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I’d wanted to tease Julian and make him think about sex all evening, but I hadn’t realized it would do the same to me. Now I wish I’d agreed to skip cocktails and let him screw me before we left the hotel.
Not that my cocktail wasn’t delicious. It had cherry and black pepper and vodka and some kind of herb and...hell, I don’t know. All I know is that it tasted marvelous.
But we’ve been at the restaurant for almost two hours now. Dinner shows no sign of ending anytime soon, and he’s looking so damn gorgeous.
I’ve always liked men in suits, and nobody wears a suit like Julian. It hints at large muscles underneath, and I want to grab those muscles and scrape my fingernails over them and lick them, just generally have my way with him.
We’re at a special restaurant that only has a tasting menu. When I saw the price, I nearly had a heart attack, but then I plastered on a smile and said, “Sure, sounds good,” as though eating at fancy restaurants was just a regular occurrence for me. For the past two weeks, I suppose it has been, though none of the restaurants we went to in Toronto were quite like this.
The food is delicious. I’m not sure what everything is, and the menu was full of words like “emulsion” and “deconstructed” and “foam,” but it’s all wonderful. The servings are small, however, and there are lots of courses to form a complete meal. I’m not quite full, but at this point I would be content to go back to the hotel, have sex, and order room service at midnight.
The other problem is that because we’re at a nice restaurant and not alone in our room, I can’t lick the plates clean. I have to remember my manners. Whereas back at the hotel...
Well, I’d be able to use my tongue as much as I like.
When our second dessert arrives forty-five minutes later, I nearly shriek with delight before I’ve even tasted it. After this, we’re done!
“Excited about something?” Julian murmurs, sliding his hand under the hem of my dress and up my knee.
I try not to squirm as I shake my head.
“Hmm.” He picks up his dessert fork, then puts it down and rests his chin on his hand. “There’s another cocktail bar that sounds quite good. What do you say we go there and have another drink before—”
“No!” I say.
Then I realize he was joking.
He gives me a slow smile, and his gaze travels down my face, my neck, and comes to rest on my cleavage. There’s no way he wants to have another drink before he gets under my dress.
Though I suppose going back to the hotel isn’t strictly necessary. I glance down the hall. There are two individual bathrooms, which are small but sufficient for...
My cheeks burn.
I was actually considering having sex in the bathroom of one of the most expensive restaurants in Montreal.
I look down at my dessert. I have no idea what it is, but the plating is a work of art, and when I have a bite, chocolate and fruit explode in my mouth. It’s so creamy and rich and, God, I’m glad we didn’t leave early. Perhaps the dessert is even good enough to give me an orgasm.
But it would be nowhere near as good as what Julian can do to me.
As soon as he’s paid the bill, I jump up from the table and stumble on my new heels. Luckily, Julian is there to catch me so I don’t make too much of a scene.
We walk back to the hotel—less than ten minutes—in silence, but my entire body is aware of him. I’m impatient as we wait for the elevator, hopping from one foot to the other. Finally, it comes, and we take it to the top floor. Once Julian steps off, he starts walking slowly with an exaggerated swagger.
“Julian!” I squeak. “Stop it.”
Although I’m annoyed because I want him to hurry to the room and have sex with me, I’m also amused. When I first met Julian, I wouldn’t have imagined him being playful like this.
But once we get to the room, he’s all business. He presses me against the door, pins my hands over my head, and takes my mouth in his. His kiss is wild, desperate.
“I can’t believe you made me wait all night,” he says.
He’s already sliding up my skirt and pushing aside my panties. His finger plunges inside me, and I squirm against him. He’s still holding my arms above my head with his other hand.
“I can’t believe it either,” I say on a gasp. “It was a mistake.”
“An awful, awful mistake. Don’t you worry, we’ll make up for it now.”
His mouth is on mine again, his fingers between my legs. I am so wet for him, and I want more. I want to feel him inside me; I want to be full of him. I want all I can get.
He tilts his head away from me. His lips are parted, eyes dark and focused intently on mine. This face has become so dear to me in the past two weeks, but our time together is almost over.
I banish that thought from my mind.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he says.
I breathe heavily. “Neither can I.”
He spins me around so I’m facing the door and presses the length of his body against mine. His erection is hard against my lower back, and oh God, I want him even more now. Then he’s gone and I miss his heat, but my skin prickles as I realize he’s opening his pants. He can’t wait until we get to bed. He’s going to fuck me right here, against the door, both of us fully clothed.
He rolls on a condom before shoving aside my panties again and rubbing the tip of his cock against me.
“Yes,” I moan, pressing back against him. “Yes.”
He pushes inside, and I start shaking. He’s in me, and it feels so right and good.
His thrusts are fast and deep. It’s nothing like the first time, when we were wrapped up in bed together and he was so tender with me. This time, it’s rough and needy, but that’s exactly what I want right now. So many different things are perfect with him.
I clutch the door handle, needing to anchor myself. Julian is fucking me harder, grabbing my ass, filling me with such intense sensation—I never knew it could be like this. My orgasm builds, and when it crashes over me, I hardly know what’s happening. I think I might be falling, but I know he’s got me.
He growls and shakes as he finishes inside me. When he pulls out, he wraps his arms around me, and we slide to the floor together and don’t say anything for a long time.
Eventually, he pulls me to my feet.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says.
* * *
We have sex again in bed. This time, we’re naked and our touches are less frantic. Instead, it’s slow and romantic.
Afterward, he falls sleep, the lamp beside the bed still on, and I prop my head up on my hand and look down at him.
We’ve had our fling, and he’s been a wonderful lover. He’s wonderful in every way, in fact. But on Monday, I’ll go back to my regular life. No more penthouses and expensive hotels and tasting menus.
That’s okay. I don’t need luxury; I like my ordinary little apartment.
But I’ll miss seeing Julian Fong every day. I’ll miss him so much.
I let out a choked little cry.
I’m screwed.
I told myself I could handle the end, but now, I don’t think I can, and if I’m honest with myself, I was aware of that all along. I knew Julian would get to me, but I wanted him so badly that I was able to lie to myself so I could have what I craved.
Or maybe it would have been like this even if I hadn’t slept with him. We were still living together, spending so much time together.
I am so, so screwed.
My heart lurches in my chest. It wasn’t supposed to get involved, but it did.
This is the last thing I need, especially when I can feel the impending doom of depression coming my way. Dealing with heartbreak on top of that...well, last time it almost killed me.
That’s not an exaggeration. I was in the hospital on suicide watch. I couldn’t take care of myself; I could barely even breathe. I just wished everything would end, wished I could crawl into a dark cave and disappear from my own life.
This won’t technically be a breakup, because Julian and I were never officially in a relationship, but it’s heartbreak nonetheless. He’ll go back to his regular life, and I’ll go back to mine.
I cry silent tears into the night.
* * *
The next morning is our last in Montreal. We wake up around eight, both still naked after last night’s activities, and we simply hold each other. I try to enjoy this while it lasts, but maybe I should start extricating myself. Maybe it’ll be less painful if I start putting some distance between us now.
I start to slither out of Julian’s embrace, but he holds me still.
“I have something to ask you,” he says.
“Okay.” He’ll ask me his question, and then I’ll get up and have my shower.
But when I look into his eyes, I can tell it’s something big.
“I don’t want this to end,” he says.
Neither do I! Neither do I!
“I like you a lot, Courtney. When I first came up to you in the coffee shop, you were savoring your gingerbread latte...” He scrubs a hand over his face, and I realize he’s nervous. It’s not like him, and it melts my heart, which is bouncing around in my chest like mad. “I wanted to pay you five thousand dollars to teach me to enjoy life, and I suggested we could have a fling, too.” He chuckles. “It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But now that I’ve gotten to know you, I want more than a fling.”
I can’t contain my goofy smile.
“I told you I didn’t do relationships anymore,” he says. “I suck at them because I’m at the office all the time. However, you make me want to try again, and after the last two weeks, I think I’ve changed. I’ll be less of a workaholic come Monday morning, and I’ll spend as much time with you as I can.”
It’s everything I could ask for.
“Yes,” I say. “I don’t want this to end, either.”
He grins. “I’ll still give you the money, of course. What are you going to do with it?”
“Give it to Naomi. It was perfect timing, actually. She’d just told me she couldn’t afford the trip to New York we’d planned, and later that day, you showed up and offered me your ridiculous deal. So now we can go on the trip, and she can have a little extra money...and I can have you.”
Julian proceeds to kiss me very, very thoroughly, then offers to solve any financial problems I might have in the future.
* * *
I should be happy, but when we’re on the plane back to Toronto, I feel a prickle of doubt.
My depression is returning. Every five years.
It’s hard to imagine that my life will get so terrible so soon, when things have been pretty good recently, aside from the occasional meltdown. But my depression is inevitable, like the changing seasons. Even Julian, as powerful as he is, won’t be able to stop it, and I can’t imagine he’ll want to be with me when he sees what it’s really like. I won’t be Fun Courtney who squeals in delight over fancy pastries. I assume a lot of the reason he likes me is because of the joy I take in the world around me, but when I’m depressed, that becomes impossible. Sure, he was lovely to me when I had my “depression attack” a few days ago, but once that becomes a constant state for me, it’ll be different.
Dane couldn’t handle it, and we’d already been together for a while at that point. I can’t imagine Julian will enjoy it when his new girlfriend becomes a dark cloud of messed-up thoughts who can barely make it out of bed—and not because she wants to have sex all the time.
That’s another thing. Depression kills my libido.
I feel more than a prickle of doubt now; I’m being smacked in the face with it.
How can this possibly work?
I’ll go out with him for a little while, and then he’ll dump me and break my heart, and it will be just like ten years ago. I’ll have to go on leave from my job and I’ll stop sleeping and I’ll be such a bother to Naomi but she’ll do it because she loves me, and...
Julian places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? You’ve been reading the same page for ten minutes.”
“I’m fine.”
I must not sound very convincing.
“What is it?” he asks, rubbing circles on my shoulder with his thumb.
He’s a sweet man. You wouldn’t think the CEO of an investment company would be sweet, but he is.
I swallow. “My depression. I told you how I have a severe episode every five years, right? It’ll start soon. It always starts in the fall. I’ll become difficult to be around, and you won’t want to be with me anymore. Like my ex.”
“Not true. I’ll want to be with you no matter what. I care for you, and I will be there.”
He says it with such conviction. I offer him a small smile, but I’m not convinced. I’m not the sort of girlfriend a man like Julian should have. He needs someone who’s less of a mess. Someone who will look stunning on his arm at charity galas and always know the right thing to say.
Even if I’m able to have a boyfriend, he’s probably not the type of boyfriend I should have, either. He’s always busy. He says he’s different now, but maybe that just means he’ll work thirteen-hour days instead of fourteen. Could he really be supportive when he’s working his ass off?
I have doubts. I have so many doubts. But I shove them aside.
Because I want, more than anything, to be with Julian, and I’m feeling a bit delusional at the moment. I feel like believing when I shouldn’t believe.
He’s become an important part of my life; he means so much to me now. Being without him is too painful to contemplate. I don’t have a choice.
I might be on a sinking ship, but there’s nowhere else for me to go.