“Engaged? Girlfriend?”
“No, I am just going home.”
I glare at him. Lying son of a bitch. You don’t get a text from someone in the middle of the night and then have to rush home.
He rips his shirt around his shoulders, annoyed with my accusations.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he barks.
“Like what?” I sneer.
“Like you’re disappointed with me.”
My eyes hold his for a moment as I try to reconcile what just happened and I shake my head in confusion. “Whatever,” I snap. Holy shit, I just had sex with a married man. He probably has kids. My stomach rolls at the thought. Oh my God, he didn’t wear a condom. Fuck.
He bends and chastely kisses me on the lips. “I’ll see you later.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I doubt that.”
He stands still for a moment assessing my words. “What?” He snaps angrily.
I shake my head and roll over and turn my back to him. This is unfucking believable. “Close the door on your way out,” I sneer.
Chapter 8
I wake to my body lurching forward. Oh no. I’m going to be sick. I run through the apartment to the bathroom and vomit violently.
Hell.
Perspiration dampens my skin. I slide down the wall and sit on the floor between the bath and the sink, my skin against the cold tiles. I’m hot and clammy and so, so sick.
Damn him.
What the hell kind of night was that? I put my face into my hands in disgust.
I stand, and with shaky hands I turn the tap on in the shower. I need to wash this dirty feeling from my body. My eyes stare down at the sink and I see his watch sitting on the counter. I pick it up and stare at it, allowing my mind to drift back to last night.
“Get in here, you gorgeous thing.” He’d smiled broadly as he’d undone his watch, sitting it on the bench before he had pulled me underneath the water with him. We kissed, long and tender after our fifth or sixth lovemaking session. There’d been no embarrassment of my body, no shame, only the feeling of overwhelming affection and fun.
My heart hurts.
How stupid and jaded could I have been?
I bend to wash myself and wince in pain. I’m so sore and I know he would be, too. We had rough sex for hours and hours until, in the end, he had nothing left to give. Our bodies gave up before our minds did, and even after the overwhelming sexual need was over, we had still kissed in each other’s arms for hours.
For a while I had felt so safe.
What if his wife or girlfriend wants sex today? Would he have it with her?
My eyes fill with tears. I have never felt so used. After the most amazing night of my life, he went to someone else’s bed. She called him while he was naked with me.
My eyes widen in horror and I dry retch again. Oh no, he didn’t wear a condom. I was so lost in the moment that I totally forgot a condom and he didn’t bring it up.
What in the hell is wrong with me? I got caught at my work jacking him off. I played a tequila drinking game and had awesome mind blowing sex with a married man.
Who have I turned into?
I slump down to the floor of the shower and cry shameful, dirty tears.
* * *
They say if you let your soul be still you will learn three new things about yourself every day. Frankly, the things I have learnt about myself in the past five days are just damn disturbing. It’s been five days since Mr. Alastar O’Shea left me in the early hours of the morning, and to be honest, I have never been so rattled in all of my life. I haven’t heard a word from him and I don’t expect to, either.
Probably the most disturbing piece of information came to me today when I realized that, if given the chance, I would do it again.
Tonight.
Any night. In fact, I would go as far as to say if he was driving down the street I would probably run out in front of his car so he could knock me over. Then, and only then, would the bastard have to acknowledge me and acknowledge this shitty feeling he has left in my gut. Longing and guilt all rolled into disgust. I even went and had blood tests on Monday in my lunch break. If he didn’t wear a condom with me he obviously doesn’t wear them with anyone else, either, and with sexual skills like that, I am imagining he gets a lot of practice in. My eyes close in pain as I remember the drinking game. How many women has he played that with? I bet it has 100% success rate because I fell for it, hook line and sinker.
I’m disgusted with myself.