‘No.’ Alcohol is a weakness he doesn’t need to know about, although I don’t think that I need alcohol to send me into reckless mode with this man. ‘Why am I here?’ I finally ask the operative question. I think I know, but I want him to say the words.
His fingers tap the side of his glass thoughtfully, and he pushes his tall body away from the cabinet, slowly walking towards me. He undoes his jacket button and lowers himself until he’s sitting on the table in front of me, placing his drink carefully and breaking our eye contact to see where his glass has landed before tweaking it slightly and repositioning our mobile phones. My heart rate is speeding up, even more so when he faces me and clasps me under my knees, encouraging me to shift forward on the couch until there’s only a few inches between our faces. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Our breathy gasps colliding between our close mouths are saying all that needs to be said. We’re both bursting at the seams with desire.
His face moves forward, that lock of hair falling onto his forehead, but he’s not aiming for my lips. He homes in on my cheek, breathing heavy, controlled breaths into my ear. My face pushing into his is involuntary, as is the heaviness settling between my thighs.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ he whispers, his grasp of my knees increasing. ‘I’ve tried my hardest, but you’re a constant vision wherever I look.’
I inhale deeply and find my hands rising and seeking out his thick waves, my fingers threading through them, my eyes closing. ‘You said you couldn’t be with me,’ I remind him, stupidly or not. I shouldn’t point out his reluctance because if he withdraws now, I think I’ll lose my mind.
‘I still can’t.’ His face slides across mine until his perfect forehead is resting against my confused one. He can’t have brought me here just to reinforce his previous declaration. He can’t hold me like this, speak to me like this, and then do nothing.
‘I don’t understand,’ I murmur, praying to every god that he doesn’t halt this.
His forehead rolls across mine slowly, carefully. ‘I have a proposition.’ He must sense my confusion because he pulls away and scans my face. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself. ‘All I can offer you is one night.’
I don’t need to ask what he’s talking about. The dull ache in my stomach tells me exactly what he means. ‘Why?’
‘I’m emotionally unavailable, Livy.’ He reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking smooth circles on my temple. ‘But I have to have you.’
‘You want me for one night and nothing else?’ I ask, the ache transforming into a dull pain now. Just one night? It’s obscene for me to be thinking further than that, though. The best f**k of my life. That’s what he said. Nothing more.
‘One night,’ he affirms. ‘And I’m praying that you’ll give it to me.’
I’m lost in his blues, desperately hoping he’ll say something else – something that’ll make me feel better, because right now I’m feeling cheated, which is ridiculous. I hardly know him, but the thought of only being permitted one night with this man is soul-destroying.
‘I don’t think I can.’ My eyes fall, as does my heart. ‘It’s not fair for you to ask that of me.’
‘I’ve never claimed to be fair, Livy.’ He clasps my chin and brings my face up to his. ‘I’ve seen something and I want it. I usually take what I want, but I’m giving you a choice.’
‘What’s in it for me?’ I ask. ‘What will I get out of this?’
‘You get to be worshipped by me for twenty-four hours.’ His lips part and his tongue sweeps across his full bottom lip, like he’s attempting to make me see what those twenty-four hours may be like. He’s wasting energy. I have a very good idea what those twenty-four hours will be like.
‘You said you could only offer me one night.’
‘Twenty-four hours, Livy.’
I want to say yes, but my head starts shaking, my integrity taking over. If I’m going to get involved with a man, it can’t be like this. Every method I’ve adopted to protect myself from following in my mother’s footsteps will be quashed if I do this, and I can’t let myself down like that. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’ I shouldn’t be apologising for my decline of his unreasonable request, but I am sorry. I want to be worshipped by him, yet not enough to set myself up for certain devastation because that’s exactly what this will result in. I already feel like I’m in way above my head and he hasn’t even kissed me.
He visibly sags and shifts back, breaking all contact between us. I feel a little lost, which should strengthen my decision to decline his offer. One night will never be enough. ‘I’m disappointed,’ he sighs. ‘But I respect your decision.’
I’m disappointed that he respects my decision. I want him to fight harder, convince me to say yes. I’m not thinking straight. ‘I know nothing about you.’