I resist messaging her for one more day. By Monday morning, I can’t stop myself.
I pull out my phone, open the app, and type a message to Jessica asking her to meet me again. Friday was too much fun, I write.
Who doesn’t like to tempt fate?
To my immense shock, Jessica agrees to meet me the next night, and it doesn’t take me long to realize that my first impression of her last Friday night wasn’t a fluke. When I turn from where I’ve been waiting by the bar and see her walk through the door, heading straight for me, a shock wave jolts through me, wiping all the smooth opening lines I had come up with out of my mind.
Jessica doesn’t waste a single second. As soon as she reaches me, she’s pulling me down to her and kissing me with such heat that the bartender whistles. “Hey, lovebirds, get a room!” he shouts over the blaring music. Without breaking the kiss, I show him my middle finger and the man bursts out laughing. “At least buy some drinks, man.”
That’s where we start.
Once again, we end up in my apartment, all over each other, ravenous, insatiable, the pile of condom wrappers by the bed growing higher as the night passes by.
Just before she leaves, we fuck one more time, Jessica on top, gyrating her hips so skillfully it’s all I can do not to come within the first thirty seconds. I reach up to tweak her nipples, causing her to cry out and dig her fingernails into my chest, rocking her hips even faster, harder against my cock.
As I explode my release deep inside her, my vision blurring with its intensity, I try to burn the memory of Jessica, her rhythmic movement, her luscious curves, her intoxicating beauty into my mind, just in case this is the last chance I get to be with her.
I’m so screwed.
Chapter 9
Jessica
I’m in way over my head.
Wednesday and Thursday at work are exercises in torture. I spent Tuesday night with Alec because I just can’t resist a situation that’s sure to backfire.
You don’t even know him, my rational half says.
I know all I need to know about him, the hopeless romantic half fires back.
I can’t deny it. Something exists between us that’s so compatible, so unbelievably in-sync, that I know what we have is one-of-a-kind.
But I know, I know, that it’s lust. I can’t betray the promises I’ve made to myself based only on desire.
Or can I?
No, I tell myself firmly. Unless he’s going to prove to you that he wants more out of this, don’t get swept away. Don’t give him the upper hand. Stay in control, Jessica.
In the office, I can hardly concentrate on the projects I’m supposed to be managing because I’m caught in an endless internal argument.
He did prove it. He messaged you back.
That was because the sex was incredible.
So what? He had to see you again. Couldn’t live without you.
…Because the sex was indescribably good.
That doesn’t mean he wants anything more to do with me. That doesn’t mean I want anything more to do with him.
You do want more to do with him.
I don’t want anything more from him unless he’s going to prove himself. Remember Michael???
He did prove it.
On and on and on.
On top of that, Alec doesn’t message me again, and I want to message him so badly I can taste it.
I hold back, though. I need to decide how I’m going to play this before I say another word to him.
When the workday is over, I still haven’t made up my mind, even though Alec has a lot going for him. He’s hotter than sin and fucks better than any man I’ve known.
Still, I can’t dispel the nagging doubt: Can he be tender? Can he make love? Would he love me for more than this electric, fiery connection?
I don’t know.
My head aches with indecision. It’s true. I’m the kind of person who will change anything and everything if it suits me, but I never make those decisions at random. They are carefully considered, no matter how it looks from the outside.
I just can’t decide.
Go after him?
Leave him behind?
You’ll never really be able to leave him behind, my inner voice repeats for the umpteenth time.
When my phone vibrates with Christian’s text, I’m sprawled on the couch in my apartment, watching a shitty Netflix movie, the scenes flickering in front of my eyes, but none of it sinking in.
Purple Swan. 8:30. I have a date for you!
Ugh, I can’t. Richard was such a disaster, and Alec is so fucking heavenly, that there’s no way I can sit through an evening of drinks and empty banter with some random idiot who can’t compare.
Can’t. Busy.