Justine: It’s a date.
I’ve spent a lot of time on the couch since being in this apartment. I think it’s my favorite place here. The bed is comfortable, but there’s something special about this couch. Nothing to do with the fact that Elliot sat on it, and I swear I can still smell him. It’s more to do with how soft it is, the view out the window, and the vibe of the room. It’s bright yet relaxing, unlike my bedroom which is darker, yet also relaxing in the sense it makes me want to sleep. I don’t want to sleep when I’m out here, but I’m calm.
As I stare at the TV, my thoughts drift to dinner last night. It felt so much like a date, yet I know it wasn’t. Things with Elliot and me are… tough to explain. There’s this back and forth, up and down. Some days the sexual tension is so high you could cut it with a knife, and the next day we’re getting along like childhood friends. Only that’s impossible because he’s old enough to be my father.
Still, there’s something nice about being able to have different dynamics with one person. Isn’t the goal to marry your best friend? Now, I’m not saying I’m going to marry Elliot Caldwell, not even close! I’m just saying it’s nice to have someone that you can be yourself with, and that each day is different, yet you know it’ll all be the same.
I’m grateful for him. He came into my life for reasons much different from how they turned out. Harrison obviously sent him to me to clean up the mess he made, and then… well, I don’t really know what happened. He felt bad for me? Realized his son is the one who screwed up and didn’t want to keep cleaning up his messes? I don’t have much information about their relationship prior to guess Elliot’s feelings on it. Asking gets me nowhere.
Maybe this is as confusing to him as it is to me. Or maybe he’s just trying to keep distance without being a jerk. He doesn’t want me to get the wrong idea…
Yet… I’ve had his dick in my hand. I’ve seen his cum-covered stomach, heard the pleasurable sounds that leave his mouth when he comes. I’ve heard him begging for me, and I’ve heard him plead for me to feed himmefor dessert.
He wants me.
In some capacity, that man wants me. And that makes me feel good in ways nothing else ever has. Not even his son.
I’m afraid to lose that. It may not be healthy, but I’m thriving on the way Elliot Caldwell makes me feel. The things he says to me, the way he looks at me… it’s given me the confidence to move forward in life. To leave the things that held me back in the past.
I’m afraid that I need him. I’m not so stupid to think I could have him, but I do have him in some way, I suppose. For now, anyway. As my boss and maybe my friend?
If I were to give him what he wanted, if I gave in to these cravings and allowed him to have my body, how quickly would he shove me aside after? Would he no longer look at me the same? No longer say things that make me feel on top of the world? What’s the point if he’s already gotten what he wanted?
No, leading him like a dog on a leash isn’t fair, but… he started all of this. I may as well take what he’s offering. He’ll be fine in the end. It’s me who may not be.
I’m worried that my self-control is waning. I almost invited him up to my apartment last night. I wanted to, and I’m not sure how I managed to tell him no. The thought of finally giving in and allowing him to please me the way I pleased him… it’s a tempting thought. So very tempting.
He’s handsome, rich, powerful… but more than that, he makes me feel good. If he can do that outside of the bedroom, I’m sure he can inside the bedroom too. Not to mention he’s older, more experienced, and likely knows his way around a woman’s body. It should bother me, and maybe there’s a tinge of jealousy there, but really, I just want to experience it—experience him.
My phone dings—my old phone—pulling me from my fantasies about Elliot Caldwell in my bed, his face buried betweenmy legs for hours, not able to get enough of me. Begging me to stay, to let him keep going, even though I feel like I’m going to pass out. Why is it so bad to just be wanted?
The phone could be one of two people—spam or Gia.
Grabbing the phone, I suck in a sharp breath when I see one word back from Gia.
Sure.
I sit up straighter, happy and relieved over her accepting my proposal. Hopefully this means she’s willing to forgive me.
Me: Do you want to come to my new place? Or we can go for a drink? Dinner?
I send it, then read it over. It sounds a little desperate but oh well. I miss my best friend and there’s nothing I regret in this world more than screwing that up. Why would I ever think giving up a friendship of fifteen years was worth any man?
Gia: Will Harrison be there?
Me: No.
I don’t want to tell her that we broke up via text. I don’t want her to think that’s the only reason I want to hang out with her. I want to see her, talk to her, and catch her up on my life. I’m not doing this because Harrison isn’t in my life anymore—well, not really. I’m doing it because I miss my best friend, and I made a mistake that I need to apologize for.
Gia: Send me the address. I’ll be by in an hour?
Me: Sounds good
I send her the address, and then busy myself with tidying my apartment. It isn’t dirty—I’m not here enough for it to getmessy or dirty. It hardly looks lived in. Unless you go into the bedroom. That looks like a tornado hit it, but I find it more comfortable that way. If it’s too neat, I feel like I shouldn’t be sleeping in there.
I realize I don’t have any alcohol here, so I call down to the front desk and request someone go get it for me. It’s awkward and makes me feel weird to ask someone to do something like that for me, but Elliot assured me they would get anything I needed at any time of the day. I’m pretty sure that’s only a me thing and not something they do for any of the tenants here. And as weird as it makes me feel, I don’t hate it. Elliot is spoiling me.
When there is a knock at my door some time later, I pull it open expecting Gia, but see one of the doormen. I’d completely forgotten I’d sent them to get stuff for me.
