them regular updates about, I stall. It means having a conversation with Jordan I’m not really comfortable having at the moment. Of course we’ll be working together as usual, but I haven’t quite wrapped my head around working with him in this new platonic fashion. It’s not as if we’ve been together more than a few times, and yet there was a closeness, a friendship that meant something to me that is suddenly gone. I’m worried enough about working with him, let alone asking if my parents can visit our worksite. I give the noncommittal response of, “I’ll check and see if we can do that.”

But I’m hardly being genuine, and as my mom starts saying her good-byes, she tosses in a quick, “Are you okay, dear?” I assure her I am—just another small deception to add to the pile. They’re only going to be in town for one night on their way to visit my aunt in Washington, D.C., so I really should be making more of an effort to comply with their wishes, but I’m so frigidly worried about the Jordan front.

When I log on to my computer, I’m met with an instant message from Jordan asking if I’d like to go to lunch. I manage to lie twice in one sentence when I respond I’m not taking lunch. First lie: of course I’d like to go to lunch with him. I’d like to do a million things with this man, and lunch is the least of them but still a very enjoyable thing. Second lie: I have no reason not to take a lunch, and given the fact I have to eat, and quite frankly enjoy eating a good deal, I will without doubt be taking some sort of lunch. Jordan finishes the conversation by saying we have no reason to go to the job site today as there will be no contractors there until the drywall finishers return the next day to complete the bedroom we had so much fun in yesterday. At least he’s making it easy to avoid him.

When Bridget stops by my desk to see if I want to run to the little café around the corner for lunch, I agree. I’m hit with an instant pang of guilt, having already told Jordan I wasn’t going to lunch, but it was nothing more than a deflection, a bold-faced lie. I want to have lunch with Bridget, not nearly as much as I’d like to have lunch with Jordan, but I don’t have any reason to refuse her. She’s quirky, she makes me laugh, and she’s one of the few people at Foster’s who is just as much of a nerd as I.

We walk the short distance to the café and grab a table. Murphy’s Law deciding to bitch slap me for my deceit, Jordan walks in with a few of the other principals a few minutes later. I want to slink to the floor beneath our booth, but I sit, staring as he moves with his group to a table no more than five feet away from ours. He catches sight of me within moments, and with a clenched jaw he takes a seat that allows him a position where he can keep his eyes trained on me the whole time, and he does just that. I catch him watching me every time I dare to glance his way. He’s studying me, but not glaring at me. I deserve it, and yet he is calm.

When Bridget and I are finally finished with lunch and ready to leave, I ask for the check, but the young waitress blushes quickly as she informs me the gentleman two tables over has taken care of our check for us, and then she clears our plates with one final comment. “He’s really quite handsome, isn’t he?” Yes, he is.

I follow Bridget from the table, and she stops to thank Jordan for picking up our tab. I do the same, trying very hard to sound casual. His eyes are holding mine, refusing to look away, and as I utter my thanks he comments, “My pleasure. Glad you decided to take a lunch, Adeline.” I blush at his words as my eyes widen and flit from his, but he’s not done speaking. “I need you in my office at two o’clock to discuss the Market Street project.” I nod quickly before escaping from their table.

Bridget eyes me curiously on the walk back to our office, and she spends a good deal of time contemplating something before speaking again. “Is everything going okay with Jordan? He’s never really worked with an intern before … I’m just curious. He can be a bit … intense.” She has no idea. I shrug, saying everything’s fine, but my mind is still focused on him. He watched me so carefully, so intently, and his gaze did nothing but remind me just how much I’ve given up by pushing him away. I want him with a pain that is hard to stomach, and when I get back to my desk I spend the next two hours focusing on anything at all but him. I fail, and come two o’clock I’m nearly shaking in nervousness and a good deal of anticipation.

*

She’s terrified of being near me, and as she takes the chair across from me at my desk, I want to approach her, touch her, hold her, assure her she shouldn’t feel this way with me, but I can’t do that anymore. It was her choice, and I respect it. I hate it, but she was right to put a stop to it. What do you even call a few amazing days of fucking? A relationship? Hardly, but with her, it felt very much like that.

She struggles to look at me for more than a moment, so I do my best to move our meeting along quickly, hating that I’m working to separate myself from her just to make her more comfortable. I want her comfortable with me, not ready to jump out of her skin at my presence.

We review the inventory orders she’ll be placing for our project that afternoon. There has been a significant change in the lighting fixtures we’ll be using on the project after a last-minute meeting with Trigg that morning. They loved Adeline’s choice of original vintage fixtures from a now-demolished Chicago railroad station. They were expensive, and if the budget got tight, I knew they’d be one of the first items to go, and so it was. I don’t like a fake knockoff fixture in a building of this caliber, but it’s not my decision, nor is it Adeline’s.

I give her the item details for the cheaper fixtures she’ll be ordering instead, and as her face registers her disappointment at their choice, I reassure her. “You’re not always going to get what you want on a project, but I agree. The fixtures you chose were perfect for the job, and I made sure they understood our disagreement. They’re trying to cut costs, and they’re using one of your elements to do it. I’m sorry.”

Her face shows a flash of appreciation at my words, though she has yet to say a word to me in her damn nervousness. She’s antsy and looks as though she’s ready to flee, but I’m not passing up this opportunity to bridge the gap between us. “Adeline, I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry if you felt I was taking advantage of you. I certainly didn’t mean to or want to, but…”

“No. I don’t think that at all. I’ve never felt that way.” She’s struggling to find the conviction of her words. She’s struggling to get past her discomfort with me, knowing she has to respond … and eventually, she does. “I just don’t want to see either of us ruin our careers for something that’s not going anywhere anyway.” Now it’s my turn to shut down. Her words are more than a mirror in front of my face. They’re sobering.

I made it clear I wasn’t interested in a relationship with her, and she took me at my word. What did I expect? But a relationship is exactly what I want with her. It’s a risk to both of us, given her current position at Foster’s, but it won’t always be that way. She’ll graduate, her time here will be done, and I want to be there when that happens, but that’s apparently not at all what she wants.

If those words aren’t enough, she leaves me ready to break apart with her next. “I’m moving back to Iowa once I graduate.” She’s watching me, looking for a reaction, and like the asshole I am, I give her nothing. Inside it’s as if my world is ending, but from her perspective she sees only my stone-hard exterior. “I haven’t found a job yet in Chicago. No one wants a recent college grad. They want experience I don’t have. Chicago’s just too competitive for someone fresh out of school … and I was offered a position at a small firm in Des Moines. I figure if I start back home, someday I’ll have the experience larger firms in larger cities are looking for.” It’s like she owes me an explanation. Her nervousness, her discomfort with me is there, but she keeps stumbling over her words to explain.

She wouldn’t be the first graduate to realize just how competitive this market is, but she’s selling herself short. She’s making excuses. She landed our coveted internship for a reason, and to think there will be no firms in Chicago interested in the Foster’s intern is ridiculous. Hell, my recommendation alone should get her more than enough interviews to find something. She’s given up, and I can’t help but think it may have something to do with me. This project has been hard on her. She’s been tormented by a pathetic freak of a man, Vera has treated her like dirt every last chance she’s gotten, and hell, I was hardly kind when she first started here. Though these thoughts are whirling around in my head, I still say nothing.

I want to argue, but suddenly my heart is on my sleeve, and for a man who likes to hide his away in the darkest recesses of his mind, it’s uncomfortable, especially given the vulnerable state she’s left me in by ending our relationship—whatever that word even means anymore. She’s the first woman I’ve wanted to keep since my ex-wife destroyed my world when she left me, and I’m going to let her slip away because I’m too afraid to fight for her. A flash of self-hatred washes over me as I continue to watch her, giving her no reaction whatsoever. I’m frozen in my fear of showing myself. Using my body to show her how she makes me feel is easy, but now that is gone, and I’m left wanting to confess what is in my soul, but so far outside of my emotional comfort zone I can barely breathe. Will I watch her slip away too afraid to let her see me?

I had stupidly been looking forward to working with Adeline after she put me and my cock in our place. I wanted to have her begging me to fuck her and watch as she crumbled from her want. She wants me, and the uncomfortable, sad desire buried in her eyes is all the assurance I need of this, but I’m now a shady asshole of a man who wants to protect her from myself. I’m sick and tired of having to face my shortcomings with her. She’s nothing but a constant reminder of how despicable and selfish I can be, but at the same time she has me wanting to be better.

She stands to leave with the list of items on her agenda for the day, and I watch in silence, wanting to run after her. There is nothing I can do, nothing I should do to stop her. She was right to end a relationship with a man who made it clear he valued her for only one thing and then allowed that relationship to threaten her career. She’s exactly right … but only because she doesn’t really see me, she doesn’t see what I really want from her.

Chapter 16

The next week with Jordan passes uneventfully. Sad but true. Every moment I must spend with him is strained and difficult. My body relaxes the moment I see him as though he’s some missing link in my happiness, but then I remember he’s no longer a part of my life, however casual his part in my life may have been. As soon as my emotions catch up to what my brain understands, we’re not going to be together again, the peace his presence brings to my body dissipates and leaves me resentful and petulant.

We’ve not had any further run-ins with Mark Lear at the work site, but every time the executives at Trigg show up on site, I’m certain they’re going to say something about Jordan and me. For that matter, every time I pass Foster in the hallway, I expect the same. It’s as though I’m waiting for an ax to fall on my future that is in many ways held in the clutches of a resentful prick who should never have been stupid enough to come on to me. Mark’s threat looms over us both, but Jordan shows none of my fear and concern. He hardly shows anything at all anymore.

When we work together, he’s still fair, honest in his assessment of my work, quick to compliment if it’s warranted, and quick to challenge me if necessary, but what I see when he’s not looking hurts the most. I used to catch him staring at me all the time, roving over my body or studying my face. He was tracking me constantly. Now, his gaze is often off in some distant world that doesn’t include me. When I do catch him watching me, he’s quick to look away, breaking my heart every time.

At night I dream of him. His voice is in my head, murmuring quiet, intoxicating, and incredibly inappropriate words in my ear. His strong hands and the caress of his breath are on my skin as he trails his mouth across my flesh. I can remember so easily the feel of his hard arousal forcing its way into my body. I can still see the mischievous glint in his eyes as he pushes me past my comfort zone, and more than anything, I can still sense the desperate need in his soul. He wanted me once, unexplainably; it was all about me, and now that need is gone and I’m left cold.

My hand just naturally seeks my release in his absence, my fingers exploring in much the same way his did. I’ve never much been a fan of masturbation, always chastising even my inability to do this act effectively, thinking I must be pathetic. I have always been my worst enemy after all, and even self-pleasure was a challenge to my need to criticize myself. But I miss him. I need the release he so easily gave me. I believed I deserved it with him. I didn’t care if my orgasm tore through my body with a guttural groan; I wanted it, and now he’s gone, and my body misses it. It’s no use though. I’m back to hating my inept pathetic touch, wishing instead it was his. Why oh why do I need to loathe myself so intensely? He had broken me of my need to over-judge, over-criticize, over-hate myself. He was honest, fair, genuine, and he made me feel worthy of my life, my future, even of him. But I threw him away.

It was my choice. I did this to myself. I did this to us, but the idea of being some passing whim, another notch in his bed post, just another pathetic woman to be sucked into his fleeting fantasy, is too much. Feeling out of place in this town, this firm, this life I’ve set myself up for is nothing new, but I’ve fought for this tooth and nail. I don’t want to see him destroyed for what we’ve done anymore than me, and at the same time I’m ready to run and hide in Des Moines the moment I graduate. He’s built me up, and oddly, I’m the one who’s tearing me down. It’s true I’ve not had any job offers here, but it’s the combination of it all that has me ready to run. It’s this life that is still so foreign to me; it’s this career I’m not so sure will embrace me; it’s Vera; it’s Mark; it’s as if my life is somehow over without him; it’s no longer having him there to support me through all of those things.

My parents will be arriving the following Tuesday, and the weekend is a much-needed, though unwanted, break from Jordan. Kelli spends the better part of Saturday and Sunday nursing my beat-up ego and trying her damndest to assure me I’m worthy of my life. She’s angry at him, which is odd considering this was my choice, but rallying with her on my side is still powerful … until Monday hits and my resolve, my strength, my damn resolution to see this thing through fails me completely.

I have to tell Jordan my parents want to visit the site, and I’m terrified. I speak to him every day, and yet this has me frightened. I don’t expect him to do anything but assure me it’s fine, but it’s the personal aspect that has me trilling with worry. Hiding myself from him is how I’ve escaped the emotional torture of losing him, but this will put my life squarely in front of him. If he’s there, which he likely will be, he’ll meet them. They’ll see the man who has turned my life upside down and tied my heart into knots. Part of me wants him to meet my parents, see where I came from, see who I am, but part of me is terrified to share myself so thoroughly with someone that I must, by sheer necessity, keep at arm’s length.

As I enter his office Monday afternoon with this very conversation in mind, I’m shaking with nerves. He looks from his computer and pauses at my likely terrified expression. “Adeline, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His words are tender, his expression concerned, and it melts my heart, as it always does, when he looks at me in that incredible gentle way he has with me.

“Uh … my parents are coming to town tomorrow… Just a long overnight layover on their way to D.C.” I can barely speak as he watches me. “They want to visit … visit the site… I can tell them it’s not a good idea, but I thought I’d ask…”

“Of course; it’s fine.” He looks uncomfortable at my nervousness, but his words are genuine. “I think that’s a great idea. You should absolutely show them what you’ve been working on. You’ve done a great job on this project. It supersedes anything I’ve seen an intern do. You should be proud of the job you’ve done.” The furrow of his brow shows his understanding of my hesitation. He believes in me. Even after everything that has happened, he’s pushing me forward, propelling me onward. He’s proud of me, and he wants me to share this with them.

I leave quickly after thanking him, relief washing over me. His words were as true and honest as always, but they leave me empty, just another reminder of the support I’ve lost. But he wants my parents to visit the site. He was nearly adamant they should, and I’m suddenly ready to see them. They’ll arrive fairly late this evening and will then leave on the next leg of their journey at five thirty tomorrow evening. We have only a short period of time together, but I’m reassured.

Chapter 17

When they arrive, my ears prick with immediate interest. Adeline and I have been onsite since morning, overseeing the installation of the custom cabinetry in the kitchen. It’s something of a nostalgic experience for me. I don’t usually hang out at the site so much as I do with her, but she needs to experience the full effect of seeing her design come to life, and I want to be here to watch that happen, never mind the constant fear I have of Mark showing up once again.

Every workman who enters this space brings a new piece of her vision, and she looks almost overwhelmed. Her demeanor has changed since last week, but when she sees the transformation of the condo little by little every day, there is an obvious calming of her spirit.

They enter, and I’m immediately taken by their familiarity. They are her. Her mother looks like her, and her father carries his body in much the same manner as she does. She belongs to them, and it oddly makes me jealous and radiating with warmth at the same time. I introduce myself quickly, holding a hand out to her father and kissing her mother on the cheek. Adeline watches with an earnest look, and when my eyes meet hers she gives a very gentle and quick smile.

“I’m Jordan Ellinwood. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Her father speaks first. “I’m Sam Parker. It’s good to meet you, Jordan.”

He’s kind, but there’s a sternness to this voice, and I’m reminded he was once in law enforcement. He’s trim, of medium height, and was likely quite handsome in a roguish sort of way once upon a time. He obviously knows nothing of what I’ve done to his daughter’s body, but meeting his gaze I have no problem being calm and assured. I respect her. I care for her, and this man, though programmed to protect her, is not my enemy. We care for the very same thing. The only difference is her compassion for them is tied to familial love rather than romantic. The thought stills me even as I shake his hand. I love her. Can I possibly love her? I want her to love me as truly as she does them. I want her to need my support just as she needs theirs. I want to pick up where they’ve left off. I want to be the one to care for her, support her, challenge her, and protect her now that they can’t. But she’s running back to them. Why? Because I haven’t stepped up to do any of those things. She’s pushed me away, and I’ve allowed it with no challenge whatsoever.

I have to swallow hard over the sudden lump in my throat. Adeline is watching me as I once watched her. I’ve fought with my eyes to remain distant from her, but they always beg to seek her out, to invade her mind, to overcome her obstinacy. I look to her mother, who is already watching me with intrigue and wonder. She is just as lovely as Adeline, her age showing beautifully and gracefully in the fine wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks. She looks nothing like our world. She’s simple and perfect. Her clothing is casual in the way you would expect to see in some perfect prairie town. She wears boot-cut jeans, a floral peasant-style button-up shirt, and a cardigan. She’s like a model from L.L.Bean, and she’s the perfect glimpse of how Adeline will mature perfectly and genuinely into old age—God willing with me at her side.

I like them instantly, wanting to know more, wanting to invade her life. She gives them the tour of our space we’ve designed together. She shows them the bathroom, the kitchen, the living area, and the bedroom. When we enter the bedroom both our eyes seek the space against the exposed brick wall where we made love. It was the last time we were together, and the stifling emotion in the room is palpable, and I’m guessing she feels the same. Her parents are likely the only ones in the room who don’t feel the heated energy passing between us.

Funny what was once erotic, exciting, and forbidden is now so loaded with emotion and pain, but that is how our dynamic has shifted. When I first met her, it was all about the physicality of our bodies. I wanted hers, and I damn well knew she wanted mine. Now, I still crave her body, her touch, her breath, her kiss, her warmth, her tightness that fits me so perfectly, every last part of her physical being, but it’s now so supercharged with my emotional desire it’s hard to see or understand the difference.

They move in unison around the room, and I catch her occasional glimpse as she points out different details. She’s nervous, she’s unsure once again, and I imagine pulling her into my arms as her parents stand by, reassuring her in the way she needs. My feelings are genuine, and for the first time in such a long time I feel no guilt. I’ve honored her body, her mind, her soul, and though I’ve lost her, it’s not for lack of want.

As I follow them from the room still studying their closeness, compassion, and relation to one another, I listen to their conversation. They want to take her to lunch. They must be back at the airport at three o’clock to continue their trip to Washington, D.C. Adeline’s gaze flits to mine as she considers their proposal, but before she has time to concern herself or refuse their wishes, I step in. “Why don’t you let me take you all to lunch. I’d love the chance to speak with you further, and we have some fine restaurants nearby.”

Adeline’s eyes flash to mine, and I register her concern. “You don’t have to do that…” Her expression is warning me, but there’s no need. I just want to be near her, to experience her life, to understand her better.

“Nonsense. We all have to eat. I don’t want to interrupt your time together though…” Her father shakes his head at my last comment, stopping any further question as Adeline’s mother watches us both in interest. A small smile creeps across her face as she relents to our wishes with a subtle nod, and linking her arm with Adeline’s, she steers us all toward the elevators.

*

“What do you mean you grew up alone?” My mother’s words are prying as they always are, and by the hesitant look on Jordan’s face it hasn’t escaped his attention.

But he’s a good sport as he replies, “They were always overseas. My father’s position as an ambassador required it, and by the time I knew any better I was in boarding school.”

“But who took care of you?”

“I had nannies. A number of nannies. And once I was older, I don’t know. It was just…” He looks embarrassed, vulnerable; he can’t hold my gaze and is fidgeting. Jordan doesn’t do nervous, but by the look of it he is exactly that. My mother is prying, which of course she’s good at, but it has me wanting to defend him. The sadness and humiliation in his eyes hurts. We are nothing but a reminder of everything he didn’t have in his family.

“But now … I mean … you must see them now. Right?” My mother still. She can be unrelenting. She means no harm, and by the compassioned look on her face her heart is breaking.

“Uh… Well … I mean … sometimes.” His speech is halted and lurching in his embarrassment, and it hurts me physically. His gaze flits away. “They usually call if they come to town.”

“Usually?” The woman will not stop.

“Mom, please.” I’m begging as much with my eyes as my words. I don’t want to offend him. He’s so uncomfortable, it’s hard to watch.

But my mother can ignore me with the best of them when she wants. “But I mean, what about birthdays, holidays… They visited you then, didn’t they? Or did you visit them?”

“Mom!”

“It’s okay, Adeline.” He finally looks back to my eyes, but looks away quickly again. “Umm … no … I…” He clears his throat before continuing. “I just… They were… No, I didn’t see them… They sent gifts … sometimes…” He shrugs, still fighting the humiliation, but he’s being honest and forthright. He has no reason to be embarrassed, and I wish I could tell him; of all the things I would love to say to him, it’s the most important thing he needs from me right now. But that isn’t who we are.

He clears his throat as my parents continue to study him. As the conversation moves away from him and his sad upbringing, he listens to our interaction. He looks relieved to have the heat off him, and at times he even looks amused. He’s given up withholding his eyes from mine entirely and watches me. But I’m still stuck on his words. He grew up nearly alone. His parents were always overseas, and he stayed at home being raised by nannies before eventually being shipped off to boarding school. He admitted some of these details to me already, but the candor and pain in his voice as he delved into the true details of his life was eye opening. He tried hard to act as though it was nothing, but the embarrassment was so visible, his voice far quieter than usual. My God, how is growing up alone nothing? I can’t imagine my life without my parents being present and supporting, and yet he has nearly always been alone.

His words leave me wanting to touch him, to hold him, to be close to him in any way, but he keeps the conversation from coming back around to him. “So tell me about Adeline. What was she like growing up?” Oh here we go…

*

My gaze shifts to hers as I wait for their response.

“She was smart, beautiful, the perfect daughter really…” Spoken by her mother, Andrea.

“And occasionally good at making a fool of herself!” Spoken by Sam.

Sam gets my vote, and I can’t help but question him further as Adeline’s cheeks flush with my favorite shade of scarlet. “A fool, huh? How so?”

“Well, once when she was performing in the musical Guys and Dolls, she forgot to put a slip on under her skirt that she then had to tear off in one of the scenes… She tore… But there was nothing there but underwear… She screeched and ran off stage. Her mom and I weren’t sure she’d ever recover from that one…” Her father’s voice trails off in remembrance, and his brow is screwed up in fatherly consternation; her mother slaps his shoulder, and the flush in Adeline’s cheeks deepens with the heat of her embarrassment. Oh her dear, sweet, humiliating father; I like him.

My humiliation was difficult to swallow, but delving into her life eases my conscious considerably. I laugh as I imagine her mishap, but the part of my groin attached to my brain is throbbing with the visualizing of this scene playing out in front of me.

The silly tails of her upbringing and her ever present need to embarrass herself are as much heartwarming as they are a turn-on. She has an amazing family. Her parents love her dearly, and I can see why she’s so close to them. Most of the time, my less than favorable upbringing doesn’t bother me, but it’s times such as these I wish for such a relationship in my life. I’ve missed out by not having this type of incredible close relationship with my parents, but I can usually push it away. On this day, I can see the importance of it in her life, and I’m reminded however much I may want to be so important to her, they are her world, not me.

As the conversation shifts from one thing to another, eventually making its way back to Adeline’s internship, I join in the talk, not realizing until it’s too late I’ve just outed Adeline in a way she doesn’t appreciate. “Well you must be excited she’ll be moving back to Des Moines once she’s graduated?”

I thought it was an innocent question. It never occurred to me she might actually be hiding this wee bit of information from her parents, but I realize not only is she hiding our intimate familiarity from them—I’m not complaining—but she’s also managed to forget to tell her parents she’ll be returning to Iowa after graduation as well.

Her eyes widen considerably as she chokes on a drink of tea. “Well, I just haven’t gotten a job here yet, and I can’t imagine I will before graduation at this point. I can’t afford to stay with no job…” She’s desperate to reassure them as her words tumble out. She looks to me, and I flinch at the discomfort in her eyes.

“But, Addy, you can’t leave Chicago. You’ve told us a hundred times this is where you need to be for a career in design.” Her mother’s expression looks concerned, her father looks gruff, and Adeline looks damn near devastated.

I want to rescue her once again. I want to rescue her from the people who love her more than any other in the world, perhaps beside me, and I say the only thought in my mind. It’s desperate, perhaps inappropriate, and not just a little unethical. “You could stay with me if you needed a place while you look for a job.”

Every eye at the table snaps to mine, and I want to slink away. Adeline, or apparently “Addy,” watches me cautiously, Sam regards me with a sudden suspicion that wasn’t there before, and Andrea looks from Adeline to me curiously. She’s as suspicious as Sam, but with far more intuition to back it up. Sam is merely being fatherly and protective. Andrea sees deeper though, and the knowing expression that trails after her gaze as it bounces from one to the other of us is enough to have me paranoid she was watching every last touch, taste, and consummation I took of her daughter’s body.

But this is more than my simple need to own her body. I want her here as much for her career as my need to keep her close. She does need to be here for her career, and there’s that all too familiar need to see her succeed. She’s too good at what she does to leave, and she was speaking the truth when she told her parents this is where she needs to be. It’s legitimate, it’s necessary if she wants to make a name for herself, and I can help her with this … if she can stand to be so close to me.

She is staring at me as I study the table, waiting for her father to pummel me and for her mother to call me out for being the man who wants her daughter, but neither happen, and I hold her gaze with an intense need to have this part of her life locked down.

She gives little away when she comments, “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” as her gaze moves from my eyes back to her parents. Her mother’s eyes regard me for a moment longer before returning to Adeline’s.

“Addy, you know we just want you to be happy, and if this is what you really want, then we’ll support you.” My mind is screaming, Don’t support her, don’t support her! Let me support her! It’s my job to care for her! But I sit stoically by, watching.

When the check is finally left at the table, I take it quickly, handing it back to our waiter with my card. Her father argues, but I stop him. “Please. I insist. It’s my pleasure, and you will have all the opportunity in the world to spend your money in Washington, which by the way, we should really get you both to the airport soon.”

Her father looks at his watch and agrees, and the business of the check is soon forgotten in his concern for getting them to O’Hare on time. Adeline sits in the front seat next to me on the drive to the airport. Sam and Andrea are speaking casually with each other about the trip while Adeline and I are silent, ignoring each other. When I pull to the curb, they exit, and while I unload their luggage from the trunk of my car, they say their good-byes. I’m awkward, as though I’m invading her life in some way, but I catch sight of the tears in her eyes, and I still.

“We love you, dear.” Her mother is crying as well while her father fights to hide his emotions.

“I love you too.” Adeline’s response is all that is needed for her tears to spill, and her mother pulls her into a tight hug. Her father hugs her as well. I shake her father’s hand and kiss her mother’s cheek once more before they walk away together. Adeline is watching them, missing them before they are even out of sight, and I run the back of my fingers down her arm to her wrist before clasping her hand within mine. When her mother turns to look once more, Adeline instantly pulls her hand from mine. The rejection and pain is swift as my hand registers the loss of her warmth, and my heart registers the utter loss of her.

The rest of our day moves quickly, and once back at the office she returns to her desk with little more than a quick, “Thanks for lunch.”

I want her back. I want her to want me back as well, and the fact she doesn’t or won’t allow herself to feel her want for me is painful. Her parents were such an amazing insight into who she is, and I’m more obsessed with her now than I ever imagined I would be. They are an amazing family that loves one another in a way I have never experienced. No wonder I failed so easily at my first marriage. Were I to have experienced this kind of love growing up, I would have understood the commitment needed to sustain a real and lasting relationship. For the first time in my life, I see the shortcomings of my shallow and pathetic existence. Her life has shown me what it is to truly commit to another, and I want to commit to her.

I want her in my life permanently and forever. I want to give her children and raise them together with her. I want our children to emulate her and the love she understands from her life, and I want to push out my shallow, self-centered past and learn to be like her, radiating warmth, compassion, commitment. She’s so perfectly genuine, and I want to be like her. I want to love her. I’ve spent the last six weeks pushing her forward, boosting her, teaching her everything I know, but I’ve learned so much from her as well. Perhaps I can love too. Perhaps I can love her. Perhaps I already do. Perhaps I can love her more than myself, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be damn good at it, and I’ll have her to thank for that. She’s taught me just as much as I could ever hope to teach her, and hasn’t she taught me this as well?

Chapter 18

Having Jordan near my family was strange. I dreaded it the moment he asked us to lunch, but once there I enjoyed his interaction. My parents liked him right away. My father can be gruff, cold even to those who don’t know him, but he was none of those things with Jordan. On the contrary, his respect for Jordan was so very visible to me. My mother adored him, obvious by her inability to stop talking. She was saddened by his admission of growing up alone, hell I was too, and her heartstrings were instantly pulled. My heart broke with his tale of nannies and boarding schools. Jordan is strong, confident, intelligent, and demanding, but he was also a child once. He deserved a family that cared for him, that loved him, that was present in his life, and it’s difficult not to pity him and want to give him all of those things now in consolation.

I care for him. I shouldn’t, but I do. He’s off limits by my choosing, but I still can’t stop wanting him, caring for him, hurting for him, loving him… His embarrassment of his past hurt my body with a very physical pain that clenched my guts and stabbed my heart. My throat constricted in a desperate attempt not to cry. I wanted to erase his humiliation. He watched my family, and it didn’t escape my attention just how intensely he studied us. The small smile that passed his lips showed his appreciation for our dynamic, and that breaks my heart all the more because he didn’t have that dynamic in his family—never did, and yet he could sense it, see it, understand it in my family. He deserves it in his life, and I want to give it. I know how to love, and I love him. Could he ever love me?

I’ve wronged him by withholding myself. It was never what I wanted, and I hurt him by pushing him away. I rationalized it as though I was protecting us both, but from what? My career will sink or swim on the merit of my talent, and it may or may not be impacted by my relationship over the remaining month of my internship. His career is equally threatened by our relationship, but it was of no concern to him. He was willing to risk it to be with me. He was ready to divulge it all out of concern for me. He never confessed his care for me, but he cares. His actions have made this clear.

He deserves more from me. He deserves the same compassion, passion, care, and love he has shown me in his own misunderstood way. He confessed to me at his home the day we ran into Mark, and I can still hear the words he spoke and the gentle tone of his voice. “I can’t stop with you.” Those words have stuck with me since that night as much for the warmth they bring to my heart as the reassurance I’m different to him in some way than other women. This is the man who doesn’t do “next times,” but he did with me, never tiring of our time together. What did I need, a damn bulletin board? He cares! And I turned my back. And it’s with the confidence I owe entirely to him I leave my emotionally safe and secure sanctuary and make my way to his.

I may have only been in his home twice before, but I have no problem finding it on this evening. His car is in the driveway, and I’m excited for the first time since I ended us. When the doorknob turns, my body turns to liquid fire, the heat of my need pulsing through my body in waves. I’m trembling in the want and need I’ve denied for the past week and a half, and as the door opens I have to restrain myself from forcing my way in and attacking him.

I stare openmouthed at his beauty. He’s not wearing a shirt and only has a pair of worn and faded jeans on. He looks surprised, but as I continue to drool over him, my lust no doubt visible in my love-drunk stupor, a small smile spreads across his mouth. It’s more smirk than smile as his gaze moves from mine to my lips and then to my breasts. When it finally makes its way back to my eyes, his are dark and hooded. He knows why I’m here, and the occasional clench of his stomach muscles tells me he hasn’t lost any interest during our time apart.

“I can’t stop with you either.” I can barely get the words out before I lunge at his mouth. I’m hardly tall enough to get there on my own, but he meets me halfway, pulling me into his arms and back into his home. He pushes the door closed and me against it as we attack each other’s mouths. I know his taste, and it hits like a long-remembered aphrodisiac. His tongue is plunging and claiming, and mine meets his with his every movement. His lips are powerful and strong as they work against my lips, and as his hands explore, knead, grope, and grip in his desire, my body hums in excitement. He’s clawing and pulling at my clothing as though he can’t get me out of them quick enough, but before he has me completely naked he lifts me to straddle his hips, and with an ease difficult to comprehend, he walks us to his bedroom and to his expansive bed.

I haven’t been in this room since the night he unknowingly took my virginity, and the memory of that heady and intense encounter is flashing in my mind, but I want it like this. He was unknown to me at that time, and now he’s very known, very understood, and I love that he still wants me so many weeks later.

He lays me on the bed and pulls back from my body to finish removing my clothes and his. He stands and pulls his pants and underwear off, dropping them by the bed. He then grabs a condom from his nightstand and tosses it to me with a sly wink, and when he returns to the bed to hover his body over mine, he speaks for the first time. “You better hurry with that condom, Addy, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my dick out of your body.” The familial use of my nickname warms my body and eases my nervousness.

I tear the packet open, and he watches me. At my first touch, a deep groan passes his lips. Once the condom is rolled into place, he pushes my knees wide with his, and lining the head of his cock to my waiting entry, he thrusts hard and deep to my core. My womb aches at the invasion, and I note how easily my body forgot his size and breadth. As I readjust to his fullness, he pushes and pulls into my body. He wants to pound, I can see it in his pained expression, but he can see my need for time. He goes slow as my body relaxes and opens to him, and as his strokes become easier for my body to accept, his speed quickens and his thrusts deepen.

Every stroke is taking me closer to my release, and he’s teetering on the precipice of his own explosion. We come together, and I cry out in unrestrained ecstasy. His own guttural moan as his stomach clenches and his cock pulses within me tells of his own powerful orgasm. He collapses beside me, pulling me to face him as his hands trail across my back. His heart is pounding as I listen with my ear resting against his chest. The soft hair that covers his upper body tickles my cheek, and it takes little time to drift away to the slowing thuds of his heartbeat as his body relaxes in contentment.

When I wake, it’s dark, and he’s lying in the middle of the bed. I’ve moved away from him in my sleep, and I return my naked body to snuggle against his warmth. His body tenses at my unexpected touch, but as he leans his nose to my hair and inhales deeply, he murmurs quietly, “Adeline.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but he’s awake. Many quiet minutes later after he’s stroked the skin of my arm and nuzzled my neck with his mouth and nose, he speaks again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin the first night we were together?” He’s speaking into the darkness that surrounds us. It’s a comfort knowing he can’t watch my face, my nervousness he seems so intent on seeing.

The first time he asked this question, it was loaded with anger and irritation at my deceit; it was certainly in a very different mood than right now. He was angry, and I was defensive. It was our lunch together the day after I started at Foster’s, and he ended up humiliating me to drive his point home. I hated him in that moment, but this moment is different. His question is genuine and gentle, and my response is honest. “Would you have made love to me if I had?” I’m not sure I want to know the answer to this question.

“Hmm. I was upset when I woke alone the next morning covered in the remnants of your virginity, but not because you were a virgin. It was because you withheld it. I suppose I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I still don’t understand why you did it. You just tossed your virginity away as if it was nothing. You were so cavalier in your approach, and you aren’t a cavalier person. I’ve wondered ever since then what your motivation was.” He trails off in thought.

“I guess I was just tired of waiting, wondering if and when it would happen. I always told myself I had shut myself off from intimacy in exchange for my education, but really, no one wanted me. I was shy. I was out of my element. I was just floundering about telling myself I didn’t care when in truth I thought about it all the time. I wanted to know what it was like just like any other woman, I just … I was out of my depth. Are you upset with me about it still?” He isn’t upset at all, and yet he’s asking the questions.

I’ve just admitted how truly pathetic I am to this man, and it’s humbling. It reminds me I’m a nothing, and he’s a something, but as his hand moves to my cheek in the darkness and he caresses me before leaning to my mouth for one gentle kiss, I’m reassured that though I may feel pathetic, I’m not to him.

“No, I’m not upset. It just seems as though it’s something that would be a big deal to someone like you, and you gave it away so casually.”

“It was a big deal. I just didn’t give it the thought it deserved, and I didn’t realize until later the impact it had on me.” My words are honest, and they expose my weakness for him.

He’s quiet as he contemplates what I’ve said. I’ve just admitted sex wasn’t and couldn’t be all about the physicality of the act for me, and he’s weighing his words. “I would have made love to you regardless, and I would have savored knowing what I was doing to you with every last inch of my invasion on your body.” His words are seductive, just as he intends them to be. They’re also warm and reassuring. He’s definitely not still mad. “I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. I was watching you in the reflection of the glass window, and you couldn’t stop looking at me. You would never have spoken to me, and that’s what I liked the most. Your shyness and insecurity.”

“I see. So, you were just doing me a favor. Throwing the dog a bone as Vera would say?” I’m always so quick to chastise myself.

He chuckles but is quick to correct me, reassure me. “No. You misunderstand my point. I was doing myself a favor. You were beautiful, but you didn’t realize it, and I was very attracted to you. But attractive women are a dime a dozen in this city, and where I wouldn’t normally have wasted my time with someone so obviously shy and nervous as yourself, for some reason I couldn’t not reach out. It was you. I was drawn to you for some reason I still can’t quite understand.”

His words are as reassuring as he means them to be. I can’t imagine what it is someone so completely mesmerizing could see in simple little me. “Well, I was attracted to your money,” I mock.

He chuckles again before speaking. “No you weren’t. Or at least, it wasn’t just that. You were as attracted to me as I was to you.” He doesn’t need me to agree to know he’s right. He saw it that night. He capitalized on it, and as his hands wander over my body he leans to my ear and speaks his exceptionally deliberate words. “Don’t question why. I know you do. Just listen to me when I tell you I just can’t get enough of you. I can’t stop with you.”

But I’m not a good listener. “Why?”

He’s chuckling again, but he’s a good sport and humors me while setting my body afire with desire once more. “Because I want you in a way I can’t understand. I want to be the first thing you think of in the morning when you wake, and I want to be the last thought that passes through your mind … as well as your body … at night before you fall asleep. When I remember the first time we were together, I still see the pain that flashed across your face, and I want to punch myself for not realizing what I was doing to you. I truly would have relished the knowledge I was your first. You may not have realized the impact it would have on you at the time, but I assure you, it impacted me too. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone but me. I just wish I could have appreciated it then in the way I would now.” Every last word is purred in his warm, thick, masculine brogue as his breath tickles my ear. He really is so deliberate in his every word and action with me.

His hand trails to my buttocks and rounds the cheek of my bottom, allowing his fingers to slide gently between the cheeks and graze lightly across my sensitive secret entry. His breath is exhaling against my neck, and it hitches and stalls in his arousal. His thick, rigid length is against my stomach, and I run my palm along the hardness of his shaft. He groans against my skin as I explore his cock with my hand. He’s thrusting against my body, wanting to invade me, fuck me, consume me in some way, and as his arousal mounts he speaks once more. “Ride me. I want to watch you fuck me.” He must know I have no idea how to do this as he speaks once more. “I’ll show you how. Please, I need to watch you.”

“Okay.” There’s little conviction behind my words, but I want to give him this. It’s what he wanted from me the first night we were together. I was too chicken then to give in, but he’s given me every last ounce of confidence I need now. It doesn’t mean I’m not terrified, but now what we do together is done truly together and not done to each other for personal gratification.

He leans to the lamp beside the bed, flooding us in intense but warm light, and he pulls another condom from the drawer. He looks to my eyes to gauge my reaction to his words, and at seeing my nervousness he offers a gentle smile. He leans to my mouth, but before kissing me he holds my eyes and encourages, “Don’t be nervous with me. I accept you just as you are. You don’t have to know how to do this for me to want it. I just want you to trust me enough to try.” And then his lips meet mine, and his tongue gently pushes past my lips. He explores, he tastes, he reassures me with his need.

When he speaks next, it’s to instruct me, and my nervousness sets in full force, but so does my need. “Straddle me on my thighs.”

I move my body into place, looking at his hard and engorged erection. He starts stroking the shaft of his penis. His cock is large and rigid, and his hand stroking over the veined and tight flesh sends waves of moisture to my core. As his precum shows at his entry, he wipes it away with his thumb and reaches for my mouth, leaning to me. He presses his thumb between my lips and speaks. “Taste me.” And as I do, licking my tongue over his seed, I shiver in intimate need. He’s salty and warm against my tongue, and I savor his uniqueness. Pulling his thumb from my mouth, he runs his hand over my chest, raking across my hard and erect nipple as he goes, and once he’s back to his groin he strokes his length once more.

His stomach muscles tighten, his breath hitches, and his eyes narrow and flutter. He’s watching me as well. His gaze moves from mine to study my breasts, my stomach, finally landing on my sex that sits snuggly against his thighs. He abandons his cock and grabs the condom lying on the bed beside us. He tears it open, pulls it from the packet, and places it on the head of his penis. His gaze moves to mine, and he holds the tip of the condom in place and slowly rolls the sheath down his length. He’s watching me as I study his body, and he spits in his hand and rubs the saliva along the hard length of his cock before traveling to the swollen and needy folds of my sex. He runs the wetness of his fingers between my lips, leaving his spit in their wake, and when he reaches my entry he enters me with one finger while his eyes watch mine. He thrusts in and out of my body, watching me as I gasp and roll my hips toward his. My body is melting already and he’s not even inside me. My God, this man knows what he’s doing. Deliberate, every last touch, taste, thrust. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

*

After pulling my hand from her body, leaving her panting and craving her release, I pull her hips toward my groin, allowing my cock to slide between her wet lips as her breath leaves her lungs in a rush. When her sex reaches the head of my penis, I pull her with a soft hand to her cheek to my face. That I was the first and her only man is a minor miracle. Her eyes are open wide, waiting for my direction, but instead of speaking, I lean to her mouth and kiss her. She opens her lips as I delve into her silken warmth. I taste, I lick, I savor her, and as I do, I reach around her bottom to line my erection to her body. When I’m where I need to be, I pull from her mouth and speak. “Push back to my thighs.”

Her eyes are on mine as her body takes me within her own. My hands move to her hips, and I move her groin back and forth to mine. Up and down slowly. I’m using her body to make love to mine, controlling her every move, working her hips in the way I want. She sits upright as her need and desire mount. She opens the space between our bodies, affording us both the most amazing view of our joined pelvises. She takes over where my hands left off, pushing off my hips with her knees. She’s rising from me and forcing her body back over my hard erection, and the incredible sight of her body accepting every last inch of my cock within her small frame has me gasping and approaching my release within moments. This is what I wanted. At first, her fear left me pushing her body into place, but as her arousal set in, it took over her, and she figured out perfectly how to use her body for both of us. God, I want this woman.

Every penetration has me one stroke closer to losing it, and her parted lips and the desperate look in her eyes leaves no doubt she’ll be falling apart any moment. My hands find their way to the front of her thighs, and with my palms resting against her thighs, I part the lips of her sex so I can see every intimate detail of my penetration. When she comes, her head drops back and a moan escapes her. I lace my fingers with hers as she sinks onto my erection again. Her body is quivering and she’s collapsing. I pull her chest to mine, rolling her to her back as I drive into her.

I pound into her as her orgasm fades. I’m harsh as I thrust. My need is nearly unrestrained as I consume, invade, and conquer her body as though I own it, and when I finally reach my limit, I explode in a loud, guttural growl. Were I not so exhausted and replete, I would likely be embarrassed for my complete lack of control, but looking to her eyes as I gasp for breath, she is smiling. She’s amused at my loss of candor, and as the smirk pulls the corner of her lip up, I push deep into her warmth. She gasps at the intrusion, and I stroke in and out of her as the last of my arousal feeds my cock. I hold her eyes as my thrusting gentles and slows. She rises to kiss me, and my heart shudders at the warmth of her lips as they claim my mouth.

I pull from her depths and roll her to face me, wrapping my arms around her. She is small and fragile as I bask in my pathetically masculine domination of her body. I can’t lose this one. I have mere weeks to convince this woman that moving home to her perfect family is a mistake. They love her in a way I’ve never experienced. I want it. I want to experience it, and I want to give it to her, but they understand love in far deeper terms than I ever have. Adeline was raised to love, to care, to know how to be loved. What hope do I have of giving her enough of what she needs to choose me over them? I love her. God help me, I do. But I don’t know how to do this. I want to give her all of me, but I failed miserably once before; what’s to say I won’t fail her as well? I can’t bear the thought of it. She deserves better than what I know how to give, but terrifying as it may be, I will have to reach far beyond what my limited experience with intimacy and love has prepared me for if I have any hope of keeping her. God help me.

Chapter 19

It’s not the last he takes of my body for the night, but at least the next time he doesn’t push me over the edge with demands I can hardly bear. Making love as he looked up at me was intense, but the vulnerability of it had my anxiety ready to run and hide. Later, once I’ve fallen asleep in his arms, I wake as his fingers explore my body, and when he finally enters me, I’m so ready I could burst with little more than a stroke or two. But he gives me far more than that. He gently pushes stroke after slow stroke into my body in the darkness of his room and the warmth of his bed. He’s taken his place on top of me, and I love the security his strength and domination of my body brings.

His lips barely leave mine the entire time, and his thrusting remains controlled and slow. When I finally come, I’m whimpering quietly under his weight, and as he falls apart it’s with his lips on mine, uttering my name through ragged breaths. As he pulls my back to his body and tightens his grip around me, I drift off once again. My body is sore, and there’s a mild and deep cramping in my womb. Perhaps making love three times in one night was a bit much, but I’ll never deny him. I can’t deny him.

* * * *

I wake the next morning to the site of Jordan approaching me in glorious nakedness. He’s holding a washcloth in his hand, and he sits beside me on the bed. He kisses me once before pulling the blanket back from my body and running the warm, wet cloth over my sex, delving gently between my lips. As he pulls it back from my body, it’s pink.

“I woke looking like I did after the first night we were together. I either hurt you or you started your period.” My cheeks are burning, but he’s smiling gently at me.

“Oh God. I’m sorry.” I fly out of bed toward the bathroom. Well that certainly explains the aching gut. Idiot! These things don’t sneak up on me usually, but I’ve been so damn sidetracked these past many weeks I completely forgot I’m a woman of childbearing years. I really am unprepared, because while my purse has been left abandoned on his entryway floor, it will do me no good. I didn’t pack any ammunition! So, standing naked in his luxurious bathroom, I do the only thing I can do. I stare in the mirror, grumbling and growling at myself for my stupidity, and then resort to looking around to see if a tampon dispenser will miraculously sprout from the wall. Giving up on that idea moments later, I start the shower and retreat to the warmth of the cleansing water that will ultimately help me little.

When he enters the shower still naked and gorgeous, I cover my body as much as my slender limbs can conceal me. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly so nervous about being naked in front of him, but as he smiles and approaches with not so much as an inkling of fear at the leak I’ve sprung, he leans to my mouth and kisses me.

“Why are you panicking over this?” His voice is soothing against my ear, and embarrassed and horrified as I am, the touch relaxes my body. But this is not a problem that’s going to rectify itself.

“I have to go. I’m sorry … I’m just ill equipped for this…” I’m sheepish; he’s amused. Such is life.

“Relax. You stay here. Take a bath, stand on your head until I get back, just … don’t go. I have to run to the store to pick up something for breakfast. I’ll take care of it.” His hand trails around to my stomach, rubbing my belly before trailing to the lips of my vagina. I freeze as his fingers slip between the lips and gently prod and stroke. He doesn’t enter me, but he has me gasping and panting within moments while I brace my body against the wall of shower. His free hand grips my waist as he grinds his pelvis against my backside. I come as my head drops to the wall, and I shudder with pleasure.

Turning, I see his aroused eyes watching me. His hand is on his cock, stroking and gripping. His eyes are desperate, and I kneel taking him in my mouth as an incredible groan leaves him. I lave, lick, taste, and stroke. His eyes don’t leave me, and I watch him with the same heady intensity. The water is still cascading over our bodies, and my fear and humiliation have left me completely. He wants me as much in this moment as any other. He comes in my mouth with a choked sob emanating from his lips, and as he watches me swallow him he leans his forehead to the wall my back is braced against. I stand in his arms as he wraps them around me.

Leaning to my ear, he pleads once more. “Stay. Please stay.” He looks to my eyes waiting for my response, and I give him what he wants.

I relax in his bathtub while he’s away, and when he returns, carrying a rather large bag in his arms, I climb from the tub, pulling the drain. But as I open the bag, I nearly come unglued in sudden laughter. “Jordan, there’s like … what, ten, fifteen different … are these Depends?”

His face is serious, but mocking as well. “Things got … complicated.” He’s shaking his head in confusion as he chuckles. “It was really confusing with the wings and the dry weave and the long and the extra long and the regular, and heavy, max, min, medium, mean…” I’m pretty sure he’s quoting statistics at this point, but he keeps going as I laugh. “Light, moderate, the flows and the … the … I mean what are adult diapers, baby diapers, pads, tampons, condoms, and lube doing all in one place? And do you know how many women hang out in that aisle at one time? There was a baby … and it was mocking me.” I’m laughing as he continues his ridiculous tale of feminine product woes. And as my laughter and his smirk finally fade, he continues. “I’m sure you can find something in there that will suit your needs, and by the way, I won’t be doing that for you again anytime soon.” He turns on his heel, leaving me alone to dress.

When I enter the kitchen he is busy with scrambled eggs at the stove. I’m finally human and not completely humiliated, and as I approach him he reaches for my body. I smile and he flashes his perfect, sweet smile, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. He looks amazing standing in his oversize kitchen in his ridiculously perfect house, and I am out of place as usual. Strange he so obviously doesn’t regard me in this way. But as he holds me close to his body and I enjoy the warmth of his skin, he fidgets. He suddenly looks nervous, but he says nothing.

When he finishes the eggs and the toast, we sit at the island and eat in silence. His eyes are in another world, and he’s deep in thought. I want to ask, but I’m still intimidated by this man the better portion of the time, and even delving too deep into his brain leaves me terrified he won’t appreciate my interest.

Finally, his eyes meet mine and he puts his fork down. “So I was thinking now would be a good time for you to go on birth control.”

I cough as I suddenly am unable to chew, think, and swallow at the same time. “Umm. What?” Seriously, Adeline? Is that the best I can do?

He’s rigid and still beside me, and though I’m nearly too afraid to look to him for my own reasons, I sense he’s carrying his own emotional baggage at the moment. When I manage to pull my gaze away from my plate to his eyes, I’m hit hard with his gentle, worried expression. It isn’t the Jordan I know to be so very human and humble. He’s nervous, and seeing my wide and shocked eyes he stumbles through his next words. “It’s just … doctors usually like to know for sure you’re not pregnant and right now… If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I just thought…” He’s so damn nervous, and it hurts to see him this way.

“I suppose I could, but…” My words trail off as I try hard to find the right words. This isn’t a man who wants to keep me permanently, and as much as I enjoy him it also smacks my pride he should ask me to go to the trouble for a fleeting affair. “I’m not sure there’s much point. I mean, I graduate soon and I’ll be moving and…”

“I think it’s ridiculous you’re moving, and quite frankly, not a smart move for your career.” His words hit with a sudden resentment in his tone, but his face quickly softens at my shocked expression. His hand reaches for mine, and in a voice far gentler he continues. “I’m tired of remembering to carry condoms in my pocket all the time.” He smiles sweetly before his lips smirk, and he continues with a seductive purr. “I want to be able to fuck you when I want to fuck you, and I don’t want to worry I can’t because I’ve forgotten a condom. I assure you, I’m as anal retentive about my health as I am my work, but I hardly expect you to take my word for it. I’ll give you copies of my medical records, and I’ll have you know I’ve not had unprotected sex since divorcing my ex-wife seven years ago.”

My eyes flash wide at his words. His gaze is seductive, but his body language is desperate and demanding. He wants this. He doesn’t want me to move away; he’s made it abundantly clear, but he’s acting more jealous boyfriend than concerned boss at the moment. I finally take a deep breath and return his sarcasm. “So, you want my medical records?”

“I hardly think I need to be concerned about your health, and I’m assuming I’ve not left enough time in your schedule for you to sleep with anyone else since I took your virginity, so I think the birth control will suffice in your case.” He smirks quickly before looking away. He still has a very uncharacteristic nervousness, and it leaves me wanting to reach out to him, reassure him. But for what?

I nod in agreement, and after calling my doctor to set up an appointment for Monday morning, Jordan finally relaxes. The weekend is spent together, and it’s amazing—movies in bed, dinner out at a quiet hole in the wall, sleeping late the next morning, and then more movies, a blowjob, more fun in the shower and incredible back rub, and then finally home. I spend the rest of the evening at the Laundromat, getting ready for the week with Kelli at my side. We fold, we chat, she pries for information, and I eventually give in.

“You’re going on birth control? And he asked you to?” She’s watching me as I nod. “Are you sure he doesn’t, like, really really like you? I mean, Addy, men don’t just ask you to go on birth control for a few weeks. Are you sure he doesn’t want to keep you around?” Her head is tilted with her leading question.

“Oh, come on. You saw him. You met him. He can’t possibly want anything long term with someone like me.” Kelli’s face scrunches up in her complete lack of appreciation for my words.

“What the hell are you saying? That you’re not good enough? Sorry, babe, but that’s bullshit!” She’s speaking forcefully and with more than enough conviction to show she’s serious.

“He doesn’t do relationships. He’s the one-night-stand man. Remember?”

“Sure he is. Maybe before he met you. It can’t have escaped your attention the man is obsessed with you, and if this is a one-night stand, then I, and the rest of the world for that matter, are completely confused on what the term actually means. One-night stand my ass! He likes you. Why is that so hard for you believe?” I shrug, with my low self-esteem visible to Kelli. “You already said he doesn’t agree with you returning to Iowa after graduation, and BTdubs, I don’t either.”

“Well you just made my point. There’s a difference between wanting me to stay for personal reasons and wanting me to stay for purely professional reasons.”

“You’re insane.” And her crazed but good-natured expression shows just how serious she is when she says this. “You’re sleeping with the man. He may not be confessing his undying love and devotion, but for fuck sake, he’s telling you he wants you to stay! Do you really think it’s so he can suddenly stop sleeping with you? He’s a man. And by your own admission, he was raised in a family that could have cared less if he was alive. He’s out of his element. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care! How can I see this so clearly and you can’t? I’m usually the one lacking in any rational thought, not you!”

“I just can’t … I don’t know. Honestly, Kelli, I want to think you’re right, but … I can’t have this blow up in my face.” I look away, shaking my head. She just doesn’t understand. She’s bold; I’m not. She can wear her heart on her sleeve and let people take as many swipes at her as they want. I’m terrified of caring for this man. I know I do. I love him. But I can’t put myself out there just to let him destroy me. Moving back to Des Moines is not my first choice, but I was offered a job there—the only job offer I’ve received. I can’t turn that down just to hang out in Chicago drooling over the one-night-stand man.

I have a small pile of rejection letters from Chicago firms that grows taller by the day, and I just don’t have any good excuse for staying. I’m out of money. He can offer to let me stay with him all he wants, but what does that really mean? Stay with him in his bed. And for how long? I’ve already made the mistake of caring entirely too much for a man who doesn’t know the first thing about love. Moving in with him is a liability to my pathetically ignorant and emotional heart. He’s given me no real reason to stay, and I can’t make a decision like this based on what I want him to feel for me. I just can’t set myself up for that kind of heartache. It’s the very heartache I’ve witnessed every last one of my girlfriends suffer. It’s the very heartache I’ve managed to avoid.

He’s the first and only man I’ve been with, and whatever type of relationship we have, it’s my very first of those as well. What are the odds this is the man I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with, and quite frankly, if I put myself out there with him, that’s exactly what my expectation would be. Forever. The odds are slim this is my future. He made that clear on the first night we were together, and anything other than forever will break my heart if I let it. I love Kelli, and she wants what’s best for me, but she’s always been impetuous when I’ve been cautious.

I won’t break it off with him. I’d fail at his first touch, but I can’t plan a life with him here when he’s given me no reason to think that’s possible.

Chapter 20

Adeline is late arriving Monday morning due to her doctor’s appointment, and when she finally shows up and she’s active in the e-mail system, I ask her to meet me in the lobby to head over to Market Street. They’re completing the install of her cabinets today, and she’s been looking forward to this. The drywall finishers have completed the painting for the entire model unit, and with the cabinetry now finally going in, it’s time for doors and trim. The woodworking studio we contracted for the custom built-ins will be arriving shortly after one o’clock to complete the cabinetry, and that gives Adeline and I time to get lunch together. There is a small café we’ve eaten at a couple of times, and I don’t have to worry much about being caught with the intern there, so as I pull to the curb with her by my side, I lean to her mouth and kiss her. I’ve been stuck on the phone the entire drive and haven’t even had a chance to ask about her appointment.

I wasn’t ready for her to leave last night, and though I tried to convince her to stay, I stopped short of showing her just how desperate I was. I don’t know why I insist on playing it cool with her. I’m anything but when I’m around her, but as much as it could be my downfall, I hold it back. I’m new to caring so much about a woman, and there’s an incredible vulnerability that leaves me frozen in panic most of the time. Taking her body, pleasuring her, giving her every last ounce of my physical passion is easy; I’m making love to her, and every touch, caress, kiss is a show of my deep and desperate feelings, but she has no idea. Her rejection would destroy me, and I’m not ready to divulge that fact yet.

She has a job offer in Des Moines starting the week following her graduation, and this fact leaves me ready to call every firm in Chicago to beg they offer her a job. Her decision in some way is like a rejection, but it isn’t. She’s broke and has no real reason to stay without a job. But she knows I want her to stay. However much of my emotion I continue to hide or continue to display only in my physical interaction, I haven’t told her the real reason for wanting her here. It’s because I can’t imagine my life without her in it. I can’t imagine my home belonging to only me anymore, and I can’t imagine lying alone in my bed for the rest of my life. She cares about me, but could she ever love someone like me?

As I pull from her mouth, she gives me my most favorite smile. It’s the one that is slight and subtle, all of her passion is in her eyes, rather than her mouth, and it’s an intimate look of longing. I’m guessing she’s still having her period, and the want from so many days of not making love to her may just kill me. I tried my best to convince her to let me make love to her both Saturday night and Sunday, but she wouldn’t budge. The look of absolute mortification had me dropping my request without much fight. She was terrified of going there with me, her self-consciousness getting the better of her. Patience is a virtue others behold, not me, and I’m already praying her cycle is short. At least I won’t have to worry about suiting up every time I want her, and since I want her constantly, I’ll likely be shaving a good hour of condom rolling off my schedule every week. What will I do with all that extra time?

I open her door, and we walk hand in hand into the restaurant. The moment our waitress has taken our order, I grill her, and she humors my over-interest in her birth-control details.

“I opted for the arm implant.” And pulling up the arm of her short-sleeve shirt, I can see the bandage is on the inside of her upper arm.

“Well fuck, you didn’t have to maim yourself for the cause. The pill would have sufficed.”

She smiles and cocks her head. “Not if the point was to actually keep me from getting pregnant. I don’t remember to take pills well. Never have. Trust me, it would have been disastrous.”

“Oh I don’t know. I bet you’d be sexy as hell pregnant.” My eyes flit from hers the moment the words are out, and hers move from mine as well. Fuck. Wanting to see her someday carrying our child is my fantasy and not something I intended to share with her right now. But as the flush of her cheeks subsides and she looks back to me, I get us back on track. “So how long is that good for?”

“Three years.”

“Hmm. I’m sure we could have a lot of fun in three years.” Fuck again. I can’t stop divulging my innermost secret longing for her today, and as her shy gaze that once more fled my own again finds its way back to mine, I try again to rectify my slip. “Just kidding… That would of course require you to actually stay in Chicago, and since you have no interest in being here, it’s…” And the waitress arrives with our salads. Thank fuck! One more moment and I’ll be professing my undying love and devotion and probably proposing marriage before we’ve even been served our food.

As she finishes her side salad and pushes the plate to the edge of the table, I hand her an envelope. She takes it, opening it quickly and pulling the few sheets of paper out. As she reads, I comment, “As promised. And you’ll note I’m free of any communicable diseases.” Her eyes flash to mine and she gives a quick, amused smile before returning to the paperwork. She studies, she reviews, she pays far more attention to my life spelled out in medical terms than I expected.

“You have good cholesterol.”

“Thanks?” I cock my head in amusement, and she flashes another smile. She’s enjoying herself, and I’m enjoying her.

“Your HDL is a little low though… Perhaps you should have ordered the salmon…” She looks at me with a sarcastic smile, and I chuckle.

“Are you reassured of my good health … minus my obvious HDL flaw?”

“I wasn’t too concerned to begin with. You went to the trouble of getting your medical records, so I assumed you knew there was nothing concerning on there … aside from the HDL…” Now we’re both smiling as our food arrives. A bacon cheeseburger for me; cholesterol be damned.

As we eat, I overstep the boundaries a bit more. “So how long does your period usually last?”

“Four to five days.”

“And how fast does the implant kick in?”

“I’ll be covered as soon as my cycle ends.”

“So by like tonight?”

“Odd you never learned to count the days of the week.” Her sarcasm has my soul on fire. “Try Wednesday most likely.”

“Ah. The golf tournament.”

“Umm. Golf tournament. Should I know what you’re referring to?”

I fill her in on our annual spring golf tournament. We will close shop for the afternoon, and the entire company will more or less take over the golf course for an afternoon of golf, drinks, and fun. I usually bow out, but I’m suddenly very interested in this event. And more than that, what fun I might be able to squeeze in with Adeline while there. It will be the first time I can get my dick inside her after all. She confesses she’s never golfed, and I confess I have. I’m a good golfer, and I can’t wait to show off a bit in that incredibly masculine need I have to impress the hell out of her, and by the time lunch is over we’re running late getting to the site.

* * * *

When Wednesday afternoon rolls around, I’m ready to do anything I can to get to her body. The week has been torture. She hasn’t spent the night with me, nor has she asked me to spend the night with her. Being apart no longer feels normal, but neither of us are ready to break down and ask the other over when our interaction is so limited by her blessed femaleness; I want her there regardless of whether I can touch her, but it’s harder for some reason to ask when I have no sexually-based reason; just another reminder of what a schmuck I am.

I’ve been stuck in meetings all day, and there was nothing important enough going on with Market Street to bow out of my other obligations. I have every intention of seeing to it we’re paired together or at least close enough for me to watch her. I can’t wait to see how this plays out. I’m hoping for a wiff that leaves her spinning, but I’d take a dig too. I just want her embarrassed in front of me. Her blush, her embarrassment is an intense reminder of just how much I get under her skin, and while there’ll be a slight pang of guilt, I’ll also enjoy making it up to her later.

I meet her, along with every last employee of our firm, in the lobby of our building. She looks beautiful but certainly not dressed for golf in her work clothes. She has a bag slung over her shoulder and is apparently just getting ready to change. I want nothing more than to ravish her here and now, but I fight to remain calm and professional. I see her, and there is no question she sees me as well, but as we avoid one another for a few minutes I’m forced to be content stealing glimpses. She’s standing with Bridget and stealing just as many looks at me as I am of her. After I’m certain I’ve been casual and spoken to enough people to not appear over-interested in her, I approach. We exchange pleasantries, feigning nothing more than a professional relationship while images of her naked body and all the many ways I’ve touched it float through my head.

“Who are you golfing with, Jordan?” It’s Bridget who is asking, and when I mention I’ll be with Charles from Accounting, I just sit back and wait for my plan to play out. Charles and Bridget are good friends, and as I spot him I wave, calling him over. The moment he meets us, Bridget takes care of the rest. “We should all golf in a foursome. It’s two teams of two per hole, so it will be perfect!” Her best buddy Charles agrees enthusiastically, and I smirk at Adeline as my brow shoots up. She smiles her shy innocent one right back. This afternoon promises to be oh-so-much fun.

*

The moment Charles agreed to golf with Bridget and I, the panic set in. I want to be near Jordan more than anything, but couldn’t it have been doing something a bit less treacherous to my fleeting coolness than a sport I know nothing about? As Jordan recommends I go change, I turn and leave the room for the restrooms. I’m met in the hall by my favorite person in the world, Vera, who stops me in my tracks.

“Adeline, you don’t need to worry about changing. You won’t be going today. You will need to stay and answer the phones while we’re away.” Her mocking, cold smile is all the evidence I need this was her idea and done intentionally to hurt me. “The building will be locked, so no one will be coming in, but I’ve forwarded the phones to your desk. If you work away from your desk, make sure to forward the phone to the nearest extension. You can leave at four thirty.” She doesn’t say another word but stares at me, challenging me to argue. I turn and return to the lobby with my bag still over my shoulder.

As I enter, the heat creeps into my cheeks. Vera has humiliated me once again, and when Jordan sees my face, his falls, and he shakes his head in anger. Vera is following me out of the hallway, and as Jordan sees her his eyes narrow and his glare takes over his expression. I approach Jordan, and his irritation gets the better of him. “What did that bitch do?” His words are seething with fury, and I give him a warning look. Bridget is watching, and though she appreciates his hatred of Vera, she is shocked to see him speak so harshly.

“I have to stay and answer phones.”

“Bullshit. We have a fucking phone system for that.” At Jordan’s continued outburst, Bridget’s eyes have widened farther. I say my apologies to the group and slink away as Foster claps a hand on Jordan’s shoulder and pulls him away before he can say anything further.

I return to my desk and sit. I’m humiliated once again, and while Jordan wouldn’t appreciate my humiliation or agree with my feeling this way, I feel it all the same. Vera takes every opportunity she gets to knock me down a notch in life, and the fact Jordan has been witness to nearly every one of my humiliations makes it hard not to be ashamed. I eventually make a coffee, forward the phones, which are silent, to the samples room, and I retreat there with my boards to work on them. I will be turning my boards in as part of my final internship grade, and I want to redo the layout and clean them up a bit.

It’s incredibly silent, and as I work I sing quietly. I’m a good singer; always have been. Music and arts were always my talent, and while I cut, glue, arrange, and tidy everything up, I entertain myself with a moody and dissonant tune I picked up from some random Lisa Gerrard soundtrack. It’s missing the accompaniment that belongs with the song, but I can hear it in my head.

My mind wanders to Jordan, and I use the peace and solitude to fantasize about him. He’s not made love to me since Friday night, and I’m starved for him. How on earth did I survive without sex before he came along? I’ve decided I’m quite a fan of it actually, and I push away the idea I’ll lose him completely in a few weeks. If I would just receive some interest from some firm in Chicago, I would have an income and a reason, other than him, to stay. He’s reason enough, but I can’t attach my future to the one-night-stand man simply in want for sex. But of course that’s not all I want. I crave him, I need him, I love him. Sex aside, I need him in my life for reasons that go far deeper. He’s instilled a confidence in me I didn’t have before. He believes in me, and he wants me to succeed as much as I do. There is no jealousy, cattiness, resentment, or any other of a million awful human emotions he could feel for my abilities. He cares as much about my success as he does his own.

As I finish my song and start in on another, I look up to see him standing in the doorway, and I shriek in surprise. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded and his incredible smile. He chuckles as I fidget in embarrassment. He saunters across the room and leans to my mouth. When he’s finished with my lips, he nibbles his way along my jawline to my ear. “You have an amazing voice. I had no idea you could sing so well.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Playing hooky. Besides, Charles likes Bridget. It was the perfect way to nudge them together. They’re playing together with another group, and I told them I needed to catch up to a client at another job site and slipped out before we ever got started. So … I’m all yours for the afternoon, and I’m assuming it’s safe to touch you now without you acting like your body is radioactive.” He’s smirking, and I’m smiling. My body is warming with every word he speaks, and as his hand moves to my waist, clutching me and pulling me to his body, warmth and wetness flood to my core.

Pulling me over to an incredibly oversized mirror at least twelve feet tall and eight or so feet wide, he takes his place behind me and nibbles and kisses at my neck. The mirror is propped against the far wall of the room where the fabrics section is located. His mouth continues to work as his eyes hold mine. His body is held tight to mine, and his erection pushes into my back.

His hands move to my shoulders as they pull my gray cardigan down my shoulders and off my arms. He tosses it on a nearby couch before returning his hands to my shirt. Reaching around from his place behind me, he slowly works my buttons free of their buttonholes, and I watch his every move. His eyes remain fixed on mine, and his erection remains hard against my back. When he’s pulled my shirt from my body and tossed it away as well, he begins to unbutton the three buttons at the neck of his polo shirt, and I turn to help him. He drops his hands as mine take over, and he leans to my mouth again, plunging his tongue between my lips to my silken warmth. He touches and strokes my tongue with his own while my hands work at his neck and then pull his shirt off over his head.

I run my hand down his chest to his stomach and revel in his tightened and quivering stomach muscles as my hand passes over his skin and innervates his desire further. He’s wearing straight-front black pants that are far more casual than he generally wears, and the bulge of his erection is easy to see. When I reach for the button of his pants, a sigh passes his lips, and as I lower the zipper of his pants and reach within to the rigid, large length of him, his contented sigh turns to a loud and low groan that emanates from the depths of his gut. I stroke with gentle, slow movements as his head drops to my shoulder and his hands reach for my bottom. He strokes and kneads the skin of my cheeks through my pants, pulling my groin to his. His breathing is quickening, and as it does he stills my hand and turns my body to face the mirror once more.

He’s again watching my eyes in the reflection, and as my wetness builds and my body tingles, his hands move to the button of my pants. He undoes the button, lowers the zipper, and hooking his fingers under the waist of my pants and underwear, he pulls them down, sinking to his knees behind my body. He slips the cuff of my pants over my black heels, leaving me standing nearly naked in only my bra and my favorite pointy-toed black heels with ankle straps.

Before he stands behind me, he spends time rubbing and kissing the round cheeks of my bottom and then kissing trails over my back on his way back to standing. When he unhooks my bra and slides it down my arms, I comment, “You like a lady naked in heels, huh?”

“I like you naked, with or without heels … but the heels will give you some needed height right now.” He winks as I wonder, and then he continues. “Condoms are a fabulous fabulous thing, but you can’t imagine how much I’m looking forward to making love to you with nothing at all between our skin.” With that, he leaves me standing alone, my gaze trailing after him. He grabs a dark moss green velvet occasional chair that sits along a nearby wall, and returning to me, he sets the chair next to my hip. “Sit. Please.”

I do as he asks and am now sitting facing the gigantic mirror. He finishes undressing and moves to stand behind me, leaning to my ear. “Scoot your bottom to the edge of the seat and lean back. I comply as he pinches my nipples. He holds the pinch as the arousing pain builds in my body, and just as the pain builds to an intense ache he releases them both and rubs gently as the blood rushes into my breasts. “Spread your legs.” Now I’m nervous. I’m facing the largest mirror I’ve ever seen that plays out our actions in explicit detail. But however hesitant I may be, I do as he asks, shaking in nervousness.

His hand moves down my stomach to the lips of my vagina. He parts the lips of my sex, and whispers in my ear. “You are so beautiful. I know you’re nervous, but you don’t need to be.” His finger dips into my entry, testing my wetness before plunging in all the way. I gasp as his finger thrusts into me. He’s watching over my shoulder, and his parted lips and intense gaze reassure me he’s okay with seeing me so prone and vulnerable.

When he’s finished with his thrusting and my body is beyond ready, he stops and runs his lingering finger between my lips to trail a glistening path of wetness in its wake. Standing, he rounds my body, with a subtle smirk. I want to sit to touch him, but before I can move he lowers himself to the floor in front of me. He’s facing me, sitting somewhat cross-legged, lounging on one hand with his opposite knee up and his elbow rested casually on his knees. He’s studying my sex, and he caresses my folds and parts my skin as he takes in every inch of me. I have the most incredible view of his body from this vantage point, and it’s this image I study as his mouth moves to my body and starts laving and tormenting my most sensitive bundle of nerves.

His back is strong and muscular, the skin smooth and unblemished. He’s sitting, but his strong and round bottom is easily seen, and as my eyes follow the contour of his body, my body readies itself for release. His knee is up, and I can follow his entire line from his bottom up his strong thigh, over his knee and back down his calf to his foot. His body is beautiful—strong and lean and perfectly proportioned. His mouth continues to lick and suck at me, and as my gaze finally leaves his body and drops to his, he’s already looking at me. He pulls back from my sex with my wetness glistening on his lips and smiles a seductive and knowing smile. “Looking at something?” I let out a quick embarrassed laugh before his mouth latches to me again, and within moments I’m crying out in my orgasm. My stomach contracts and my body pulls in on itself as every muscle in my body tightens, and he watches.

When he stands in front of me, he lets me touch him and stroke him for a few moments before pulling my hand from his body and then pulling me to stand in front of him. Leaning to my ear, he lets me in on his plan. “We’re going to watch as we make love.” I freeze in his arms, and he must sense it as he continues. “Don’t be nervous. You’re beautiful and you have nothing to be ashamed of with me.” He looks to my eyes and I nod. I’m not really reassured, but I’m not going to stop him. I’ll do just about anything to get him inside of my body right now, and if that means playing his game, so be it.

He turns our bodies and sits in the chair as I stand in front of him. He’s stroking his length as he runs his other hand up the side of my leg, and leaning forward, he kisses my stomach and holds my waist with his hand before letting it trail over the cheek of my bottom. “Turn around and straddle me.” He’s looking to my eyes now, gauging my reaction and my fear. There’s plenty of it, but I’m also so desperate to have him inside of me that while my heart pounds in my chest, my body moves into position. I’m hovering over his groin, facing the mirror, and though I hate myself for doing it, I can’t help but look to my figure with judgment. Why should I be so self-critical when he obviously doesn’t criticize me?

He’s still stroking his length with his free hand at my waist, and the muscles of my thighs are strained as I hold myself awkwardly above him. He guides me with his hand at my waist to his rigid shaft, and he guides his cock to my entry and pulls my hips over the head of his penis. My entry distends around his breadth, and as I continue to take in the sight of us I sink to his groin, taking every last inch of his length into my body. The view is incredible. His breadth takes over the junction of my thighs, and the distention of my sex shows his girth incredibly. As I sit on his lap, he nuzzles my neck and gazes at the sight of our joined bodies over my shoulder. He’s still inside of me and holds our bodies tight together for many long moments, simply looking.

He rolls his hips forward, thrusting the remainder of the way to my depth. It’s painful and deep but intense, and as he relaxes his hips once more, he slides back out of my entry. His hands hold my hips, and he lifts slightly as he retreats farther from my body before pulling my groin back to his and rolling his hips forward once again to plunge deep to my core. I let out a strangled moan as the invasion bruises my insides. He continues our strokes in this way until I take over for his hands and lift and sink from his body on my own. He watches the penetration and retreat as closely as I do, and the sight of our unsheathed joining is powerfully intimate.

With his hands no longer necessary on my hips, one is on my breast and the other strokes my clitoris, and at his touch my most intimate muscles clamp down tight on him, and he releases a loud moan in my ear. He tortures and plucks both my nipple and my clitoris as my muscles clench and movements quicken. The moment I come, he lifts me with a hand under each thigh, leans back in his chair and starts pounding into me. He’s still watching our bodies in the mirror as he drives into me, and with one final, incredibly deep thrust, he releases himself inside of me. He’s grunting as he spasms within me, and I’m gasping for breath. He gently thrusts into my body as his relaxes, and as we both watch, his seed seeps around our joined sexes, and he groans quietly against my ear.

When our movements finally slow and still and our breathing has relaxed, he lifts my hips from his, and he helps me to my feet. His semen spills from my depths and runs down the inside of my naked thighs, and as I turn to face him he leans to my stomach and kisses trails across the soft skin as his hands caress. His fingers find the wetness that has trickled down my thighs, and he runs his fingers through it, returning them to my sex. He touches and strokes through his seed, plunging his fingers within me and trailing the cum out across my stomach and legs. When he finally stops playing in the mess he made of me, he stands and pulls my body into his, holding me in a tight embrace for many long minutes.

The phone rings for the first time since the entire company except for me departed, and as I hurry across the room to catch it, he watches me smiling. I talk to a client, telling them nothing our phone system couldn’t have told them—everyone is out for the afternoon—and when I hang up his hands are on my back. He wipes my skin clean with a warm washcloth I’m guessing Bridget will eventually discover is missing from the sample inventory. I turn, and watch him wipe every last ounce of his semen from my skin and his as well.

When we’re de-seeded—he ended up with as much on him as I did—and reclothed, I return to my project, and he sits across from me at the worktable, watching and occasionally commenting. He doesn’t leave my side until it’s time to leave for the day, and we stop for a quick dinner on the way to my place. He follows me in and stays for the rest of the evening and night, not leaving until early the next morning to go home and change.

Chapter 21

“Well we’re going to be in town tomorrow night, and we just thought we’d like to take you to dinner.”

“I see. And how long are you staying?”

“Just one night. We’re on our way to Hawaii for vacation. You know, we’re just so busy, we never have any time to take for ourselves, and we just decided it was time.” Disgust hits my senses at her words. They’re so busy they have no time to do anything, and when they finally get around to doing something for “themselves” they decide to spend it in Hawaii rather than spending it with their son whom they haven’t seen in nearly two years. I suppose I should be grateful for the one evening they’re sparing for me, but I’m not. I’m just hurt. Not that I expected anything better from them.

In a momentary lapse of judgment, or perhaps it was a moment of clarity, I make a decision. “Mother, I’m bringing someone with me. I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Tell Father I said hello, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hang up with no further comment. I’m irritated, and I’m angry. I shouldn’t subject Adeline to their bullshit, but I also want her with me. She calms me, and she cares for me more than my parents ever have, and I need her beside me.

When I left her this morning to run home and shower before work, it was still dark. The ridiculousness of living apart from her when all I want is to be with her was profound as I exited her apartment to the darkness of early morning. I’m like some high school punk sneaking out of his girlfriend’s bedroom window. I shouldn’t have to abandon her like this. I should be able to wake with her, make love to her, shower with her, eat breakfast with her, drive to work with her, before starting my day with her. That’s the life I want—with her.

It’s now ten, and we’re meeting in the lobby to go furniture shopping for some last-minute pieces for the model unit. The project is wrapping up, and the final touches are ready to be put in place. The finish carpenters are working on the trim, and early next week the furniture will arrive. The fixtures we were asked to swap for cheaper ones are in, and while we both grumble and grown every time we see them, they don’t take away from her design. She did an amazing job, and my most favorite part of any day is watching her walk into our project and discover what new piece to the puzzle has arrived or been installed. Her face lights up as she sees her design come together, and my face lights up seeing her joy.

Monday will signify the start of her last two weeks at Foster’s, and I’ll have to have my performance appraisal of her work to her department head by the end of the week. Foster assigned it to me rather than Vera as Adeline has worked for me alone for the entirety of her time here, and I thank God for this favor. She’ll get glowing reviews from me and not just because I happen to be infatuated with her. She deserves the very best ratings I could give her, and my ethical conscience is at ease knowing she’s earned her way here at Foster’s.

When she enters the lobby, my heart flutters as it always does when she’s around. Her step is light, and she looks carefree and young. She’s wearing a sundress and cropped cardigan. The dress is a light sky blue with a full skirt and fitted bodice, and the cardigan is navy. She’s wearing a striking pair of ruby-red patent-leather flats, and the image of myself lifting her and pushing her against the wall as I pound into her body floats through my head as my groin tightens in want. Instead, I open the door like a gentleman, nod to our receptionist as we leave, and walk her, without touching, to my waiting car. Once we’re a block away, I stroke the soft skin of her fingers before lacing her fingers with mine.

She’s still received no job offers, hell no invitations to interview, from any firms in Chicago, and I will have to break down and beg her to stay before too long, and I will if I have to. She deserves to know how I feel about her, and there are times when we’re alone together I’m nearly overcome with the need to confess. I hear the words being spoken, and they sit on the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble out of my mouth, but I don’t utter a word. My hands clench as I will my mouth to move, and I open and close my mouth like a half-dead fish struggling to breath out of water. But the words just won’t come out.

I don’t have a single memory of my parents every uttering the words “I love you” to me, and I have not a single memory of my lips ever saying the words. Even married, I became good at not shying away when my ex-wife spoke those words to me, but I never reciprocated beyond saying, “me too.” It was the most I could muster, and now I’m bitter and angry at my parents for never caring enough about me to equip me for this.

She’s waiting for some sign from me. Caring for me terrifies her. But I also know she wants to. She’s afraid to go out on a limb with a man who picked her up in a bar and made it clear she was nothing more than a onetime event, and I don’t hold even a single ounce of resentment toward her for not throwing herself at me. She’s waiting. She’s waiting for me.

As we’re strolling around a great vintage furniture store near Market Street, I bring up dinner with my parents. She freezes midstep and looks at me. Her expression is indiscernible and leaves me vulnerable and ready to backpedal out of my words. “Your parents?”

A salesman shows up at just this moment, as they always do, and we end up buying a couch, a side table, and a lamp before scheduling delivery for Monday and leaving the store together. I want to reach for her hand, and normally I would, but my vulnerability and insecurity haven’t passed, and I’m terrified to touch her. But she’s not afraid to touch me, and as her fingers take mine the tension melts, and I turn, pulling her into my arms in the middle of the sidewalk.

We’re near enough to our favorite little café, and we walk hand in hand there for lunch, and the moment the host seats us she sets my mind at ease. “Of course I’ll go to dinner. I was just surprised they were in town. How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

The heat I always enjoy seeing in her cheeks is suddenly creeping into mine. Very little embarrasses me in life, and usually not even my parents do, but when it comes to Adeline my upbringing pales so disastrously to hers, and I am embarrassed. I want her to think the world of me, and her soft, concerned eyes show pity instead. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate her obvious compassion, but it leaves me once again vulnerable and humiliated. “I don’t know. About two years maybe…” I murmur as my eyes drop from hers. “They’re just stopping for an evening on their way to Hawaii for a vacation.”

Her expression flashes with pain and anger. “They stop for one night to see you before going to Hawaii for a vacation?” She looks incredulous. Her small, unassuming self looks like she’s ready to fight someone for my honor.

But as her anger builds, mine does too. I don’t like that she’s upset. It’s a reminder she sees my pathetic existence, and in emotion I don’t quite understand, my anger directs itself at her. “They’re busy, Adeline. I mean, they’re stopping to see me. What do you think they ought to do, never take a vacation?” I’m cursing myself in my head even as the words fall out of my mouth. I’m angry, but she’s done nothing wrong! I don’t want her to have to fight for me. I don’t want her to see my imperfection. Her anger toward my parents is more like a judgment toward me, and yet logic tells me it’s not. I’m being irrational, but I can’t stifle it. I am hurt by her, but there’s no reason to be.

She’s staring incredulously, and I’m holding her gaze harshly, still unable to wrangle the emotions that have gotten away from me. She says nothing and eventually drops her gaze to her lap, but she’s not nearly as meek as most people believe her to be, and as her eyes slowly return to mine she shows her strength. “Your parents appear to bring out the worst in you, Jordan. I’m not going to pretend you had an ideal upbringing or I agree with the decision they made to be absent from your life. It makes me angry for you, and I’m sorry if that somehow offends you. You deserved better from them.”

My throat is tightening with her words, and tears I know nothing about prick at my eyes. I want to flee, to be away from her before she sees how human I really can be. Her emotion sparks my own, and it’s so unfamiliar to me I want to throw it in her face. Standing, I pull some cash from my pocket and toss it on the table. “I need to get some air.”

I leave without looking back, and the moment the door shuts behind me I regret it. But I don’t return. Instead I walk. I walk endlessly, trying to figure out why I got upset. Nothing she said was untrue, and I agree with every last word of it. But her pity and her anger made me feel inept. I hurt her, and I hate myself for what I’ve done. Is this the kind of man I am? Am I so lacking in assurance I lash out at her for seeing my weaknesses? She cares about me. Am I so incapable of coping with that fact I would push her away to avoid it? I love her, and she has no idea. I’ve already wronged her by withholding this, and I’m on the verge of losing her. I can’t imagine what it will take to keep her, but losing her isn’t an option.

*

As I walk to the site, I pass by Jordan’s car at the curb. I waited for nearly thirty minutes, and after paying our bill and getting his food to go, I left on my own. I’m hurt by his reaction, but oddly, part of me understands him. I imagine how I would feel if the tables were turned. Embarrassment raises the hackles; I know this better than anyone. Sometimes, biting back in anger is the only way a person can maintain some sense of control and strength. He was humiliated. I could see it in his eyes, and I know how humbling that can be. I also know how painful it can be.

When I enter the model, the foreman stops me, but I blow him off quickly, wanting only to look for Jordan. Once I’ve toured the entire condo and discovered he’s not there, I give up and return to the foreman. He brings me up to speed on what they’re doing. The trim is nearly done, the cheaper knockoff fixtures are installed, and they’ll have the hardware finished by the end of the day. Come Monday morning, it will be time to play decorator, and I want to be excited. I am excited; I just want to share it with him.

I meander about, killing time. I debate taking the ‘L’ back to the office, but I don’t want to miss him if he should arrive, but after an hour of waiting I grab my purse and my satchel bag with my samples and head toward the door. When I stop to tell the foreman I’m leaving, we both look as the door opens. Jordan enters, and his eyes find mine immediately. He looks wiped out, distraught even, and as he stares I prick with emotion, and tears threaten to spill. He approaches quickly, and he holds my gaze, saying nothing. His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are dark. He pulls me out of the room and down the hall.

We enter the same bedroom we’ve already christened, and the moment the door is closed and locked behind us he pulls me into his arms. His breathing is ragged and desperate, and his hold on my body is harsh and demanding. He pushes me against the wall and attacks my mouth. Moving his lips to my ear, he starts undoing the hurt. “I’m sorry, Adeline. God, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Of course I forgive him, and nodding my head, I take his lips with as much haste as he took my mine.

Our kisses quickly lead to me on top of him on the floor. The hardwood beneath his body can’t possibly feel good, but his arousal buried deep within my body as I ride him isn’t concerned with anything but me. He sits swiftly to me with the skirt of my dress bunched between our bodies. Pulling my legs to wrap around behind him, he clenches the strong muscles of his bottom, driving his arousal further as I move my body with his. He looks only at my eyes.

The whir of the compressor, interrupted only by the sound of the air gun and miter saw, can be heard from the other room, but we focus on each other, and as his pelvis pushes farther up to mine and my hips drive down harder on his erection, we come together. I bite into his shoulder as I fight to stifle my cries, and he clutches my hips harshly in his hands, holding our bodies sealed to each other as he releases himself within me.

When our bodies have stilled and breathing calmed, he looks to my eyes. He’s still in my body, and I’m sitting limply on his lap. “I’m sorry, Adeline.”

He caresses my cheek with care and adoration. When he kisses me, it’s slow and gentle, and when he pulls away, searching my eyes, it’s in fear I’m still upset. I’m not in the least, and I shake my head, kissing him again. “It’s okay.” His eyelids flutter in relief, and his head sinks to my shoulder.

We stay sitting on the floor, listening to the sounds of our project around us, until his head lifts from my shoulder with one more gentle kiss. “We should go.” I stand as he does too, and as his seed runs down my thighs, he takes my hand and we leave together. The crew’s stares follow us as we walk by hand in hand with no regard for their presence, and once we’re back in his car he drives us to his house for the night.

Chapter 22

“I’m sorry, was it Madeline?”

“No, Mother, it’s Adeline.”

I sit stiffly beside Jordan at our table. When we arrived, we waited at the bar for nearly thirty minutes for his parents to arrive. When they finally showed, their regard for me was absent. They didn’t even appear to notice I was the woman sitting beside their son, holding his hand. In fact, Jordan had to force the introduction upon them as they driveled on about their vacation plans. I don’t like them, and now his mother’s already managed to butcher my name. I can’t believe he’s been subjected to this treatment by them his whole life. I would never wish this on anyone. They’re a nightmare, and with every passing moment my sorrow for Jordan deepens. He looks like he’s in pain at their presence.

“So, Adeline, how is it you know our Jordan?” My jaw clenches at her possessive use of his name. Jordan belongs to me—not them. He deserves better than this, and my desire to protect him is strong.

“We met a couple months ago, Mrs. Ellinwood.” I give nothing more away, but it’s enough for her to use against him.

“A couple months? Wow. That must be some sort of record.” My face falls, but not in embarrassment. I’m livid. How dare this woman disrespect him—disrespect us. “You just seem a bit young, Madeline. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I’m twenty-two, ma’am. And it’s Adeline.” My words may be respectful, but the cool tone of my voice is most definitely not.

“I would appreciate it if you could pretend to be decent, Mother.” His eyes flash with my same fury, and under the cover of the tablecloth I take his hand, and he looks to my eyes as my fingers touch his.

Being decent isn’t on her agenda though. “I’m simply saying, you and relationships don’t mix. I mean, you know that. I thought you were the content-to-be-a-bachelor type now. Not the relationship type.”

“Mother, please.” He’s warning her, and his eyes are on fire.

Warning or not, she’s not finished speaking. “Don’t get me wrong, your whoring around isn’t good for my reputation. I actually miss the days when you were married and I didn’t have to worry what you were doing with half the female population of Chicago. I liked your wife. She was a very accomplished, delightful woman, and now what… a twentysomething… I mean, what is it you actually do, Mandy?”

“It’s Adeline, Mother, and she happens to be an amazing designer at my firm.”

“Oh, calm down, son. I’m sure Mad … Adeline is an amazing decorator.”

“Designer!” He’s seething, his jaw is set, and I wonder how it is he actually managed to speak the words between his teeth that are clenched so tightly together.

“Yes, Jordan. Of course. I’m sure it’s like calling a maid a servant. Some things offend people so. One must be sensitive to others’ self-worth issues these days.”

“Ah yes, dear.” Now it’s his father’s turn to weigh in. “We mustn’t call the help a slave. Terribly tedious all these rules about the working class.” Good God almighty, were it not so damn painful a situation, I could likely laugh at them.

Our food arrives at that very moment, and looking to Jordan’s dark and vengeful eyes, I’m guessing it’s a good thing. We eat in silence and are blessedly left in peace, and as cocktails are served and as people take to the dance floor, Jordan takes my hand and pulls me out with him. I’m thankful for the distance from his parents. They are as awful as I imagined they might be, and as we move through the throngs of people I want to wrap my arms around him and pull him close. His eyes are dark and serious, and he’s not smiled since we arrived. I want to be away from this place, away from these people. They aren’t him. He doesn’t say a word as we move around the floor, and I’m afraid to say anything. His eyes are distant, and he is definitely not here with me, at least not on any emotional level.

As we take our seats once again, it’s his father’s turn to torment him. “So you know Jordan’s ex-wife cheated on him, right? It’s why he’s now divorced. Divorce is such an ugly word, you know. We’ve had to do much explaining on his behalf for that one.” I nearly spit my drink across the table at his words. Not because of the words he’s said so much as the fact he would humiliate his son in front of me. I had no idea Jordan’s ex-wife cheated on him, and while my heart breaks for the pain this must have caused him, I’m just as furious with his father for being the one to tell me.

“I’m aware he’s divorced, yes. Just like the other fifty or so odd percent of adults in this country. Not really an impeachable offense these day, but certainly a scandalous affair indeed, if I do say so myself. Oh, the horror of it all!” I’m practically shaking my finger in the air in mock-exaggerated shock and disapproval—oh the horror of it all—where the hell did that come from? I’m shocked at my rude sarcasm, adopting their snooty accent and all, but as I look to Jordan, the corners of his mouth are ever so slightly pulled up. It’s no smile, not even close, but it’s a response.

“Well, I just think it’s important to understand such things early on. Wouldn’t want to get in too deep, if you know what I mean, just to be heartbroken later.”

And that’s when Jordan hits his boiling point. “Adeline and I are leaving. Thank you for dinner. I guess I’ll see you in another few years.” I stand too as his parents stare with slack jaws and mouths hanging open. As we turn, Jordan squeezes my hand gently and then turns to them once again. “Adeline knows me better than either of you have ever cared to. She’s well aware I’m not perfect and I’m divorced, and for the better part of a decade I chose to indulge in shallow, meaningless dalliances that fed my physical needs far more than anything else. I’m ashamed of you, and quite frankly, I hold you responsible for every last emotional shortcoming I now have the pleasure of trying to undo. Good night.” We turn and walk out of the restaurant hand in hand.

When we reach the valet, he hands them his ticket, and as we wait, we stand side by side. He’s not spoken to me, and while his words may have been protective and warm, he’s cold right now. It isn’t me. He is fighting a long-waged battle in his mind that revives itself every time he’s forced to speak to them, and so I give him space.

He tips the valet and holds my hand as I climb in before he returns to the driver’s side door and pulls out into traffic.

We’re silent as he drives, and I watch him. He’s distant, and I imagine him a small boy, being subjected to their tortures. They are cruel, and oddly, I doubt they even realize it. My heart cries for the little boy inside him who was so neglected by them, abandoned to survive alone in a mansion of loneliness. No child deserves such treatment, especially not the one who would grow to be the man I fall in love with. I want to fight his battle, but of course there is no real battle to fight. The war is long over and the damage is done, and yet looking to his hardened face and cold eyes, clearly the pain is not laid to rest.

When he heads toward my apartment, I’m surprised. He pulls in, opens the car door for me, and walks me to my front door. But as I unlock the door and step within, he doesn’t follow, and my heart falls. For all the torture they caused him, I thought I would at least be able to ease it in some small way with my touch, my presence, but apparently that isn’t at all what he is wanting.

“You could come in?” I’m hopeful, but the coolness of his demeanor sends a very clear message.

“I wouldn’t be good company tonight. I’m sorry.” He barely holds my eyes as he turns me down, and as he mumbles his good-bye under his breath, he turns and leaves me standing looking after him.

I retreat, alone, inside my apartment and spend the next hour cleaning. I throw on my best grimy cleaning clothes and clean every last closet my small little oasis has. It pushes him out of my mind to some small degree, and it keeps the pain of his rejection from eating at me. I’m moving soon enough, and while I own little and am no packrat, I’ve still accumulated junk that has managed to find homes within the darkest recesses of my moldy old closets.

When Kelli shows up unannounced and with a couple bottles of wine, I decide I’m lucky for such a friend. This is what I need—wine and company. Half a bottle of wine later, we’re cleaning while trying on bits and pieces of my past three Halloween costumes and bopping around to some old Bell Biv DeVoe, using a spatula as a microphone. Oh the things you find when you go closet diving and the things you do after half a bottle of wine. And then there’s a knock at my door, and Kell runs to get it.

*

I actually made it home, into the house, and onto my couch before I couldn’t bear being apart from her and abandoned my loneliness for her. I feel awful for the torment she endured on my behalf, and while she handled their personal brand of lunacy and torture perfectly, I didn’t. I more than feel bad; I’m humiliated. I’ve met her parents. I know what real people are supposed to behave like, and it sure as hell isn’t the way my fine folks do. She’s lucky to have her family, and while I’m happy she never had to deal with parents like mine, I’m oddly jealous. I envy what she has, and while I would never want her to suffer anything such as my parents, I sure wish I could share hers.

When I mount her steps, there’s a warm glow of her space through the closed blinds of her front windows, and the pounding of some obscure music from within. But it’s the image that greets me when her door is pulled open that shocks me the most.

“Hi, Kelli. I didn’t realize Adeline would have company.” And why the hell does she look straight out of a nineties hip-hop music video? The ponytail is high and off to the side with the perfect oversize scrunchie, and the blue eye shadow could likely be seen from a mile away. If this isn’t enough, Adeline rounds the corner from her bedroom, and I nearly choke.

She’s standing in the hallway, wearing shorts, very short shorts, and a midriff tank top that leaves little to the imagination. Were that the only surprise, I’d probably tackle her to the ground and pull the skimpy fabric from her body and ravish her. But somehow, and for some reason, she just didn’t stop at the hot pants and tank top. “Why’s your hair orange?” It’s an innocent question, and as the nineties hip-hop scene pounds away on her cheap speakers, I enter.

“Oh … hiya. Uh… Well this probably looks odd, but … we were … uh … cleaning.” Cleaning? The muscles of my mouth relax for the first time all evening, and as she walks toward me a smirk pulls at my lips.

“I see… Is that glitter on your…” and as I reach for her shimmering cheek, I continue, “Oh, yes … it is glitter… That’s … odd.” Now my muscles are really relaxed, and a smile I really didn’t expect to show up today spreads across my face.

She’s blushing, or at least I think she is under all of that makeup. And as Kelli regards us, she laughs and grabs her purse. “Okay, lovelies. I’m out.”

Adeline is polite. “You don’t have to leave, Kell.” Oh hell yes she does.

“Nope, I’m gonna go find me a nineties cover band tonight if it kills me. It’s been a blast … from the past… Get it? Ahh. Cause the mus… Oh that’s good.” And then she ducks out the door, shaking her head in self-amusement.” Quirky character that one.

I’m left staring at my orange-haired, glitter-faced angel and her ridiculously short shorts and tank top. God, I want to fuck her.

“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” she remarks sheepishly.

“I gather. Hope I’m not messing up your plans.” She skirts to the stereo, quickly turning it off, and when she returns to me she looks self-conscious; who wouldn’t with orange hair?

“A shower. I’m going to take a shower,” she replies with a convicted nod.

“Good idea. I’ll watch you. I’d say join you, but I wouldn’t want to flood the place.” Now her smile is less shy and far more intrigued. And once she’s in the bathroom, I slowly peel her out of her clothing, tormenting her nipples by skirting around the tight, pink areolas. I’m rewarded for my efforts with a sigh and a shudder that courses through her. When it’s time for her ever-short shorts, I grip her buttocks forcefully before pulling upward to slip the center seam between her legs. That earns a loud exhale of breath as the fabric invades her body and parts the lips of her sex. I kiss her while I hold the fabric firmly in place, and when I’ve explored her mouth I loosen my hold and pull the shorts down her legs, dropping to my knees in front of her.

Before the release of tension between her legs even has a chance to sink in, I latch myself to her sex, sliding my tongue between her lips. Now she lets loose an incredible moan, and as I pull her to sit on the side of the tub in front of me, she opens her legs with no coaxing. She’s so incredibly beautiful. She’s pink and smooth, glistening in want, and her thighs are slightly quivering in anticipation. Even with hair sprayed orange and glitter painting her cheeks, she’s amazing.

I dive back to her sex once again and lave and torment her sensitive skin. She’s pushing toward me as I suck her folds into my mouth, and when I reach the tight bundle of nerves I know will set her body free, I pull it between my lips and torture her. I flick the tight nub with my tongue over and over again before massaging intensely. As her orgasm mounts and her gasping breath quickens, I lave with an insistent and steady pressure until she cries out and clenches her hands into fists. Pulling my mouth from her, I move my body between her legs and kiss her mouth. I can taste her sweet personal flavor, and I share it as I dip my tongue into her mouth and caress my lips along hers.

Once she finally manages to get into the shower, I wash the glitter from my face while I wait, and when she emerges, once again looking like my sweet Adeline, I hold her, inhaling the scent of her bargain-priced shampoo. Lifting her to straddle me, I carry her to the bedroom and cover her body with mine as I lay her down gently.

She makes short work of getting me out of my clothing, and once I’ve taken my place above her again I watch her eyes as I push with very deliberate slowness into her body. Her eyes are their vibrant crystal blue, watching me as I drive with agonizing patience to her core. I pull from her, letting the swollen head of my cock linger between the warmth of her lips before pushing to my hilt into her once more. I set a slow and steady rhythm that is hypnotic and gentle, and when I roll our bodies to put her above me, I watch as she continues the slow dance of our lovemaking. I lace my fingers with hers, and she rolls her hips to mine, humping my arousal with her own deliberately patient movements.

She looks incredible. Her breasts are small but round, and they bounce just slightly as she works her hips. Her skin is so creamy pale and youthful. Her belly button beckons my tongue, but that will have to wait for another time. Her lips are parted and her expression is shy, her eyes are wide and heated, and her wet, chestnut-colored hair cascades over her shoulders, strands sticking to the skin of her chest. I stroke her clitoris for only a moment before guiding her hand to take over for my fingers. She strokes and pleasures her body while I watch, and when she comes with a cry tearing through her, her stomach muscles clench and she curls forward.

I pull her chest to mine, smashing her breasts to my pecs as she nestles her face into my neck, and pinning her hands behind her at the small of her back, I roll my hips into her, thrusting, fucking, and invading in harsh abandon as her body is forced to comply with mine. Her moans reassure me I’m not hurting her, but as I drive to her core with one final, pounding penetration, a gasp that sounds more like a punch to her gut passes her lips. That’s her limit, but as I spill my seed within her body, relaxing my thrusting and releasing pulsing jets of cum into her depths, my stomach muscles ripple and crunch inward toward her. I let loose her wrists from my grasp, and she lifts her head from my neck, brings her hands to my cheeks, and cradles my face in much-needed warmth and intimacy. Her lips find mine and slowly pull my own between hers. She takes my top lip, sweetly suckling it before claiming my bottom one and doing the same.

When I roll us to our sides, she curls up to my body and I wrap my arms around her. She’s quiet, but she must have a million questions. You don’t experience something as ridiculous as my parents and not have them. And for the first time in my life, I don’t wait for the inquiry to begin. I talk.

She listens as I tell of their abandonment, being raised by nannies in a massive, empty mansion, Christmas presents mailed from overseas that I opened alone on Christmas morning. I tell her of receiving a new car for high school graduation, but not having parents present for even that milestone, and when I tell her they were too busy to make it to my college graduation but managed to send me a check for half a million dollars instead, she cries silent and sad tears for me. I had five nannies present at my graduation, but not a parent, and I gave them each a hundred thousand dollars the following week, care of my dear parents’ graduation gift to me. I talk about my sham of a marriage, my inability and unwillingness to pull myself from work for long enough to be a husband, and about the pain of being deceived by her. She touches my cheeks, stroking away the pain with her fingers, and when I’m finished telling her every pathetic detail of my life she kisses me once.

I make love to her again, narrowly escaping disaster when I almost utter, “I love you,” not thinking a thing of it until the words nearly pass my lips. Of course it would be the most right thing to do at this point, but I’m terrified. Since when have I become such a chickenshit? Apparently since I fell in love for the first time in my life. I may have cared for my ex-wife, but I didn’t love her—not like this. There is no question of that fact at this point. I would die for Adeline, kill for her, go to any length necessary to protect her. I’m a possessive prick who cares more for her than I do myself, and for the first time in my life I like myself. I like me with her. She makes me better; she makes me whole. She, in fact, erases every last moment of bullshit from my life.

Every time I make love to her now, I come inside her knowing she won’t be pregnant but wishing she was. At least if she were, she couldn’t leave me, and oddly, half the reason I enjoy leaving my seed within her is because a woman carrying my child feels right and appropriate for the first time in my life. I used to shudder at the thought. I looked at children with pity, always remembering myself at their age, but now there’s joy that didn’t exist in my mind before. I see a child’s laughter, their smile, their trust and happiness, and for the first time, it isn’t a depressing precursor to some sad, lonely memory, it’s the sign of what’s to come … of what should be to come. If I can just get out of my own way long enough to let her see me—let her love me if she will.

She should have the world, and I pale in comparison to the enormity of what she deserves, but I want to be the one to give it to her regardless. And with our end in sight, we embark together on the second to last week of her internship and less than two weeks from her graduation. The time has come, and with every passing day, every passing touch, every last look of her gentle eyes that always watch me so closely, I’m growing one day closer to losing her. But I won’t lose her. I will beg, plead, cry every last tear I’ve withheld from myself if I must, but before the end is here, she will know just how strongly the unlovable can love. If she rejects me, so be it. It will destroy me, but she will know my feelings regardless. They are the only thing left that holds any value, and they belong to her now.

Chapter 23

It’s only two weeks away, and I’m desperate. He cares for me; he must. And yet, he holds back from me still. When I think of our parting, I panic. My breath comes in gasps that strangle my throat and leave me wanting to collapse to my knees. My emotional reaction feels more physical than the world around me, and after his body and mind have drifted off to sleep beside me every night, I watch him. I whisper, “I love you” to the heavy breathing beside me. He doesn’t hear my words, but I pray the words somehow reach him.

He spends every night with me, either calling me to his place or showing up at mine. He is as content in my double-sized bed that leaves no space between our bodies as he is in his king-size bed, which neither requires nor promotes closeness but finds us clutched together nevertheless.

We wake together, make love more often than not, shower together, and watch each other get ready for the day. His eyes study me as I blow dry my hair and try to make it look respectable, and I watch, with just as much interest, as he stands naked at the sink shaving. When I dress, his gaze follows my every movement, and as he drops me at the ‘L’ it’s with one final kiss. I walk into the building twenty minutes later only to see him standing in the lobby waiting for me. It was my refusal that led to such a bizarre arrangement. I told him I wouldn’t let him risk driving me to work, and so he waits until he knows I’m there safe and sound.

He must hate the deception, and I do as well, but each day passes in this way, and come night we are together alone once more. We live our lives outside of work in the way I wish we could live every day. We go out to dinner together, stroll the sidewalk hand in hand, even grocery shop together. It’s all so very normal … but temporary. I’ve received four more rejection letters from Chicago firms looking for so many years more experience than I have, and as they stack up high my spirits drop down low. I want an excuse, any excuse, to stay. A confession of his love and devotion would suffice, but absent that I’ll take a job offer, any job offer, at this point. But nothing is forthcoming, and I debate daily whether professing my love for this man will end up being the worst mistake of my life or the best.

It seems so easy. He’s given me an out. He’s asked me to stay with him while I look for a job, but it isn’t enough. It’s not nearly what I need from him. I need him to love me, and as much confidence as I have in him, I still find it hard to fathom he possibly could. He holds an emotional tether to my heart, and anything short of what I need in him is nothing more than a painful reminder of what I don’t have from him. It isn’t enough to live in his home while I look for a job. It isn’t his heart held in the palm of his open hand, and frankly, that’s the only thing I want from him at this point. Should I stay without his love, it would destroy me in the end. I know this, so I give myself to him every day, accepting what I get in return but praying for more of him, all of him.

But he’s a flightless bird.

He has the power to soar but he’s been cut off at the knees by pariahs who destroyed his soul and took his ability to feel in the same way I do. But however hopeless his past makes it feel, I wait. Patiently, I wait for his love, his admission of it, his own damn acceptance of it.

Chapter 24

When I arrive to work on Tuesday of my last week, it’s with the same dread I felt on Monday. It’s the last week, and I’m desperate. He’s taking me to dinner this evening to some place expensive and nice, and when he wrapped his arms around me this morning as I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, his eyes lit up when I agreed to go. Of course I agreed. We eat out nearly every night; neither of us can cook to save our lives, and after one very unfortunate recipe disaster we really believed we could conquer together, we gave up. But this night is somehow different to him. His eyes showed it as they watched mine in the mirror. He’s hiding something, and I sense it’s all about me, for me. Of course I’ll go to dinner with him, but my mood is still sad and depressed.

My body is sate after so many endless nights and days of his touch, but my soul is empty and feeding on my heart at this point to stay alive. When Vera calls and tells me to report to Foster’s office, my mood drops even farther. I check my makeup in the mirror quickly as I stand to leave for his office. There’s no reason to be nervous, but I am.

My work on the Market Street project is done. Jordan and I toured the finished product just yesterday afternoon, and my eyes teared at the sight of our project complete. I’m happy with every last aspect, barring the knockoff light fixtures Trigg forced us to purchase instead of the restored originals, but it’s otherwise perfect.

Jordan made love to me against the counter in the kitchen, and as we turned out the lights to leave, I commented wryly, “What about the other rooms.”

He wasted no time retorting, “Some other time.” If only that were true. We’re out of time, and I’m out of patience. I’m losing him more every day, and while he’s emotionally closer to me now than on the day before and the day before that, he’s slipping away.

As I approach Foster’s office, I meet Jordan in the hallway. He looks to my eyes as he registers we must have been summoned together, and he gives me a quick wink before we both turn into the office. The warmth his gesture incited only a moment before fades in an instant as I take in Dr. Lynch already seated in Foster’s office. He looks to me, but rather than smiling as I would typically expect, his eyes flit away from mine as my face drops. When Vera enters behind Jordan and I, my suspicion grows, and as I look to Jordan and catch the worry etched on his face, my heart lurches in fear and near panic.

“Come in, Adeline, Jordan. Please have a seat.” Foster is ushering us to the two vacant chairs in front of his desk, typically the only chairs in his office, but on this day, extra chairs have been brought in, and Dr. Lynch is occupying one while the other is waiting for Vera.

Vera closes the door behind her, and I’m suddenly trapped, ambushed, and I’m not even sure why. I’ve only three days left of my time at Foster’s, and my part in the Market Street project is done, so I can’t wrap my head around the somber, uncomfortable mood in this room and why not a damn person wants to look at me.

“Adeline, I’m sorry to have to bring you in today for this reason, but your internship is being terminated effective immediately.” I gasp at Foster’s words, and my stomach clenches. His eyes are genuinely apologetic, and the slight purse of his lips is the only evidence I need of his true compassion for me in this moment, but I’m shocked, and for all his compassion, I’m flabbergasted and livid.

Before I can even open my mouth to speak, Jordan remarks with the same shock showing in his voice that races rampantly through my body. “What? What the hell are you talking about? You can’t fire her!” His face is incredulous and furious.

Foster doesn’t reply, but hands a document to Jordan. I’m sitting frozen in place but can see enough to know the letterhead is from the vendor I’ve been working with for most of the fixtures and hardware on the Market Street project. “Adeline, a fairly large order of restored original fixtures was ordered for Market Street by you a couple weeks ago. This order was previously canceled at Trigg’s request due to project budget restrictions. These fixtures, at our request, were stripped, restored, and shipped, and they’re now, unfortunately, nonrefundable.” I’m shaking my head in shock as I listen to his words. He thinks this is my fault, but I’m still stunned into silence, trying to figure out what to say. “This is the purchase order they have on file for the request, and according to them this order was placed by you. Trigg is understandably upset. They’ve asked there be repercussions, and under the circumstances I really had no alternative but to contact Dr. Lynch. I’m sorry, Adeline. I don’t…”

“But Mr. Foster, I didn’t place any order two weeks ago. I canceled this order well over a month ago. I didn’t do this!” My voice is finally free from the restraint of my tight throat, but now my tears are threatening to spring forth. My career, my livelihood, my entire education is being threatened, and I can’t for the life of me wrap my head around why this is happening.

“Why are they saying Adeline changed this order?” Jordan’s face has only relaxed marginally as he tries to get the details of what is going on.

Foster responds, trying his best to maintain a calm and soothing voice. He has two rather horrified faces glaring back at the moment, and for the briefest of seconds I actually feel sorry for him. But then I’m snapped back to reality when he responds, “The order was called in. They’ve said their practice is to start a PO form with every call, and they go through the ordering details line by line, including asking for the name of the person they’re speaking to.”

“Oh, come on! Anyone could have called in that order. Adeline wouldn’t do this. She’s the one who canceled this order to begin with.” Jordan looks as shocked as me, and he’s holding out the purchase order in front of him, dismissing its authenticity as he refuses to pay it any more attention. But Vera takes the opportunity to snatch it from his hands, eyeing it speculatively. Dr. Lynch has yet to speak and is simply watching the exchange, refusing to look at me.

It is Vera who speaks next, and her words are aimed squarely at me. “This PO was initiated on the afternoon of our golf outing, and since you were the only one in the building that afternoon, I’m guessing there’s little question who placed this order.” Her tone is smug, and as my eyes flash to Jordan’s in shock, his snap to mine as well. The immediate memory of our afternoon together sends a flush of warmth through my body that radiates to my cheeks as his eyes share a sudden softness with mine. But his flutter closed a moment later in sudden fury as he shakes his head. The look of disgust that passes over his face needs no explanation. He’s sharing the same realization that is sinking into my understanding. I’m being framed.

“How very fucking convenient, Vera!” Jordan’s words are seething with fury and hatred as she returns his glare. “And I’m sure you had nothing to do with this order being changed, huh?” His suspicion narrows his eyes as he regards her harshly. Were they alone, I’m not at all sure she would be safe.

With a look of well-played ignorance on her face, she responds. “I was at the golf outing, Jordan, just like you. I couldn’t possibly have changed this order, and I don’t appreciate…”

“The order came in by phone! You had just as much opportunity to do that from the golf course as you would have from the office, though I’m betting you were counting on Adeline being the only one in the office as a good selling point for your little scheme—certainly one way to point the finger. We’re all just so shocked you put the dates together so quickly, and it’s not just a little convenient!” His eyes look to mine as I continue to stare into space, shocked. My life is being destroyed in front of me, and I’m saying nothing. My mind is registering every last word being spoken, but I’m stunned, and it hasn’t escaped my mind the fact Jordan spent the afternoon in question with me could well prove to be a liability to him just as much as the false tale being woven right now is to me.

As I contemplate how I should respond, Dr. Lynch speaks for the first time, and as he does my blood runs cold, and whatever hope I was clinging to that I could somehow fix this situation dissipates. “Whether you did or did not change the order is irrelevant at this point. I just received a call this morning from Mark Lear at Trigg Enterprises. Not only did he fill me in on the order change debacle, he filled me in on some other … events of late.” His words linger like a threat ready to be unleashed, and as my breath leaves my lungs in an audible rush, my eyes quickly find Jordan’s just to find his are closed and his face is resigned. When I look to Foster, he is looking back and forth from Jordan to me in utter confusion. The threat is being unleashed, and I’m finished, and for that matter, so is Jordan.

“What are you talking about? What else did she screw up?” It’s Vera, and from the sounds of it she’s as clueless as Foster.

“Mark brought it to my attention the two of you were involved in an … inappropriate and less-than-professional relationship. In fact, he says he was witness to it on one occasion.” And then to me, Dr. Lynch continues. “I’m disappointed in you, Adeline. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so careless with your education and your future. In light of the order being changed negligently and the evidence pointing to you, effectively costing Foster’s tens of thousands of dollars I might add, and the inappropriate contact you have had with a senior level principal, I have no choice but to remove you from your internship. You will receive no credit for your time here, and you won’t be able to graduate at this point.

A sob passes my lips in pain and devastation, but Jordan is quick to come to my defense, and in a tone that would terrify me if it were directed at me, he unleashes his fury. “This is not her fault! She did not change that fucking order, and you damn well know it. Vera has been vying to destroy her out of some pathetic jealousy since the day Adeline arrived. She’s tormented her and degraded her for her own personal satisfaction, and Adeline has suffered enough because of that bitch!” He’s yelling. Foster is watching him calmly, but Dr. Lynch is sitting stiffly with his body shifted away from Jordan’s.

Vera, on the other hand, is acting aghast at the comments. “How dare you accuse me…?”

“Shut! The! Fuck! Up! You! Stupid! Bitch!”

“Vera, you will let me handle this,” Foster interjects before Jordan can become unglued further.

With Vera being managed by Foster, Jordan turns to me, and his face falls as he takes in my tears that have now slipped down my cheeks. His pain at the sight of me has his jaw clenching and his teeth grinding.

Jordan spins to Dr. Lynch, pinning him to his chair with his desperate expression. “Adeline did not change that order. She was not alone in the office that afternoon. I was with her the whole time, and I am telling you she didn’t do this.” Dr. Lynch regards him coolly. I’ve always respected Dr. Lynch, but he’s not showing me the least bit of compassion at the moment, and I resent the hell out of him for it.

But it’s Foster who speaks next. “You weren’t at the golf outing?” His eyes are suspicious as they regard Jordan, and Jordan is hesitant as he shakes his head. With an audible sigh, his fingers laced behind his head and leaning back in his seat, Foster continues. “What were you doing here?” Jordan says nothing but holds his gaze. Foster thinks, considers, contemplates, and takes a damn long time doing it before speaking again. “Dr. Lynch, I’d like some time to speak with Jordan and Adeline. I would caution you not to make a quick decision on this until you’ve had a chance to really think about what you’re doing.”

Dr. Lynch doesn’t appreciate Foster’s comments as he stands and turns to leave, and pausing at the door, he turns back and holds my gaze firmly. “I have no doubt the two of you have developed a relationship of some sort. He’s ready to kill the next person who insults you, and whether either of you are willing to say it out loud, it’s obvious. It was unprofessional and inappropriate of you to allow this to happen, and I’m well within my rights to remove you from this position.” He turns without another look and leaves the room.

“So, what do I need to know?” Foster is studying Jordan as I sit numbly by his side. I want to touch him; I want him to touch me.

Rather than compassion and touch, I get harsh words not meant to be cruel but painful regardless. “I don’t want to discuss this with Adeline here, and I want Vera gone as well.”

My gaze snaps to his as shock once more takes over my demeanor. Vera lets out a huff of irritated breath, but neither Jordan nor I pay her any mind. His eyes are focused on me as I’m shaking my head, refusing to leave. But as he regards me, he takes my hand. His touch is gentle, and while his words have upset me, his hand reassures me. “I’m so sorry, Addy. You don’t deserve any of this.” At the touch of his hand on mine, I catch the somewhat confused and intrigued look that passes Foster’s face, and another derisive snort from Vera interrupts the room. But Jordan isn’t done shocking the hell out of the poor man, and as I try my damndest to stay calm, he leans to my mouth, shocking me as well. He kisses me. It’s short, sweet, and not the least bit overt or sexual. Now the look of intrigue and confusion on Foster’s face turns to absolute shock as he shakes his head in resignation. And naturally, Vera weighs in with her own obnoxious and over-loud gasp. Jordan says nothing to me for many long moments. My heart is thudding in my chest, and I try desperately to make sense of his actions. “Please. I have to talk to Foster.”

I stand, my body numb, and Foster offers me a curt nod. After everything we’ve subjected him to this morning, he’s still compassionate and caring. I don’t deserve it. As I exit to the hall, closing the door behind me, I hear Jordan unleash his fury at Vera. I can barely keep up with his raging words, but the better portion of them would make a nun cry.

I stop quickly at my desk to collect my belongings before leaving the building without a word to anyone. I’m only really interested in escaping at the moment, but the second I sit on the bench of the ‘L’, I let my mind catch up to my body, and I cry. This man will stop at nothing to protect me, and even though the cause is lost, he is still fighting and clawing to redeem me. How can he not love me? However content his strong desire to protect me may make me feel, it means nothing without his love. The moment I walk through the door to my apartment, I send my parents an e-mail and set about packing a bag. I’m going home.

Chapter 25

With Vera finally gone from the room, and my rage only somewhat dissipated, Foster speaks. “What have you done, Jordan?” His words are concerned, laced with worry and a load of disappointment. Foster became the father my own failed to be. It took many years for our working relationship to grow into this comfortable familial mentorship, but it has. He’s as concerned for me as he is upset. He has every right to be, and I do owe him answers.

“I’m in love with her.” It’s the only real explanation needed, and with it, I unload my heart on him. I give him the censored version of our first night together. I tell of the day she came stumbling into the boardroom lost. I admit what an ass I was when I first took her to lunch and how I quickly started crumbling at her vulnerability, how her vulnerability soon grew into need, passion, lust, and eventually, and far quicker than I imagined possible, love. I want my life to be with her now. I want to give her all of me in the way she deserves, expects, and wants. She showed me what love looks like, and for the first time in my life, she has me craving it as much for myself as for her.

He does deserve an answer, but he’s not going to like it. “I’m resigning.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t want you…”

“Please listen to me.” My mind has been spinning since we walked into this room and I realized Adeline was being threatened. I know what I need to do, and I’m prepared to fight. “What I did with Adeline was inappropriate. I broke company policy, and if nothing else, it was unethical. But she doesn’t deserve to be destroyed by this. What I intend to do could have backlash. At the very least it could attach a fairly negative reputation to me, and your firm doesn’t need to be attached to that.”

“What the hell are you planning on doing?”

I look at him for many long moments, gauging my words. “You have policies in place that I broke. In order for you to maintain control of your company should there be any fallout, you need to be protected, and the best way to do that is for me to no longer be associated with the firm.” He’s shaking his head, and I quickly continue, giving him no time to argue. “We both knew I would eventually move on. I want to have my own firm that focuses on restoration. It’s time for me to leave. With me gone, whatever happens will be associated with me only, and not with your firm.”

“You’re not answering my question. What exactly is it you intend to do that could cause fallout?”

“The fallout’s already done, in case you missed the past thirty minutes. Adeline’s been ruined, and I won’t tolerate it. I intend to ruffle a few feathers at the college to get Adeline back on track, and if I have to put some heat on Trigg for allowing Mark to remain employed after his behavior toward Adeline, so be it. Either way, Foster’s won’t be involved.” I have nothing further to say and nothing left holding me to this place.

When I stand and move to the door, Foster speaks again. “You really love her?” I nod as he studies me curiously. “She’s lucky to have you.” His words are warm, genuine.

“I’m not so sure of that. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for me.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

I sigh in resignation. “We’ll see.”

I want to go to Adeline, so much so it’s hard to steer my car to her college rather than her apartment. She’s only days from graduation, and if I have a hope of salvaging that, I have to do it now.

When I arrive at Adeline’s school, I’m smacked with a world of memories from what feels like a lifetime ago. This was my school as well, some ten or so odd years ago. It’s where I met my first wife. Marrying her was one of many mistakes I would and will make in my lifetime, but I didn’t understand the world in the same way I do today. I was young. I thought I knew what I was supposed to want, and while our marriage ended, and it left me bitter and resentful for years after, it’s the very fallout from that terrible time in my life that put me in exactly the place I needed to be to meet my Adeline, my sweet Adeline. She was a one-night stand that stuck. From the first moment I saw her in the bar, I had to have her, and that utter sense of urgency hasn’t faded one ounce, though I’ve had her many times over at this point.

I was in the architectural department, adjacent to the design department, but I spent enough of my formative years here to know where I’m going. When the secretary asks who I wish to see, I demand to speak with Dr. Lynch. She recognizes my name and curtly tells me to wait.

When she returns to me and as politely as her perturbed demeanor will allow tells me Dr. Lynch doesn’t wish to see me, my voice suddenly becomes as loud and demanding as it was in Foster’s office. “If I have to wait all goddamn day, I will! And if I have to take this issue farther up the chain than Lynch, then so be it! He’s allowed Adeline to be harassed and practically assaulted…” The secretary likely has no idea what I’m talking about, but the half a dozen or so pairs of eyes now peering over the tops of cubicles is what I was really going for, and within moments Dr. Lynch appears in his doorway. His face is crimson, and he is glaring. I’m allowed to pass into his office, but I’m anything but welcome there. He returns to his desk, and I take the seat in front of his desk while we glare at each other.

“Adeline’s good at what she does.”

“Yes, she is.” His voice is seething with fury at my behavior.

“And yet, you’re intent on ruining her. Why?”

“Students have to uphold a certain level of professionalism when studying as an intern…”

“Bullshit. Adeline has always been professional, her work has always been second to none, and she’s dedicated. Her personal relationships should have nothing to do with her internship. So, I’ll ask again, why are you doing this? Are you attracted to her? Is that it? Offended she’s not fucking you? What?” I’m accusatory, and the look of shock returned to me is genuine. Thank God for that at least.

“Fuck you! I’ve always been fond of Adeline, but not like that. I’m old enough to be her father, and she’s better than this!” He’s struggling to remain composed, and his voice is bordering on yelling.

“You mean she’s better than me.”

“Better than allowing herself to be pulled into an inappropriate relationship with a superior. I’m disappointed in her. She should have known better. She’s not a child. She’s responsible for the decisions she makes, and she made the decision to become involved with you. How much more clear can I make it, and never mind the accusations she botched a fifty-thousand-dollar order your company now has to eat!”

“Foster’s is no longer my company, and we both know she wasn’t responsible for that order.”

“Well perhaps if she’d been paying better attention to her job and less attention to you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“She was sabotaged by a resentful employee, and there is nothing she could have done to stop this from happening.” I pause, and he watches me. He’s judging my words. His actions, his decisions aren’t driven by mere departmental procedure and regulation; he’s disappointed in her the way a parent would be after finding out their child was diddling the teacher. He may be able to make a strong case for removing Adeline from the internship, but it won’t be the true reason behind his actions. He’s upset. Plain and simple. I hold his gaze harshly. “If you care about her future, you won’t destroy it. She does not deserve this, and it isn’t her fault.”

“Not her fault? Of course it’s her fault!”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully. I did this. It was me. I took advantage of a naive young woman in a situation where I was the one in control. Who knows? She may have thought her internship would be threatened if she didn’t comply, perhaps her future would be ruined. She was coerced. But it was me. Not her. She was a victim in all of this, and it would be a real shame for your student to be punished for being victimized by me.”

“You’re full of shit. I don’t believe for a second she felt coerced.”

“You don’t have to believe it. So long as the rest of the world does. People don’t look so kindly on schools turning a blind eye when their female students are being harassed and assaulted. Every year some university is coming under criticism for mishandling crimes against their female population in order to mitigate their crime rate. And in this case, you already allowed her to return to her internship after finding out Mark Lear harassed her. Hell, you didn’t investigate or take any action whatsoever to ensure her safety.”

“That’s a lie! I asked her if she…”

I cut him off quickly. “Again, it has more to do with what people are willing to believe.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” His face is burning red in his fury. He wants to hit me, but since I want to hit him just as much, I’m willing to let it slide.

“No, you should! You had no problem allowing her to return to Foster’s after the incident with Mark. You want to talk about inappropriate, that man tormented her, and you had no problem sending her right back for more. Funny how easily and eagerly you seem willing to pass judgment on her now. A judgment, by the way, that was fed to you by Mark Lear himself. She deserves better from you, especially if you have as much respect for her as you say you do. And if that respect isn’t enough for you to do the right thing, then trust me when I tell you I can pave the way for one hell of a harassment case that will implicate the university’s blatant refusal to support their student. If it means painting myself a sexually assaulting asshole, then I’ll do it. And if you think for a moment I’m not more than willing to hang myself out to dry for her, think again.” I don’t have to try to sound convincing to this man. I’m telling the truth. There is nothing I won’t do to protect her from the rug they’re pulling out from under her, and if that means throwing myself under the bus to see it done, so be it

Dr. Lynch is staring at me. His eyes are wide; his nostrils are flared. “Why would you do this for her?”

“That’s no more your business than what my relationship with her is or is not.”

“You’ll destroy your career.”

“Maybe. But that’s my problem.”

He stares, saying nothing, and I stare coolly back, waiting. I’m not cool at all. My heart is pounding, and I’m terrified. I don’t want this threat to move outside of this room. I may be willing to destroy my life, but it certainly isn’t what I want to have happen. I can’t take care of her if I’m destitute. I can’t be with her if I destroy my life. He has to break, and I won’t break his stare until he does.

“Is she good at what she does? I want an honest assessment and not the one fogged by your dick.”

“She is. She has more talent than the vast majority of designers I’ve worked with, and the fact she’s not even out of school yet impresses the hell out of me. She has an eye for historical architecture, and while I’m sure she’s more than capable of handling contemporary, she’s more than at home in traditional design. I didn’t expect her to be so talented when she first came to Foster’s, but she is. And if you can’t see she’s accomplished twice as much in her one semester at Foster’s than your other interns ever have and likely ever will, then you are blind.”

Dr. Lynch continues to stare. He’s debating, deciding, judging, and my heart is still pounding. I might not be able to stop myself from punching him in the face if I don’t get my way. Her future is on the line, and this man is the only one who can redeem her. His stare goes on and on for eternity, and I sit, waiting, watching, trying not to kill him.

“She’s not going back to Foster’s for the remainder of the week, but I’ll consider the internship complete. I want her performance evaluation turned in by someone other than you, and I won’t be sending any more interns to Foster’s if you remain on staff. You’ve said you’re not with Foster’s anymore, so I’m assuming this won’t be a problem. Right now, I have no interest in speaking with her, so I’d appreciate it if you would let her know. She’ll graduate with her class this weekend, and quite frankly, I’ll be glad to be done with this bullshit.”

I want to kiss him. I still want to punch him too, but my relief is overwhelming. I try to stay cool, but the audible sigh that passes my lips is a clear sign I’m crumbling. This has easily been the most intense and terrifying fifteen minutes of my life, and when I escape from the building and finally sink into my car, my hands tremble on the steering wheel. I let my head sink to the steering wheel. Tears I haven’t experienced in more years than I can recall are suddenly present and fighting to spill. I give in for a minute and let them fall before dashing them away and pulling from the parking lot.

Chapter 26

When I arrive at Adeline’s apartment, I don’t expect to find it silent and unoccupied. I knock and then I pound. I call her cell phone, which goes straight to voice mail, and as I hit Redial and peer in through her blinds, I’m caught completely off guard when Kelli suddenly appears. I’ve decided I like Kelli. She’s spunky and strikes me as the type who is not easily ruffled—unlike me, who is ready to pop a tent on her porch, send out a search party, and lobby my congressman for mandatory girlfriend microchip tracking devices.

Ironically, I had intended to take her to dinner on this very night and profess my feelings. I had been psyching myself for the event since I made the reservation the afternoon before, and now, having had to change those plans, I was expecting to find her home so I could be her knight in shining armor. But arriving to her empty apartment with my plans dashed was admittedly not what I had in mind. Kelli in her stead was definitely not what I had in mind.

“Hi.” Her words are uneasy and leery.

“Uh… Have you talked to Adeline? I can’t reach her, and I…”

I must look desperate, as she unlocks the door and lets me enter with her. Her eyes are calm, but her gaze is suspicious as she studies me. “Yeah. I just talked to her a bit ago. She’s going home to be with her parents. She left in a hurry and left some windows open and asked that I stop by.” Her eyes narrow at my concern. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

I’m not okay if she’s not here. “Yes, I’m fine. Did she say when she’d be back?”

Her eyes flash to mine, and I can see the protective fury boiling beneath the surface of her demeanor. “Well, given the fact she won’t be graduating and her entire life was just destroyed today, I guess … maybe … never.” Kelli is resentful; her sarcasm and cool expression are making this clear.

“I have to see her. Do you know her parents’ address?”

“What on earth for? You fuck her, nothing more. You don’t do relationships, or so I’ve been told. So, this really doesn’t concern you, Jordan.” I see my dear sweet Adeline has been confiding in her best friend, not that I expected anything less. I can also see if I have any hope of getting to Adeline, it will be through Kelli. At the moment she’s the gatekeeper, and the gatekeeper does not like me.

“I love her, Kelli.” I pray the truth works.

“And yet, oddly, you haven’t told her that.” My gaze falls from hers as guilt twists a knife in my gut. The fact Kelli knows I haven’t told Adeline I love her means it was important enough to Adeline to tell her.

“I know, but you have to believe me when I tell you I do. I have to see her, Kelli.”

She studies me. She doesn’t trust me, and I get it. I’m a schmuck. After studying me as I hold her gaze, she falters, and on a sigh, she speaks. “Loving her means loving only her for the rest of your life. Marrying her, having a family with her, sharing your life completely with her. It isn’t something you can throw away later or abandon because you have strong feelings now, but you tire of her later.” She has no faith in me, but for the first time in my life I have faith in myself.

“I know what love means, and I love Adeline. I know how to do this. You have to trust me.” I’m practically begging her to believe in me, but my words are true and my feelings are honest. There is no question remaining in my mind I’m meant to love her, and it will be everything she deserves.

Another deep sigh later and she moves to Adeline’s desk, writing something on a notepad. Handing it to me, she continues. “Their address. She’s upset, Jordan.”

“I know.” I turn from her and move to the door, pausing once at the threshold and looking back. “She’s graduating Sunday.”

The grin that takes over her face is the response I get. “And how the hell did you manage that?”

“By loving her enough.” I smirk as my eyebrows shoot up.

As I turn to leave, her words trail after me. “Well done, Jordan.”

Chapter 27

Five hours, one speeding ticket, and a narrow miss with the stupidest Iowa deer I’ve ever met later, and I’m pulling into her parents’ driveway. It’s dark and late evening at this point. I became turned around on the country roads three times before I managed to make it to the right road and then had to retrace my path twice before finally finding the right driveway—not easy to find much of anything out on darkened country roads without so much as a single streetlight. But the warm lights glowing within the home tell me they’re here. The house is surrounded by mature trees and fields beyond that. It’s a large two-story with a massive wraparound porch. I can’t make out much detail, but it looks beautiful in that heartland sort of way. It’s easy to imagine Adeline growing up here, swinging on the tire swing that hangs from the enormous old oak tree in front of the house, playing basketball in the driveway where the hoop hangs above the detached garage.

As I pull up and step out of my car, I take in the smell of earth. It’s dirt and growth and the sweet smell of spring flowers and rain. There’s the buzzing of crickets, and their music emanates from every direction around me. This place is alive with more life than even Chicago manages to cram within its city limits. The stars shine bright in a way I’ve never experienced, and the moon as well. I can imagine no better place than her home and this country world to give her the words I’ve withheld for so long. And yet mounting the porch steps to the front door, I’m terrified.

Have I waited too long? Have I kept her wanting for more too endlessly? My mind whirs with questions, and I’m terrified of the answers to each and every one of them, but there is one that keeps coming around to the forefront of my consciousness over and over and over again. This question is the key to all others, and I’m desperate to know this answer. Does she love me?

I knock and wait. My palms are sweaty, and my heart is thudding with the pulse of fear. I can hear the footfalls from within as someone approaches, and for a half a second I imagine dodging off to hide behind the bushes that line the front of the porch. Her rejection may kill me, but it’s her love that will heal every last wound I carry.

As the door opens, I inhale a deep breath and hold it in my lungs. And when I see her face, the air rushes out in a loud sigh.

“What are you doing here?” Her eyes are wide and shocked.

I’m paralyzed in my fear and desperate for the reassurance of her touch. “You’re graduating.” They’re not the only words that need to be spoken, but they’re a good way to start.

“What? No, I’m…” She’s shaking her head. She doesn’t believe me.

“Yeah, you are.”

She swallows over a lump in her throat, and her eyes suddenly glisten with tears. She looks like she’s struggling to process my words. “What did you do?”

“Nothing really… It’s not the reason I’m here … I mean … it’s not the only reason I’m here.” She’s watching. Her brow is wrinkled as she fights to get hold of the situation and what I’m saying, and as one lone tear breaks loose and slips down the beautiful skin of her cheeks, I finally tell her what I’ve known in my heart for too long without saying. “Adeline, I love you.”

She shakes her head slowly. “No, you don’t.” A small, nervous laugh that is anything but amused passes her lips.

“Yeah … I really do, Addy. Really, really do.” My throat is tight with my restrained tears. Hers are not so restrained. She’s crying, and finally nodding, and she looks mildly insane … but beautiful. Convinced.

I grab her and pull her tight to me before she can stop me, and I kiss her. Her tears touch my cheeks as I claim her mouth, and when I pull from her, the same nervous laugh melts my heart. She’s as nervous as I am, but she’s happy. I hold her some more as her tears continue to fall, and after I’ve clutched her body enough to know she won’t disappear if I let her go, I pull from her and run my hand down her tear-streaked cheek. She smiles an emotionally exhausted but content smile, and relief and absolute elation course through me.

“Umm. My dad kind of wants to cut your penis off … just so you know.” She’s grimacing when she says it, and while he may not technically cut my penis off, he most likely does want to.

“Hmm. Well, he’s going to have to get over that if he ever wants grandchildren.” Now her nervous laugh catches in her throat on a loud gasp, and she’s nodding her teary face again. She likes those words … and so do I. “Would he feel better if I married you?” Still nodding away her agreement.

“Is that what you want?” She wants my reassurance. This is a piece of cake.

“Oh, yeah.”

Chapter 28

He loves me. When he said the words, I was shocked. I’ve waited, wanted, and prayed for them, but I was still shocked. They’re simple words, really, but they were so damn hard to grasp at that moment. When I imagined him speaking these words, it was never in this way, in this place. It wasn’t what I had in mind, but whatever is? It was perfect. More perfect than any scenario or scene I’ve played out in my fantasies.

The remainder of the week before my graduation was spent with Jordan and my parents. Jordan slept in one bedroom and I in another. He respected their home and didn’t lay more than the occasional secret hand on my skin. It was torture. Complete and utter torture. My father indeed wanted to kill him, but oddly after a walk they took together where Jordan explained what it was he did to put me back in the good graces of my school, my father warmed to him. I’m sure I’m getting the watered-down version of the story, and when I ask, my father looks at him knowingly, and with an unrestrained look of admiration … even if he still wants to cut his penis off.

Jordan received a call Thursday night from a client he’s worked with in the past. Foster referred him and let the man know Jordan was now out on his own and would be the best restorative architect in the field. Jordan will now be headed back to Chicago early Saturday morning, and midafternoon Friday, after my parents leave to run errands, I finally get my hands on him.

“Adeline, I think your father might let me keep my cock if I can keep it out of you until I marry you.” He’s smiling, but there is definitely some truth to his words. When my hands find their way to his rigid shaft, he gives in, but not without one final request. “At least not in their house. Okay?”

We end up on the lawn by the tire swing. It’s hidden from the road, not that many people pass our way, by the thick lilac bushes that tinge the air with their sweet, recognizable scent. And on a blanket, he makes love to me. His eyes don’t leave mine as he watches the effect his penetration has on me, and as he sets a gentle and slow pace I push up to meet his thrusts as he bears down on me. When he rolls me to cover his body, he bites his lip and groans as I sink over his length, taking all of him within my body. We come together, and as he sits to face me and pulls my legs to wrap around him, I give him the same words he finally gave to me; it’s the promise we both need from each other. “I love you, Jordan.”

“I love you too, Adeline.” And he does.

*

The contract signed for Ellinwood Restorations’ very first client, I set in to do some research. It’s Saturday, and I won’t see Adeline until her graduation tomorrow. For some odd reason, I’m suddenly very intent on real estate. My first order of business: buying an apartment building. A fourplex to be exact. It’s a great old place in a good location that has been ill cared for. I know it well. I made love to the most amazing woman I’ve ever met under its roof, and I did terribly inappropriate things with a pestle to her sweet little body while I was there as well. She took her first taste of me during my time there, and I may well have fallen in love with her in that place.

I have no idea if I actually want to be a landlord, but with Adeline moving in with me after graduation, I can’t stand the idea of losing her place completely. It holds too many sweet memories of my sweet Adeline. It’s not for sale, but I’m guessing, given the state of the place, the owner won’t be so attached to the property he’s not willing to sell for a price.

By Sunday afternoon, I’m sitting with Adeline’s parents, her mother separating me from her father, who still occasionally leers at me vindictively. Adeline looks stunning in her cap and gown, and there isn’t even a moment’s hesitation—though I’m sure he still trills with fury on some level—when Dr. Lynch shakes her hand after the dean has handed her the diploma. Her mother cries, her father clears his throat as he fights back his emotion, and I follow his lead, trying to stifle my tears. But I’m not nearly so good at this feat as I’d like to be, and as Adeline’s mother passes me a tissue, I take it while her father eyes me curiously.

After her ceremony, there are hugs aplenty, and when it’s my turn I don’t hesitate to pull her into my arms. Her parents watch, and I take a risk when I kiss her gently on the lips. Her mother smiles, and her father studies me. She’s the love of my life—without any doubt in the world, and he’ll figure it out soon enough.

Before Adeline entered my life, I was content. My life was shallow, empty, and meaningless, and sadly, I was happy that way. It’s odd how you can be happy in your life, only to look back later and realize just how much was missing. When you are poor, you learn to be content with what little you have. I’ve never had love, so I learned to be content without it. She held the mirror and forced me to take a good look at myself. She forced me to see what was missing, and it was her.

After taking her parents to dinner that night, Adeline and I return home, our home. She hands me an envelope and asks me to open it. It’s a résumé.

Adeline Eloise Parker

Interior Designer

Experience

None whatsoever, unless you include making love to a principal architect in the sample room … and in the property I was assigned to design … three times.

Education

BA from Columbia… Though I narrowly escaped being expelled and flunked for sleeping with aforementioned principal.

References

• Vera McBitch—Make no mistake, she loves me.

• Mark Lear—He definitely does not love me anymore.

She’s smirking, and I’m chuckling. I can imagine no better partner in the world—even if she has the worst résumé I’ve ever seen. She’s hired.

Epilogue

“Will you marry me?”

My parents are watching him, and I’m smiling the cheesiest grin I own. I can’t help it; it’s what I do when I’m happy beyond all measure. I’ve done more cheesy grinning over the past two months than ever before in my life. Our business is flourishing, and working with Jordan now is as wonderful as it was working with him at Foster’s. He challenges me and guides me, but only when needed and warranted. We are busy with two projects in progress and two more in the queue.

He’s managed to keep his penis, and my father no longer regards him with hatred. In fact, there are tears in his eyes at the moment, and my mother’s tears are unrestrained entirely. Jordan is holding my grandmother’s wedding ring out to me. It’s old, no diamonds, just a simple silver woven band of filigree in some unknown pattern. It’s not likely worth more than its weight in silver, but it’s what I want; it’s what I hoped for, and while he could afford far more than this, he knows its importance to me. It’s my family, it’s our history, and some day very soon it will be his family too. He deserves that—a family. I will share mine, and with one another, likely sooner rather than later if he has his way, we will build our own family together.

The End

About the Author

Elizabeth Finn is an Iowa native, where she lives with her husband and son. By day, Elizabeth is a Human Resources Specialist, but by night, she checks her professionalism at the door and immerses herself in the world of writing erotic romance. Look for more to come from Elizabeth Finn.

Table of Contents

Restoring Jordan

Blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

About the Author