I don’t feel ashamed. Not at all. Even sore and bruised as I am, I’ve never felt better. Jonah is exactly what I always wanted.
“Hey,” Jonah says. He’s himself again. Role-playing over. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I manage to roll over to face him. The remnants of my dress don’t cover my body at all, and I feel strangely shy in front of the man who just fucked me senseless.
I understand the impulse. In some ways, we’ve just seen each other for the first time.
“You’re sure?” He leans forward, though he’s careful not to come too close. Jonah is as sensitive to me now as he was brutal a few minutes before. I nod, and he frowns. “But you’re shaking.”
“—I can’t help it.”
He gets up from the chair. Jonah’s still mostly dressed—his shirt flaps loose on either side of that perfectly defined chest, and once he’s ditched the condom he tucks himself back into his boxers, zips his jeans. I can only lie there, boneless and exhausted, as I hear water running in the bathroom. Then Jonah emerges with a glass in one hand and one of the hotel bathrobes in the other.
“Come on,” he murmurs as he helps me sit up. He holds the tumbler for me as I take a drink of water, then sets it by my bedside. With gentle hands he pushes the rags of my dress off my shoulders and drapes me in the soft white robe.
I never thought Jonah could be this caring.
He brushes a stray lock of my hair from my cheek. “Was that what you wanted?”
“Yeah.” For the first time in my entire sex life, I don’t have to lie. “That was exactly what I needed. Like you read my mind. What about you?”
“You were perfect.”
His gray eyes meet mine. He doesn’t smile, but his expression somehow gentles. Jonah leans forward. I tilt my head to meet his lips in a kiss.
This is nothing like the searing, almost punishing kiss he gave me at the party. This is soft, even tender. He kisses me as though I were something fragile and precious, only moments after he treated me like a whore.
I will never understand the contradictions of this man.
Then he pulls back, and just like that, he’s cool again. He gets to his feet and begins buttoning up his shirt. It’s as if he has an appointment later.
“Are you staying in the room tonight, or do I need to get you a cab home?” Jonah’s voice is businesslike. Crisp.
I try to act casual. “I’m staying.”
“You had a few drinks at the bar. You should eat something. Feel free to charge dinner to room service.”
“I thought the guy usually bought dinner before the sex.”
If Jonah hears my joke, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He tucks in his shirt and glances in the mirror to check his hair. Some of my lipstick is smeared across his cheek. My torn panties lie crumpled on the desk; he uses the white fabric to wipe the lipstick away.
I feel stung. But why? Jonah and I agreed—the less we knew about each other, the hotter the sex would be. So far it’s been scorching; that means we must have been on to something. He’s playing this cool, and I should as well.
“Thanks,” I say as I fold the robe more closely around me and burrow back into the pillows. “I enjoyed this.”
Jonah looks back at me then, and he’s not quite as stiff as he was a moment before. “I did too.”
My body is still weak, but I have to ask, “Does this mean we’ll get together again?”
“You can’t get enough, can you?” He pauses for only a moment. “I’ll be in touch.”
With that, he’s out the door. I’m alone with my torn dress, my sore body, and the aftermath of the most exhilarating rush I’ve ever known.
? ? ?
The weekend I thought would be filled with regrets is instead the best I’ve had in a long, long time. Room service delivers an excellent steak that night and an even better omelet the next morning. I drive home to my house singing along to the radio. After I’ve thrown away the ruined dress and underwear and deleted those “fail-safe” e-mails unsent, I meet Carmen at the farmer’s market. She notices nothing but a small bruise on my arm that I write off to an accident in my art studio. That afternoon and evening, I’m even able to get some work done on my thesis. The distracting fever dreams of Jonah’s hands on my body—for now, at least, they’re at low tide. I’m completely sated, totally satisfied.
Sunday afternoon, Shay and I go to the movies. The comedy turns out to be fairly stupid, but I giggle helplessly at every dumb joke. “What’s gotten into you?” she teases as we toss our popcorn box away at the end.
“Nothing.” I shrug. My smile must look incredibly smug, but I can’t help myself. “Just in a good mood today, that’s all.” Having the best sex of your life will do that.
The intensity of the pleasure I had with Jonah buoys me up. Even more important, though—I faced down my demons. I claimed what I really wanted. All these years I thought that fantasy would burn me. Instead I walked through the fire unscathed.
Take that, Anthony. You don’t own me anymore.