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I’m lying on the sofa, crushed beneath Henry, who’s kissing me senseless, while the warm summer breeze blows in through the windows across us like a sirocco wind.
In the distance, one of the bars is playing old love songs, and strains of Dr. Hook’s A Little Bit More drifts in with the breeze. Henry hums it, then starts laughing, and I giggle against his lips as he sings the wonderful, cheesy lyrics.
He’s so relaxed and confident in his sexuality, evident in the way his erection sprang to life without any effort, so it seems, and is now pressed against my hip in all its glory. He wants me, and the thought brings tears to my eyes.
Mmm… he kisses like a god. I can’t remember the last time I made out like this. It’s going to take a while, he told me, and, true to his words, he kisses me with agonizing slowness, pressing his lips all over my face. He kisses my cheeks, my eyebrows, my closed eyelids, my nose, up my jawline to my ear, and beneath the lobe to my neck, which makes me shiver in his arms.
“You like that?” he murmurs, touching his tongue to the place where my pulse beats in my throat.
I sigh. “Yes…”
So he does it again, kissing down to the hollow at the base of my throat, then back up the other side, taking his time to touch his tongue to the sensitive skin there.
I lie calmly, but my mind feels like a pinball machine, the ball bearing shooting around at a million miles an hour. Is it over with Cam? I shouldn’t be doing this until I’m sure. Cam is my partner. He’s the only man I’ve ever been with. We rent an apartment together. I love him. At least I think I do. I’ve been faithful to him, and even though deep down I admit to having been attracted to Henry from the start, we’ve never come close to doing anything about it. Does it matter that I’ve thought about it? Especially over the last year or two? Does it count as cheating if it’s all in the mind?
In Sanskrit, intention is called Samkalpa, and it’s seen as more than mere thought—it’s caused by desire, which directs you toward a purpose or goal. It means that subconsciously, I’ve always wanted Henry. My desires have led me down this path. I’ve manifested this outcome. I came to this hotel because I knew this was going to happen. I’m fooling myself if I think anything different.
I think of the Rubik’s Cube, me turning the sides, passing it to Henry, him completing the puzzle, then passing it back, our fingers occasionally grazing, exchanging a secret, hidden message, but never when Cam was around. In my mind, I cheated on Cam years ago.
Even though he cheated on me in every sense of the word, does that make it right to cheat on him physically? Am I trying to pay him back? The universe doesn’t carry debts, and what you give is always returned to you. Karma has no menu—you get served what you deserve. Epithets run through my mind, but the outcome is the same—Karma isn’t about tit for tat. I can’t do this to punish Cam. I want to be a better person than that.
I’m not being fair to Henry either. I’m in such a muddle. My old relationship is still clinging to me like cobwebs. I should shake them free first, before I let him anywhere near me.
Henry lifts his head, obviously sensing something. He looks into my eyes. “Are you okay?” he murmurs.
“I’m not being fair,” I whisper.
“To Cam?”
“Or to you.”
“To me?”
I cup his face. “I’m a mess. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He studies me for a moment. His hair falls over his forehead. I can still feel his erection against my hip. It’s in proportion to the rest of him. Oh God… I have to fight not to groan. I’m only human. I can smell his cologne, mixed with the warm scent of his skin. I can taste whisky on my lips from where he kissed me.
This is nothing to do with Cam. It’s all about me, and the man lying on top of me. I’ve wanted him ever since I met him. That’s why I’m here.
His eyes flare, and I realize then that I’ve tilted my hips up to feel him.
He shifts so he’s nestling between my legs, then rocks his hips so he grinds against me. “You look like you know what you’re doing to me,” he comments silkily.
A moan escapes my lips. He’s cruel, but he’s correct. I know what I want. I want his mouth on mine. I want him inside me.
“It’s not fair to you…” I whisper.
He looks amused. “I don’t care, as long as I get what I want.” His gaze is direct, demanding. Ooh. I’d forgotten that the quiet, gentle Henry is also a rich, powerful businessman.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, rocking his hips again. The root of his erection presses right against my clit. “You’ve got to tell me.”
I open my mouth to say the words, but nothing comes out.
His lips curve up a little more. He takes my hand and links my fingers with his. Then he lifts it above my head and pins it there. Bending his head, he presses his lips to the sensitive skin under my arm, and my nipples tighten in my bra.
“Tell me to stop, Juliette,” he says, his voice husky, his breath hot on my skin, “and I’ll stop.”
I shudder. God help me, but I can’t say it.
