So I’d pulled my hand away. If he wanted me, he’d have to show it.
And he had. I’d almost had a heart attack when he grabbed me by the arms. But the way he’d kissed me, as if he were suffocating and I was fresh air, left no room for doubt—he felt it too, that thing between us. Whether he was gay or straight or something in between, it was there, and oh my God it was hot.
So what was Derek’s problem? What could he be upset about? Was it guilt? He’d said Carolyn wasn’t his girlfriend, although even so, he might feel bad for fooling around with me behind her back or something. Derek was such a good guy, that could totally be it. I hadn’t noticed any hot chemistry between them tonight, but that might have been because I hadn’t wanted to.
It was also possible Derek felt bad because I was a guest in his home, and he was doing so much for me. Maybe he was worried I’d felt pressured to repay him with sex or something. It was ridiculous, and hopefully it had been obvious to him how much I’d been into it, but I could see him feeling that way.
Or maybe he was horrified by what we’d done. Maybe it disgusted him. Maybe he was upstairs right now scrubbing away the evidence and begging God to forgive him.
I hoped not, but no matter what, it was clear that he was not okay with what had happened.
Upset by the thought, I turned off all the lights and went upstairs, glancing at Derek’s closed bedroom door but going straight into the guest room, making as little noise as possible. When I was undressed and lying on my back beneath the blankets, hands behind my head, I wondered how tomorrow would go. What he’d say. How he’d act.
In my gut I felt it would be best to let him take the lead, and then follow it. If he wanted to pretend it had never happened, fine. We didn’t need to talk about it. Nothing had to change, either, and I hoped he wouldn’t want me out of the house just because things had gotten heated between us. It wasn’t that big of a deal. We could go back to the way things had been before he grabbed me. Brush it off. Remain friends. It’s not like I wasn’t used to keeping my sexuality to myself, and I hadn’t expected anything to happen with Derek in the first place.
That said, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
I’d do more than that.
Fifteen
DEREK
Guilt. Shame. Anger.
I lay on my back, staring at my bedroom ceiling and drowning in anguish.
What the fuck had I done?
You shot twenty years’ worth of repressed desire and sexual frustration down another guy’s throat, that’s what. And then you left him kneeling on the kitchen floor without saying a word.
It was all my fault. I was a terrible person.
I shouldn’t have grabbed him. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have let him touch me that way. I shouldn’t have liked his mouth on me. I shouldn’t have lost control. I shouldn’t have had the best orgasm of my entire life with another guy.
But I had. I’d never felt anything like it.
Why was that? It’s not like I hadn’t had good blowjobs from women before—at least, I’d thought they were good. But Maxim took it to an entirely new level. It had almost been like an out-of-body experience. Was he really that good? Or was it the thought that made it so mind-blowing? The idea that I’d finally given in to a forbidden desire just this once, and I’d never have it again?
Either way, I couldn’t deny how powerful it had been. How intense. The fucking walls had trembled.
Weak. I was so weak.
How had I let this happen?
It’s not like I was gay. I was attracted to women, too. And I wanted a traditional family—a wife and kids. I didn’t want a fucking boyfriend. That was ridiculous. Was I supposed to bring a guy home to my parents? To client dinners? Company picnics? Corporate fundraisers? Was my father going to turn over his business to someone he saw as less than a man? Less than himself? Less than perfect?
Fuck no. And I’d worked too hard to give it all up.
If only sex with women was more satisfying. Maybe that was my problem. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, but somehow, no matter how beautiful or eager or passionate the woman was, no matter how willing she was to please, no matter how rough she let me get, I was always left feeling vaguely unsatisfied. Like there was supposed to be more, and somehow I was missing it.
Like the walls were supposed to tremble.
I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling. Never again. It didn’t matter what the walls had done, because there were more important things at stake than sexual satisfaction. My career. My reputation. My self-image. My relationship with my family. My plans for the future. Allowing myself to be with Maxim that way jeopardized all of that.
I’d told Maxim last night that I didn’t have a dream, but that wasn’t true. My dream was to be normal. To live the kind of life people around me approved of and admired. To be seen as someone who had it all, even if he knew deep down it wasn’t true.
What good had truth ever done me, anyway?
I hadn’t fallen asleep until nearly three o’clock in the morning, so I let myself sleep in, which was rare. Usually I’m up and about pretty early on weekend mornings, getting things done. But today it was almost eleven when I finally got out of bed, and I didn’t even feel all that rested. My head was aching and my mouth was dry. I’d definitely overdone it with the whiskey last night.
I stepped into the shower, trying to plan out exactly how to handle Maxim. Poor guy—he had to be so confused, maybe even angry. I’d been so totally out of line to take advantage of him like that. To use him as a weapon in this fight against myself. He was totally innocent.
Well, not totally.
My blood heated and my dick started to rise as I remembered looking down at him last night. Oh my God, he’d looked so hot with his mouth on me.
No. This is what gets you into trouble. Stop thinking about him that way. Frowning, I went completely still, closed my eyes, and thought about the least sexy thing I could conjure up—my second grade teacher back in Ohio, Sister Mary Ruth, and how she used to call us all liars and snap our hands with rubber bands when she thought she’d caught us fibbing. God sees you lying, she’d say. God sees everything you do.
Thirty seconds later, my body was my own again, and I continued soaping up and wondering what to do. Should I apologize? Should I pretend it hadn’t happened? Should I say I was drunk and don’t remember a thing after dinner? Part of me wanted it to be that easy: What? A blowjob in the kitchen? I have no idea what you’re talking about.
You fucking coward. You can’t do that. At least be man enough to own what you did. Tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you don’t know what came over you. Tell him you’ve never done anything like that before and never will again.