The Lie

It’s five o’clock. I should be heading back home but I’m spending more and more time at the office, just like before, only now I’m alone. The only reason I head back early is to see Hamish, but even then I noticed Miranda is being more possessive over the amount of time I spend with him, which is ridiculous.

I can’t help but think back to what Natasha said about her parents and how her childhood was tainted with their fighting. I don’t want Hamish to grow up with his parents possessive over him and not even speaking to each other. In the last week Miranda said she wanted a bedroom of her own, and what’s he going to think when he gets older? We don’t talk, we only fight and now we sleep in different rooms? He’s going to realize that his family is irreparably broken from the inside out.

I exhale loudly and stand up, stretching my arms above my head. My mobile beeps.

I pick it off the desk and peer at it.

It’s Natasha.

I’ve barely heard from her, with only the occasional email.

Do you ever get lonely? the message says.

My heart sinks as I text back, Always. Are you lonely now?

Yes, I miss you. I need you.

I miss you, too.

Do you need me?

Yes. I stare at the phone, wanting to say more. But I don’t.

Did you ever love me?

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. I stare up at the ceiling, seeking answers, but there’s only plaster.

I can’t do this over the phone, I text her.

I wait. There’s no response.

I flop down in my chair and stare at the phone.

Please text back, please text back.

She doesn’t.

Finally, I call her. It goes to her voicemail, the same one she never checks.

I text her again: Where do you live? I’m coming to you.

She texts back her London address.

I’m not thinking properly. I’m irrational. But nothing is stopping me as I look up flights to London. I find a thirty pound shitty Ryanair flight that will get me into the city no later than 9pm. There’s no way to get back until the morning, but I can still make my afternoon class. It just means I’ll be spending the night in London.

You’re booking a hotel, I tell myself.

I then text Miranda, telling her I won’t be home until late, knowing she goes to bed early anyway.

She never texts back.

I grab my stuff and go.

It’s crazy, and I’m thinking it even as the plane lands at Stansted Airport. But if I don’t deal with this now, with her, it will haunt me. If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll never be able to let it go. I need to be able to see what can be. I need to look down that path, see where it ends, and make a decision.

If only it were so easy.

The cabbie drops me off in front of a modest brick building in Woolwich, above a takeaway Chinese shop and a nail salon. I ring her buzzer, waiting as a group of college-age kids stumble past, drunk.

She answers it, her voice crackling. “Brigs?” Then she buzzes me up.

I rush through the door and take the stairs two at a time. I was trying to be calm and composed the entire flight down here, but the minute I hear her voice through the intercom, every part of me lights up. Now I can’t get to her fast enough.

Just as I reach her door, it flings open, and Natasha is standing there, wearing a plain black dress. I’ve never seen her legs other than in jeans, and I take a moment to stare at them, long, incredibly soft, and curvy, before I bring my gaze to her face.

It’s her face that sets my skin on fire.

It’s her lips, full and sensual, that make my heart drum against my chest.

And it’s her eyes, wanting so much from me, wanting to give me so much, that has me storming through the doorway and grabbing her. My mouth is wild on hers, unapologetic, and thirsty beyond repair.

As I’m cupping her face in my hands, she’s digging her hands into my shoulders and kicking the door shut. While my tongue dances with hers, she’s pressing her body against mine. I can feel my erection, thick and hard between us, and my hands slide down the silk of her back to her arse, where I grab and squeeze, feeling more savage by the minute.

We walk, stumbling backward through the unfamiliar hall until I have her back against the wall. My lips go to her neck, licking, tasting her. She feels better on my tongue than I ever imagined, and it’s nearly impossible not to devour her whole while she tastes so sweet.

“Tasha,” I groan into her neck, my hand sliding over her breast as I press myself against her, pinning her to the wall. “I’ve never wanted you more.”

I’ve never wanted anyone more.

She lets out a fluttery sigh, grabbing the back of my neck with her hand, squirming beneath my touch. I pull down the top of her dress, taking her nipple into my mouth and sucking it with one long, hard pull.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, tugging at my hair. “Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

But her urging words make me realize I have to stop. It’s now or never.

I don’t know how, but I manage to pull away. I’m surprised I have any willpower, any brain power left. All my blood is throbbing in my cock and I’m inflamed with the desire to finally have her, here, now, in any way possible.