She smiles faintly. “I know.”
There is something about her that suggests resilience. She bends without breaking.
“Good,” I say.
Her driver clears his throat politely. The city continues around us, indifferent. She steps back and lifts her suitcase into the trunk.
“No numbers,” she says.
“No.” For a brief second, I consider it—offering my card, extending the moment into something repeatable.
But repetition would change the nature of it. This was powerful precisely because it existed outside of expectation.
She opens the car door and slides into the back seat. The door closes. The car pulls away from the curb and merges into traffic.
And then, she’s gone.
I remain standing for several seconds after she disappears from view. One reckless memory. One extraordinary lapse in an otherwise orderly life. I retrieve my own car when it arrives and settle into the back seat, giving my address with habitual calm.
As the city passes by outside the window, I allow myself one indulgence: replaying the feel of her mouth against mine, the way she responded without hesitation, the clarity in her eyes.
It would be easy to pursue it. But easy is not the same as right.
By the time I reach my penthouse, my composure has fully reassembled. My coat goes on its hook. My shoes are aligned beside the door. Order reasserts itself.
I pour a small measure of whiskey and stand at the window, watching the quiet street below. It was a mistake. I knew that. I did it anyway.
And it will remain exactly what it should be. One remarkable, reckless memory suspended somewhere between Ireland and Boston.
Nothing more.
I breathe deep the free air of being single. I understand her desire to be single after a long relationship fell to nothing. If I were in her shoes, I’d want the same thing.
Particularly if I had been with a partner who didn’t see my worth.
I think of Sage’s freckles and the way she smiles. Somewhere out there is a girl who tastes like heaven and orgasms so prettily that it steals my breath. I hope she has a wonderful life.
I am due a shower, so I head into my bathroom. Navy and white, thanks to my decorator who said it gives a clean look. She wasn’t wrong, but it’s not entirely my style. I keep telling myself I’ll redo it one day, but life keeps me too busy to focus on things like that, so once again, I step into my navy and white shower.
But I don’t hate it. The shower is large enough for six. There’s a bamboo bench in the back, plenty of showerheads, color therapy (which doesn’t make much difference in the navy and white scheme), aromatherapy, and half a dozen buttons I have yet to explore.
All I really care about is the heat.
I let it trickle down my body—now sore, thanks to Sage. It’s been a long time since I was with anyone, and even longer since I was with someone quite as tight as she is. Even still, I’m hard. Soreness only reminds me of her.
Of how she moves. How she feels. And when she squirted?—
That’s it. I pump a dollop of lube onto my hand and step out of the direct spray so it only shoots my back.
I grip myself and the moment I make contact, steam hisses between my teeth.Sage Henley, you are under my skin.My balls lift and tighten as I think of her skin, her compliance. She takes orders well, and if we had more time, that could have been something intoxicating. For today, it was mesmerizing, and I’ll take that.
When I had her on her hands and knees, that round ass high in the air, I had to taste her. Something that sweet should be savored. But when I took her from behind, all snug heat and those moans, I nearly came on the spot.
Just thinking about how she sounds, the way her groans roll out of her throat when she’s about to break, that helpless little whine they become—fuck! I shoot on the wall, wishing it were her back.
My knees weaken, so I plop onto the bench and let the jets wash away my sin from my hands. That girl. Jerking off to an encounter I just had is not the way I usually go about things. It usually goes meet the woman, have some fun, never think about her much again.
It’s not that I don’t respect women who sleep with me. It’s that I don’t have space in my life for anything serious. I’m honestabout what I want, and I don’t lead them on. That’s not my game.
