No. This is not about love. It’s not absolution or even acquittal. It’s a temporary stay, a bandaid on a wound. Soon it’ll be ripped off, and you’ll bleed again. Oh, God…
I felt like two halves of me were splitting apart—one wanted so badly to be granted that second chance at loving someone and allowing myself to be loved, while the other demanded I serve out my life sentence alone in the prison I’d built for myself.
Desperate to regain control, I focused on the heat and friction between us, on the sound of her voice saying my name, on the sting of her nails raking down my back. I concentrated on making her come, grinding against her the way she liked, whispering dirty words in her ear. I was rough with her, like I had been before.
But it was different this time—how could it not be? I’d told her everything. I was vulnerable to her in a way I’d never been to anyone. Everything was bare to her now, all my secrets, all my suffering, all my scars.
And she still wanted me.
I felt myself falling.
Frantically, I fought off my orgasm, panicked that coming together would only strengthen our sexual chemistry and bring us closer. But she held me so tightly, like she’d never let me go, and she took me so deep, and her cries were so helpless and my cock was so hard and I couldn’t hold back, couldn’t hang on, couldn’t stop myself from crashing through the gates and careening over the edge with her, my willpower no match for my feelings.
Don’t leave me, I thought with every thrust and throb inside her trembling body, every pounding beat of my heart. Don’t let me go. I need you to feel alive.
As our bodies stilled and our breathing slowed, I opened my eyes—and realized what I’d done.
I’d let her in. I’d let her get close. I’d let myself feel again.
Worse, I’d brought another woman into sacred space. I’d broken a promise. I’d dishonored a vow.
I had no right. No right.
The hope I’d felt moments ago was crushed by the weight of shame.
I forced myself to stop justifying my behavior and admit the truth.
This had to end. Tonight.
I didn’t say anything as we put ourselves back together. My chest felt like a cannonball had lodged within it, and my throat was tight.
“Can I use your bathroom?” Margot asked timidly.
“Of course.” Already my voice was stiff.
While she was in the bathroom, I sat on the couch in the dark, hating myself for letting it come to this. I never should have kissed her. Never should have touched her. Never should have asked her to stay.
Now I had to get her to leave, and I only knew one way to do it and make sure she left for good—put up walls around my heart and be a complete and utter asshole. Blow her off. Hurt her. Make her hate me like I hate myself.
She came out of the bathroom, leaving the light on, and sat next to me on the couch, but not touching me. “You OK?”
Fuck, Margot. Don’t be sweet to me now. “Yeah.”
“That was kind of…intense.”
I shrugged. My stomach churned.
“You didn’t think so?” She looked at me, probably trying to read my expression.
“Not really.”
Her body deflated. “Oh. Well…maybe it was just me then.”
“Maybe.” I couldn’t bear to look her in the eye, so I stared at her knees, which were pressed together tightly, her hands clasped around them. Someday, some rich bastard with a trust fund and a Porsche would put a big fat diamond on her finger. She’d have the huge, fancy wedding of her dreams, followed by a luxury honeymoon. After that, he’d buy her a mansion, which they’d fill with beautiful children who went to private schools and called her Mummy. She’d have everything she wanted. She’ll be where she belongs, and she’ll be happy.
I looked down at my wedding band. And I’ll be here.
“Jack, what’s wrong? Something is off, I can tell.”
“Nothing.” I stood up. “I’ll take you home.”
I grabbed my keys from the shelf and went out the front door, so she didn’t have much choice but to follow me. I pulled it shut behind her and started down the porch steps, but she grabbed my arm.
“Hey. Wait a minute.”
I steeled myself and looked at her. “What?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.” I’m mad at me.
“Are you mad that we…did what we did in there?” She dropped her hand. “Because we didn’t have to do it. I told you I understood.”
“It’s not that.”
“Well, it’s something.” She stuck her hands on her hips. “I know you’re moody, but this is like a complete one-eighty. An hour ago you couldn’t keep your hands off me, and now you’re freezing me out. Tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything,” I snapped.
“Then tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what went wrong. Tell me something, Jack!” Her voice broke. “You can’t just shut down on me.”