Closing my eyes, I see him taking off his suit jacket, standing tall at the bottom of the bed, looking down at me, insatiable. He kicks off his shoes and socks then smiles that excruciating half-smile as he unbuckles his belt. I move my free hand to my breast, circling in time with my fingers swirling around my clit. He slowly unbuttons his white shirt and lets it fall down his arms to the floor, revealing firm, lightly tanned abs and pecs.
My hips squirm, rising against my fingers, up and down. I groan as I imagine his hands move to the fastening of his trousers and I lick my lips as he draws down the zip. The steady rhythm of my fingers has my throbbing bundle of nerves building. He bends, taking down his trousers and tight boxers, then rises, proudly displaying his hard length.
‘Gregory!’ I whisper his name into the room as he crawls up the bed towards me.
Taking his weight on his toned arms, he hovers above me. As his cock thrusts inside me, my fingers push deep, the rhythm becoming hard and fast, lifting me to a delicious peak. I flip over to my front, my hips grinding against my hand in time to Gregory’s driving into me.
‘Fuck!’
I thump a hand against the pillow and bite down as my muscles tighten around my fingers. I thrust harder, faster, over and over, until I reach the brink and mumble my climax into the pillow, my insides in a frenzied spasm.
Oh God, that wasn’t wrong. It was so incredibly right.
My breathing calms, my pulse relaxes and I turn onto my back, satisfied and feeling much more in control of the whole situation with Gregory Ryans. It’s out of my system now. No more crossing the line.
6
An uncommonly bright autumn sun streams into my bedroom through a gap in the drawn curtains. The line of hot light across my face wakes me from the most pleasant dream, the details of which are amiss. For the first time in months, I feel content, happy even. I turn onto my back and lie in the sunlight, replaying the unexpected events of last night.
I must have been crazy to agree to go for dinner with Gregory and Williams. I wish I could blame Amanda, or Williams, or convince myself that I couldn’t possibly refuse dinner with a client. But something else made me go. Perhaps intrigue, maybe hope. I’ve known Gregory for less than two weeks. I don’t even know him, not really. I know a version of him. But what I do know is that no man, not Luke Davenport in the six months I was with him at university, not Josh Parker in the eleven months I was with him during my training contract, has ever made me feel the way I feel when I’m near Gregory. My mind knows that he’s out of bounds but my body responds to him, the sight of him, the sound of him, his masculine scent. The thought of him alone fills me with yearning.
Is it possible he could feel anything like that for me? Of course not. A man like that, handsome, successful, rich, a beautiful woman on his arm every night. But he did flirt, I’m certain of it. There was a charge in the air, an energy around us. I felt it in his gaze. I felt it surge through my body. How could I have felt something so strong and him feel nothing at all?
I lie in the sun trying to rationalise my thoughts for some time and begin to think of my mum. When I got my first boyfriend at school, it was Sandy I told and begged to keep it secret. It was Sandy who slipped out to the shop to buy my first sanitary towel whilst I hid in the bathroom because I didn’t want my dad to see that I’d changed. After my first kiss, it was Sandy I asked whether it’s possible to give a bad kiss.
Sandy is a mother to me in so many ways but sometimes, times like these, I can’t help wondering what it would be like to have my real mother here. Would she think and feel the same as I do? Would she tell me stories about how she felt when she met my dad?
Was it all a lie?
I hate her for leaving my dad, for leaving us, but I sometimes think about what it would be like if she was here. Maybe Dad would never have gotten sick. Maybe I’d always wear the right things and do my hair in the right way. I might be confident like Amanda and men like Gregory might be interested in me.
The smell of bacon drifts into my bedroom and I resolve to get up. Perhaps I’ll discuss Gregory with Sandy later. That is, I would discuss Gregory if there was anything to discuss but there isn’t.
Following the smell leads me across the landing into Dad’s bedroom. Sandy’s perched on the foot of his bed and they’re laughing together. Leaning against the frame of the door, I watch them, enjoying listening to the incredibly sweet sound of happiness.
‘What’s going on here?’ I ask jovially.
‘Scarlett, Sandy was just telling me a joke,’ Dad says, his shaking hands resting on the bacon sandwich in his lap.
‘You know who I am?’
His brows furrow before turning to a smile, as if I’ve made a joke.
‘Well, what would you like to do today?’ I say, instantly cancelling any plans I could have had.
‘Let’s just sit in the garden together?’ he offers. ‘Whatever it is that’s had me locked up in this bed must’ve been good. I still don’t feel 100 per cent and Sandy tells me I’ve been here for a little while now.’
‘Okay, great!’ I beam, washing over his questioning tone.
Running back to my room, I throw on a pair of leggings and a shirt from my wardrobe, tie my hair roughly in a knot on top of my head and quickly clean my teeth.
‘Ready!’ I yell a few minutes later, bouncing to his bedside.
He chuckles. The sound magnificent.
When Dad is dressed, Sandy and I help him from his bed. He’s gracious as we lift his upper body forwards, despite each vertebrae cracking through its own inertia. Only his eyes expose his true pain. He’s become shockingly weak. His legs are skinny and frail and no longer meet in the middle when he stands upright. His trousers, once perfectly tailored, sag from his lower back. His arm feels so thin in mine that I’m afraid it will shatter if I hold on too tight. We walk with him to the stairlift, each linking one of his arms in our own.
‘Why is there a bandage on his arm?’ I whisper to Sandy as we send him on his descent.
