Filed to story: Swallow Me Whole (Sadie & Ashton) Book Free
My mind is nothing but chaos as I gather our dishes. Seconds later, I hear the click of the door to the master bedroom, echoing all the way downstairs. She’s locked it, I know she has, because I’ve tried the doorknob more than once these last few weeks, determined to get through to her. Even if it means sitting in quiet anguish to watch her sleep. To let her know I’m still here.
Waiting.
But she won’t let me in, emotionally or physically. The walls she’s erected between us are too high and thick, and I can neither hurdle nor bust through them.
After the dinner clean-up, I settle into bed with nothing but utter silence greeting me in the spare bedroom, and I’ve never felt so alone. I finger my cell, thinking of Jules and how eager she was for the touch of my hand yesterday. How simple things are with her, despite the complications we face every day at the office. I’m not sure how something can be so easy and difficult at the same time, but that’s how it is with Jules.
Wanting her is downright wrong. But being with her is as easy as breathing. Before I talk myself out of a very bad idea, I pull up her name in my contacts and text her a question I’ve wanted to ask since I watched her walk away in the airport.
Me: Would you have let me kiss you on the plane?
I already know the answer, but I want…no, I need her to admit it. To acknowledge it. And I don’t give a flying fuck if I’m playing a risky game. My heart is pounding too hard to care about the dangers of crossing such a precarious line as I wait for her response.
Please, for God’s sake. Text me back.
Six agonizing minutes pass before my cell vibrates in my palm.
Jules: You know I would have.
Letting out a long breath, I settle against the headboard and wonder if she’s in bed, too. Is she wearing practical but entirely cute pajamas? Or is she naked, her sinful body a temptation between the sheets? Is her hair twisted in a messy up-do—the kind I’ve spied her wearing a few times since she started working for me—or is it wild and free, falling over her dainty shoulders in golden waves?
I envision her silky locks splaying her pillow, and my dick throbs, heavy between my legs. Thickening and growing the more I think about her. I’m headed straight for trouble, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Maybe we were fools to believe we could leave this line uncrossed.
Maybe if I were fucking my wife right now, I wouldn’t be fucking with disaster.
Me: I loved spending time with you yesterday.
Jules: Me too.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
I hesitate, fingers hovering above the on-screen keyboard.
Me: I was wrong to ask for friendship. We’re crossing all sorts of lines here, Jules.
Jules: The lines are getting blurry, aren’t they?
A smile tugs at my lips. I adore her easy-going spirit. Despite the heaviness underlying this whole exchange, she manages to bring out the light.
Me: They are. I don’t know about you, but I might need glasses.
Jules: You’d look sexy as hell in glasses.
Me: You’d look sexy as hell with a paper bag over your head.
Jules: Way to be original.
Now she’s got me laughing on top of being downright horny. And it feels good to laugh. Hell, it feels good to be wanted.
Me: I’m an architect. I’ll leave the wordsmithery to you.
Jules: Is that even a word?
Me: See? I’m hopeless.
Jules: Hopelessly irresistible. But I’m just an assistant, so what do I know?
The seconds on my wristwatch sound off in my ears as I think of how to respond. There’s so much I want to say to her. And so much that I can’t.
Me: Do you really want to know what I think?
Jules: Always.
Me: The moment I laid eyes on you, I swear a lightning bolt hit me.
Jules: That’s a little better than the paper bag line.
Good God, this woman. She actually stuck her tongue out at me via emoji.
Me: Your turn then, Miss Originality.
Two whole minutes go by before she responds. I know, because I counted every second.
Jules: I felt the same way. No one’s ever affected me the way you do. You could hold my hand forever, and I’d be happy.
Jesus, I’m a goner. Beyond gone. There’s no chance of salvation for me—not when she says things like that.
Me: I know I promised we wouldn’t do this, but I want you so damn much. I wish I’d met you a year ago. You’re the right woman at the wrong time, and I don’t know what to do with that.
As soon as I hit send, part of me wishes I can erase and rewind. Take back this entire conversation. We’re poking a rattler, and the strike will come fast and poisonous enough to kill. A few minutes go by, and I’m guessing she wised up and put her phone away. I wish I had the fortitude to do the same. The thought has barely finished when another text comes through.
Jules: You’re married, so there’s nothing to be done about anything.
She’s right, but hell, how the utter truth in her words rips through me, as jagged as a serrated knife. I close my eyes and let out a ragged breath. I have no idea how I went from being devastated over Monica’s infidelity to falling for a woman I barely know.
But that’s exactly what happened. Something inside Jules spoke to the center of my being, almost as if our souls crashed into each other at first eye contact. I swallow hard, second guessing my next message to her, but in the end, I send it because I need her to understand.
Me: My marriage is a mess. I don’t even know if she’s still cheating on me. She won’t talk to me.
Jules: But you have a marriage, and that’s all that matters.
My fingers are flying over the digital keys, tapping out words that are only digging my shameful hole deeper.
Me: What if I didn’t?
Jules: But you do.
Me: Humor me.
Jules: If you weren’t married, I’d be all over you.