Wrong Pt. 01

I thought we'd sit there in silence and probably never speak again until he cleared his throat and got me to reflexively meet his eyes.

"This is going to happen, Nina. I guarantee you'll be back before the week is out, begging for my cock."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but said nothing. I was too afraid he was right.

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Chapter 2: Doux Désir

I showed up at his apartment at 3AM two nights after we met at the bar. He didn't look terribly surprised by my appearance. In fact, he looked amused. I wanted to kiss that fucking smirk right off his face, so I did. I hopped on him and gave him an angry, bruising kiss.

I hadn't been able to think of anything but the feel of his cock against my stomach, the heat of his skin, his dark green eyes undressing me, the feel of his hands on my body, and I was fucking tired of it. I hated him and myself so much.

But I figured I was probably going to hell anyway, and I might as well make it fucking worth it.

We pushed into his apartment. He swung the door shut with his leg and flung me onto his big sofa.

"Well, well," he started to taunt, but I smacked my palm against his mouth.

"If you want inside you'll shut your mouth and just fuck me."

I didn't have to tell him twice. He dragged me off to his bedroom. I wasn't shocked by his black silk sheets; he seemed the type. He ripped off my shirt and tore my bra down.

The rest was outrageously wonderful, as I've already mentioned.

Once we were done, and after he made his solemn promise (or threat?) of us meeting again, he looked over at me. "I'd have you suck my cock," he murmured lazily, "but I'd probably come too fast—the idea of you bobbing up and down on my cock makes me shake—and then I wouldn't be able to fuck you again."

I gulped.

"It's a shame," he said casually, leaning over my body and staring hard into my eyes. "I should really take advantage, with this being our last time and all."

I hated how he said that. It was sarcastic and just so Patrick. I wasn't sure why he was suddenly so interested in fucking me, and I didn't want to start pondering the possibilities because I was afraid none of them could be good. Who was this stranger hovering over me with a grin too beautiful to be fair and a cock too perfect to match?

"I'm going to fuck you again now," he said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "You're going to scream my name again and again. And don't give me bullshit about the one-time thing. This still counts as once." He looked at me sternly. "And you're going to come again. Don't be shocked if my neighbors call the police. You are so loud."

I opened my mouth to say something but he ran his hand down my jaw.

Then he nudged forcibly into me, making both of us gasp and curse. "In fact, I'm counting on it."

And then he was moving and words were an impossibility. It was slower than before, shocking me. He kept intense eye contact and kissed me with something unidentifiable and strangely personal. I looked away after a while, unable to handle his burning gaze. I tried not to give it too much thought; in fact I really couldn't because of the force of his thrusts and the incredible shocks going through my pussy.

I stared at him and wondered how I could let this be the last time. No one had ever claimed me like this. It was as if I was ruined for all other men, as dramatic and clichéd as it sounded. I had a sneaking suspicion it was true, too.

I hated Patrick Thorne from the moment we met, but I probably loved him more.

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As it turns out, I didn't go running right back to him. The guilt I'd shoved back for my temporary pleasure hit me full-blast when I got home. I sobbed in the shower for ages. The worst part was I didn't regret it. It was one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life, and I just hated that it was so messed up.

I ignored Patrick's calls for the day and spent the night at my friend Sophie's, just in case he showed up. I doubted he would—he couldn't be that desperate for pussy—but I was too cowardly to chance it.

My mood didn't improve the next day either when I received a hysterical call from Chloe. She'd been on a disastrous date the night before, she didn't think she'd ever recover from the divorce and she still loved Patrick.

"Why couldn't he love me, Nina? Why? What did I do wrong?"

I cried in the tub that night for a change of pace. Getting pruny seemed like an extra penance.

Luckily I didn't hear from Patrick again, and though it gave me an uncomfortable pang in my stomach, I ignored it and focused on other things.

Things changed a week later, however, when I was at work.

"Nina Harmon," I answered my phone distractedly.

I was desperately seeking an important file my impatient boss had asked for twenty minutes before. The guy disliked me because I snapped at him for ogling my tits. Now he found pleasure in giving me a hard time over even the most mundane duties. He probably didn't even need the file, I grumbled to myself, nearly spilling my coffee all over my paperwork.

"Well, hello, Ms. Harmon," a voice all too familiar greeted.

I repressed the girly butterflies threatening to flutter up from my stomach to my chest and groaned. "What is it, Patrick?"

I tried to throw in a little extra bitterness into my tone so he wouldn't know how thrilled I actually was he called me.

"Now, now," he laughed, "is that how you greet all your lovers?"

I sighed and thanked God my boss was distracted by yelling at some other misguided employee so he wouldn't notice me on the phone.

"I guess I'll have to rephrase: what the fuck do you want, Patrick?"

He laughed again, the sound immediately traveling to my pussy and lingering there like it was on some fucking tropical vacation.

Stop it, Vagina. He is the enemy.

Even though we hadn't spoken in a week, I kept feeling like it was only a matter of time before we'd have to face one another again and talk about what happened. It seemed like the healthy, mature thing to do.

It had absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to see Patrick again.

Not in the least.

"Well, since it appears you're going to refrain from being polite, I'll just cut to the chase: have dinner with me tonight, Lover."

He said "lover" dramatically, like he was telling some joke. I wished I could punch him over the phone.

I snorted loudly and then played it off as a cough when a few curious coworkers glanced my way. "You want me to have dinner with you? No, I'm not having dinner. Coffee. I'll do coffee. We need to talk. That's it."

"We're not finished," he said again, "and you know it. Dinner. At 7. I'll pick you up at your shit-hole apartment."

"Patrick—"

"Bye, Lover."

"Stop calling me that, you prick! I'm going to—"

"Nina." My boss's cool voice interrupted my threat. My cheeks reddened and I heard hysterical laughter on the other end of the phone before an abandoning click.

Slowly I put my phone down and tried to smile at him. "I'm sorry, sir. I was on the phone with a friend and he—"

My boss waved a dismissive hand. "The file?"

"Um. Right here, Sir."

He took it without thanks. Before strolling off to his gargantuan office, he paused in front of a bunch of my coworkers to give me a look that basically told me he'd be riding my ass even harder than usual now. "And Nina? Please refrain from using company time to make personal phone calls. I was almost certain that was referenced on the last office memo. Also, please take care with your language here. This is a professional environment, not a bar."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, but he'd already vanished.

I should have felt worse about looking like a fool in front of the boss and coworkers I so desperately wanted to impress (or at least I used to want to impress them), but all I could focus on was the dampness in my panties and the sudden urge to fill my pussy with the only part of Patrick I actually liked.

And then, like last time, my sister's trusting, innocent and loyal face flashed before my eyes and I glanced at the photo of us hugging on my desk. I thought of her phone call, how terribly Patrick had wrecked her. Would I suffer the same fate?

I hoped not, but I'd probably deserve it.

I wasn't a good person. I knew that already. I had made a lot of mistakes in my life, some I probably would never be able to make right. So in spite of my protesting, traitorous, weeping vagina, I opened up my e-mail.

Patrick,

I'd use some serious profanity here but you're lucky my company has a filter. I also don't want to threaten you, because I know you and you'd end up using it your advantage and I believe I've given you enough ammunition.

I'm just letting you know that, in spite of your crazy and presumptuous delusions, I will not be going to dinner with you tonight. I will meet you for coffee sometime to talk like adults when you're ready to do so. That's it. Let me know when you're available for our meeting, and please schedule it in the day.

-Nina

My pussy called me a not-so-very-nice word but I was proud of myself.

I wasn't going to dinner with Patrick. I wasn't fucking him again. I just wasn't.

Because in spite of everything, in spite of Chloe—I had a terrible and foreboding feeling it would crush me.

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Later that night I was watching Jeopardy with my cat Rufus, trying to get my mind off work and sexy ex-brother-in-laws, when someone knocked on my door.

A look in the peep-hole made my blood boil. I ripped open my door without any consideration as to how I was dressed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Patrick strolled in like he owned the place. He spotted my cat and bent over to give it a few rubs. Rufus purred against his leg lovingly, the fucking traitor.

"It's currently," Patrick paused, dramatically looking down at his watch, "7PM. The time I promised I'd be here."

He grinned at me then and I had to lean against the door to give me strength. I hated how for the first time in my life my hormones were turning me into the heroines of those God-awful romance novels that had no spine and were so obnoxious you wondered why the hero even liked them in the first place.

I didn't say anything, so Patrick spoke again. "Is that what you're wearing? I don't think the restaurant has a specific dress code but I don't think they appreciate cat-decorated pajamas and t-shirts with the words Rub for Luck on them."

My cheeks flushed immediately.

Fuck.

I had totally forgotten what I was wearing, being so flustered by Patrick's appearance.

"Patrick, don't be—"

"Luckily I foresaw your laziness and the time it takes you to get ready, so I changed the reservation to 7:45."

I laughed in spite of myself and sagged on my sofa. "Patrick." I was resigned, and hoped he heard and saw it. "I can't go out with you."

"Sure you can," he said confidently, petting Rufus underneath his chin.

"No. I can't. People will probably see us there. And it's too much..." I took a deep breath. "It's too much like a date. In fact, you're dressed like it's a date. And I can't date you, or anything like that."

I didn't think he intended on dating me, and I was embarrassed the minute I uttered the words, but something made me say them.

Patrick stared at me intensely for a minute, making me fidget and stare at a faded spot of carpeting I hadn't noted before.

"So you can fuck me but you can't date me?"

My eyes went up to his in disbelief. "You want to date me?"

He shrugged and went back to paying attention to my cat. "I wanted to take you out to dinner. We need to talk, like you said. Why not do it there?"

He didn't answer the question, but I didn't dwell on that.

There were a million reasons why we shouldn't do it there, and I hadn't even listed the most important yet, but strangely I felt myself standing like I was on auto-pilot and heading for the shower.

A half-hour I was spruced up. I wore a simple and conservative blue dress and very little make-up. I didn't know what Patrick was up to, but I needed to be on my guard.

Something in his smile when he saw me emerge from my bedroom let me know I was right.

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"I met the weirdest client ever today," Patrick said casually, taking a large bite of his chicken.

I swallowed my pasta and struggled to keep it down. The nerves were driving me crazy. He hadn't said a thing about the other night, about my sister, about us. He just made funny observations on other diners, joked with me about getting me in trouble with my boss and talked about his day. I had no idea what was going on, and I hated that. So rather than ask him flat out, I went my usual route of avoidance and denial and took another big gulp of wine.

"He's divorcing his wife and has all the money. She's asking for a lot of it, but he seems more than willing to give it to her. His one stipulation, Nina? He wants her doll collection." Patrick laughed and took a sip of his wine. "Can you believe it? Her fucking doll collection."

I laughed nervously, trying to ignore the way I felt when Patrick directed his smile at me. "Why?"

"Because she loves it. She's collected them for years. Some she inherited as heirlooms, others she went all over the country to seek out. She's a big collector."

"Wow," I said lamely. I thought about it for a minute. "That's kind of fucked up on your client's part. It's just personal then."

"No kidding," Patrick agreed. "It's usually always personal. It's marriage. It's amazing what people will do to hurt each other."

There was an awkward pause, or at least I felt one because it felt like it was my cue.

I'd drunk enough to give me some courage, and though the cold prickly feeling coursing through my veins told me it wasn't enough, it had to be done.

"Is that what you're doing to Chloe?" I asked quietly, staring into his green eyes intently.

He grimaced and put down his fork. "Fuck, Nina, Chloe has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with this. She's my sister and your ex-wife. She divorced you. You must be angry, and I can understand that, and I think you're probably using me to get back at her. It's not fair to any of us, and I don't want to be a part of it. I'm sorry. We had a great... an amazing night. Thank you so much for it and—"

"Shut up, Nina." He was annoyed. "Yeah, she divorced me. I wasn't around anymore. Do you know why? Because I didn't care. I gave up. I didn't love her and I couldn't pretend as well as she could."

I cringed hearing those words, remembering my sister's sobs as she wondered why over and over again Patrick shut her out their last year.

"I didn't divorce her because I was lazy, or it never seemed like the right time, or I thought she'd go bat-shit. I wasn't far off, right?" he asked with a rueful smile. "Who really knows why I never manned up? I was just kind of numb about the whole thing, so used to going with the flow. I didn't really know what to do." He took a generous drink and I smirked inwardly, wondering who needed the courage now. "I'm not angry she divorced me; I'm thankful. So, taking you here, Nina, and fucking your brains out the other night had nothing to do with any of that. I get the connection, the guilt, whatever... but we have this one life. And I'm so fucking tired of doing what I'm supposed to all the time." He eyed me up and down like I was tastier than the dish in front of him. "I want you. I wanted you all week. I'm a little guilty, yeah, but not for the same reasons. I won't get into that yet. Just know I want you. And for the first time in my life, I'm going to do what I want and get what I want."

Well.

I didn't know what to say.

We finished our meal in a weird silence—not totally comfortable, but not uncomfortable, either.

He ordered us crème brûlée and fed it to me with his spoon. Ordinarily I was against that shit, as I had a working hand and I loathed spotting couples feeding each other, but something about it was so erotic that I couldn't tell him to stop. I didn't want to tell him to stop. As I swallowed the delicious dessert and stared back at him, I became unbearably wet. I wanted to take his hand and press it between my legs. I wanted to slide under the table and suck him dry underneath it.

He motioned for the check and I realized that, though we touched on Chloe, we hadn't talked about us. About what happened. Fuck.

We got in his car and I didn't say a word as he missed my turn and continued on to his apartment.

I'd been so bad already. What was one more night? Just one more night and then we'd both get this weird thing out of our systems. He'd tire of me, I'd tire of him. One more time and we'd be bored out of our minds.

Right?

I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and noted my goofy smile, glinting eyes and rosy cheeks.

I was fucked.

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Wrong Ch. 03: Surrender

We were silent as we took the elevator up. A few times I felt his eyes scanning my body, but mine were focused on the doors. I was resolute; my fate was sealed.

That's what I kept telling myself, anyway.

Finally we reached his floor and he let me exit first. I could feel his eyes on my body even more acutely now, and though it made me slightly nervous, each zing of the electric energy between us became hotter.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and we walked in.

"Sorry," he murmured, speaking for the first time since we left the restaurant. "It's a bit messy."

It wasn't at all, actually, but I figured he was a neat freak. It wouldn't surprise me.

He switched on each light while we made our way in, making me feel exposed and naked beneath the harsh bulbs.

I sat on his sofa, listening to him shuffle around the kitchen. He appeared with a glass of wine for the both us, though we hardly needed it. Still I sipped it, hoping it would get the last few jitters out of my system. I accepted and knew this would happen, but the nerves refused to go away completely.

He was so confident, but this was so messed up and so out of character for me. Sleeping with my sister's exes wasn't exactly one my hobbies. We'd never competed over a guy before. In fact, we had completely different types. Yet there I sat, fidgeting next to Patrick.

He reached for me first, his warm hand touching my thigh. I jumped and stared at the hand, tan and large against my pale skin. "Now is the time to say no."

I looked up and examined his dark green eyes. I thought of the last time we were together, how amazing it felt, our conversation during dinner, the looks he gave me from across the table.

I thought of Chloe, too. Her tears, her confusion. I wondered if I'd ever be able to look her in the eye again, and if I could, what kind of person that made me? Would I ever be able to forget this whole experience? Would I want to?

I should have said no. I wanted to be able to say it. The word, however, was foreign to me in Patrick's apartment. I knew when we left that restaurant...well, truthfully I knew from the first kiss, that I couldn't say no to him. I simply didn't want to.

Just one more night, I told myself. I'd force myself to forget all of this afterwards.

So I stared boldly back at him as I inclined my head, my lips parting to meet his. Surprisingly he was tentative at first; in spite of his smug exterior he must have been at least partly prepared for me to waltz out of his apartment.