DIFFERENT CONTINENT. Different time zone. Same all-consuming need.
As I watch them talk in Monroe’s favourite Covent Garden restaurant, envy slices through me like a rusty blade. Monroe and Sterling are like an old married couple, but then they were a married couple. They know things about each other I will never know. They’ve seen the best and the worst of each other. Shared ecstatic highs and desperate lows. They’ve made vows and chased dreams, the idea of which is enough to threaten the return of what I’ve just eaten.
I curl my fingers into a fist under the table and smile as if I have lockjaw, tuning back into the conversation, which for the last five minutes hasn’t required any input from me.
Because you’re the outsider. By choice.
Sterling glances my way sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, clapping me on the shoulder to invite me back into their bubble of intimacy. There’s tension around his green eyes and his sandy hair is in mild disarray. Perhaps he’s jet-lagged. Perhaps he has his own shit to deal with. They’ve been discussing his cousin who died, preventing him from joining us in Tokyo. Of course, Monroe knows all of his family. She was once part of his family, as he was hers.
And family connection is something I’ll never understand.
‘I’m monopolising our Monroe.’ He takes a sip of wine and raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to dive back into a three-way conversation.
His words churn my stomach as if he’s kicked me in the balls. Because she’s been our Monroe. He’s loved her and I can’t stop craving her, even now when our arbitrary five nights have elapsed. When it’s supposed to be over.
Reality couldn’t be more different. She’s constantly in my head. Physical need for her throbs beneath my skin. The thought of never touching her again makes those lonely, scared boyhood years and the endless powerlessness seem...inconsequential.
No, a bond like the one Monroe and Sterling share would make anyone feel lonely. Who stays friends and business partners with their ex?
I can’t think of a thing to say that won’t show how I feel, so I stay silent.
‘Tell me about Tokyo,’ Sterling says. ‘I hope you showed Monroe a good time and didn’t just make her work twenty-four-seven.’ He smiles, glancing between us, me beside him and Monroe across the table from us.
Bitterness sours my throat. Why didn’t I sit next to her when we arrived at the restaurant? Guilt, probably. Some twisted notion that he has prior claim. In answer to his question, part of me wants to come clean and let Sterling know exactly what went down in Tokyo. A courtesy—it happened, it meant nothing, it’s over. Would he be more hurt that we went there or that we kept our affair a secret?
But telling him gives our fling too much weight, or trivialises it. It’s complicated. The only way I can cling to my belief that I’m happy to always be the odd one out—because one day both Sterling and Monroe will meet someone who for them is a game-changer—is to play down what Monroe means to me. Pretend I respect her, but don’t care about her like that and can easily walk away. But I do care. I cared before I laid a finger on her.
I avoid looking at her now, certain she’s evading me too. I’m too scared I’ll do something stupid like wait until she needs the bathroom, follow her and drag her into the alley at the back of the restaurant so I can show her that I have something to offer. As much as any other man. That I have all she’ll ever need for the rest of her life.
Only I don’t. It’s a lie. I don’t want a relationship, a wife or a family. My jealousy towards Sterling makes no sense.
I just don’t want to give her up yet.
As if she’s waited long enough for me to fill the awkward silence, Monroe speaks up in a rush.
‘It was beautiful at this time of year. Cherry blossom everywhere. And, on my last day, Hudson took me to the Sensō-ji Temple that we planned to visit.’
A green haze filters my vision. If Sterling had made the trip to Tokyo as planned, my sightseeing services wouldn’t have been required. Nor would she have needed me for distraction or emotional support.
Sterling peers at her with mock-disbelief. ‘He gave you time away from business to sightsee?’
‘Yes, he did.’ Monroe laughs but her face flushes. She covers her telling reaction with a big slurp of wine.
We’ve done little but fuck for the past seventy hours. We even fucked in the car on the way to said temple—a shrine dedicated to Kannon, the Buddhist goddess of compassion. For most of the twelve-hour flight to London we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We reasoned being airborne, crossing time zones, created a grey area, stretching out the last twenty-four hours so that technically it didn’t count as an additional night.
But it’s not enough.
‘So, thoughts on the Kunosu Tech investment,’ I say, trying to drag my mind away from Monroe and appear normal. Otherwise Sterling will be able to tell something is up. The last thing I want is a scene. I’m selfish. If he learns about us and feels upset, there’s less of a chance Monroe will let me touch her again. My mind is so focussed on making that happen, I can barely think straight or contribute to this evening’s conversation.
‘Oh, no, no, no.’ Sterling flags our waiter and requests another bottle of Burgundy. ‘No business talk tonight.’
He’s in a strange mood himself—overly upbeat, as if it’s an act. I want to pry but my head is so fucked it would be the ultimate act of hypocrisy.
‘Now you see what I’ve been dealing with without you in Tokyo,’ teases Monroe with a playful wink in my direction. ‘Also, I need you to help me persuade Hudson to come to the party at Comberton tomorrow.’
My stomach sinks. No matter how hard I wriggle, I can’t extricate myself from the invitation to Cathy’s memorial. Not now Monroe’s enlisting Sterling’s help. And it won’t be that bad. It’s just that family shit always makes me feel...irrelevant. I’m selfish enough to want to avoid that at all costs.
Still, it’s not worth upsetting Monroe over.
Sterling’s expression turns serious and full of compassion for Monroe. ‘I’ll bring him to Comberton.’ Then he faces me. ‘I’ll pick you up at eleven.’
I bristle at being discussed like an errant child. But I nod, my eyes on Monroe. ‘I wouldn’t miss it, Dove.’ Shit my voice couldn’t be more telling.
Silent communication passes between us. Her eyes say, I see you, I know you, and maybe even, I want you. But in reality she doesn’t. She wants more than me. She still wants all of the things she did a week ago. We’re just both hooked on the physical connection.
I shudder and clear my throat. Perhaps she thinks she can change me. That I’ll miraculously wake up one day and want to be her knight in shining armour.
‘Thank you,’ she says, looking between Sterling and me, her eyes shiny.
I look away first because I’m emotionally moribund. I don’t know what I’d do if she cried. Sterling knows her better. He’ll know how to console her tomorrow, just as he did four years ago when Cathy died.
The rest of the meal passes in a similar vein. Them laughing at shared jokes, chatting about common acquaintances, and trying to include me, when I prefer to count the minutes until I can get Monroe alone.
As we leave the restaurant and head outside for our cabs, I physically wedge myself between them.
‘I’ll see Monroe home.’ I keep my gaze averted from their expressions. I don’t give a fuck what it looks like. I open the rear door of the front taxi and turn to Sterling. ‘There’s no point both of us going. Why don’t you head back to the hotel? You said you had a few calls to make.’
He nods amiably but his stare is assessing. It makes my stomach twist. I’m a shitty, deceitful friend. I say I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t seem to quell my need for Monroe. I want to come clean, but I don’t want anything to change.
Before he heads to the second cab idling behind, he kisses her cheek and grips her shoulders warmly. ‘See you tomorrow. Let me know if we can bring anything.’
She hugs him hard, lingering for a few seconds. My stomach lurches so violently, I have to look away. I’ve watched them embrace a thousand times over the years. I’ve even watched them kiss, back when they were in love. Now I want to rip them apart and punch Sterling in the face when it’s me who’s the snake.
It makes no sense, beyond some Neanderthal urge to beat off the competition, and he deserves better.
Monroe and I don’t speak a word in the cab. The space between us on the back seat crackles with tension, as if we’re both fighting the urge to touch. My mind races for some clever quip or outlandish seduction scenario but I’m too strung out for anything beyond basic instincts. And every one of those drivers demands I hold her, kiss her, push my way inside her until the ferocious internal instability I’m battling fades. Until I’m a different man, the only man she needs.
She’s silent too. Does she feel as out of control as me? Has she too realised what a mistake we made by starting this?
At her house, I pay the cab driver and walk her to the door, my hand tingling on the small of her back. I feel her tremble. She’s there with me. On the edge. Desperate. Doomed.
There’s no stopping this.
She swings the door inward and I follow her inside without hesitation. If she doesn’t want me, she’ll kick me out.
The click of the lock has barely echoed off the walls before she spins and launches herself at me. I drag her into my arms and press her up against the wall.
‘I can’t stop wanting you.’ I pant, ripping at her coat and heeling off my shoes. ‘Tell me to stop. Kick me out.’ My words are as jumbled as the mess in my brain. Every sentence is punctuated with my tongue in her mouth and my teeth tugging at her soft lips. ‘Make me leave.’
‘No, I want you too.’ She shoves my jacket from my shoulders and tears open my shirt, buttons scattering on her hardwood floors. ‘Hurry...’
We find bare skin at the same moment, her moan as violent as my growl of triumph. I hoist her dress above her head and flick her bra open with one hand, tossing the garments away with impatience. They’re keeping me from her. From the scent and texture of her naked skin. From her perfect breasts and the haven between her legs. I’m wild enough for her to crush anything that stands in my way, including my own sense of self-preservation.
‘Hudson!’ she cries as I slide her panties aside and palm her soaking core.
‘You’ve wanted me too, haven’t you? All night.’ I toss my shirt and loosen my belt, walking her back towards the stairs.
‘Yes, yes...every minute.’ She sits on the stairs and tugs me to my knees in front of her. I lean her back, kissing her closed eyes, her cheeks and her neck while I rub her swollen greedy clit. I move lower, sucking her nipple into my mouth. She grips my hair, directing me first to one side and then the other, demanding, desperate and, like me, beyond the stage of denial that in any way we’ve got a handle on this ferocious want for each other.
It’s as if we’ve never touched before. Our first time. Only better, because I’m fully addicted to her, certain the next hit will surpass all previous ones combined.
I scrape my teeth across her distended nipple and plunge my fingers inside her, my cock surging at her cries of unabashed pleasure.
It’s not enough. I want her ecstasy. I want her climax. Her orgasmic exhaustion. I want her too pleasure-drunk to remember any man of her past or to crave anyone in her future, selfish bastard that I am.
I rip my mouth from her breast and ignore her aggrieved cry. With my hands under her arms, I hoist her up to the stair above and shove her thighs open wide.
‘I need to taste you.’
‘Yes.’ She grips my face, urging me close as I drag her underwear off.
There’s no time to admire the view of her glistening wet for me or splayed open, waiting. I bury my face between her legs and lick her from her seam to her clit, a guttural groan of encouragement ripping from my throat when she cries out and fists my hair.
I toss one thigh over my shoulder. ‘Yes, give me everything you’ve got. Tell me what you need.’ I dive back in, covering her folds with my mouth, sucking and laving at her flesh until she’s a panting, delirious mess. Begging. Writhing. Chanting my name with a hoarse voice.
But she’s magnificent. Debauched, she’s even more beautiful, and I know in that moment I’ll never get enough of Monroe Dove. I’ll die craving her.
Before that thought can send me into a panic, she grips the back of my head with one hand and holds on to the bannister with the other as she rides my face, her eyes locked on mine.
‘Suck me,’ she says, her demand snatched from her throat by her broken cry.
I focus on her clit, spreading her open with two fingers, plunging them inside her tight channel. In that moment she’s mine. I want to roar a victory yell. But there’s no time. Monroe comes on my mouth, her hips jerking, her head craned back on the stair behind and her fingers fisted in my hair as she’s racked by the powerful spasms.
I sit back on my haunches and tear open my fly, releasing my aching cock and appeasing it with a few lazy tugs. Monroe drags me between her legs and my hips slot there so perfectly, she could’ve been made for me and I for her.
I brace my hands on the stair on either side of her waist while I kiss her, and my foggy brain recalls how my wallet and my means of protection are somewhere near the front door in my jacket pocket.
Monroe fists my cock and slides the tip through her drenched folds, crying out as she rubs me over her sensitive clit. She wraps her legs around my hips and encircles my shoulders. ‘Hurry. Forget the condom. I’m safe if you are.’
She’s panting, on the edge, her mouth swollen and her eyes glazed. Her hair is a sexy mess that I fist in my fingers. I mash my mouth to hers and pour everything that I am into kissing her. It’s an erotic duelling of tongues and teeth and lips. It’s a sensual sharing of parts of our souls, but it’s not enough. It will never be enough.
With our stares locked, I push into her in a single, steady thrust that makes us groan together. I wince and close my eyes as intense pleasure—the likes of which I’ve never known—overwhelms me, body and mind.
‘It’s too good,’ she says, resting back on her elbows. I grip her hips and plunge inside her time and time again. Telling myself this time will be the last. It can’t be beaten and it will be sufficient for me to walk away.
I capture one breast with my mouth and lave at the bud, my cock squeezed by her internal muscles.
‘Hudson...’ My name is a plea on her lips. ‘Don’t stop...’
I scoop one arm around her hips, still thrusting for all I’m worth, and rub my thumb over her clit. She detonates around me, squeezing me so tight my vision blacks and I follow her, coming so hard in violent spasms that I don’t know where she ends and I begin.
But I know one thing: every word I’ve just told myself is a lie.