Desperately Seeking Epic(79)

“You’re sure?” I questioned.

She nodded.

And so it began. I needed release, and Clara took it gladly. There, in her backyard, we took our time with each other. Even now, like an old song, I can hear it, and see it, too. But most of all, I feel it. The flashes of images against the memory of sounds. Crickets chirping in the background, the sound of the radio playing. Our hot breaths coming out in loud huffs, her moans, my grunts. The way she whispered my name with lust. My teeth biting into her skin, from head to toe. Her lips brushing across my body with tempered discipline.

That night, we clawed at each other, fingers digging into flesh, desperate, hungry for more. I wanted to soak her in, absorb her, take every drop of her. For every bit I gave, she met it with just as much gusto. It was beautiful. I felt like I’d been let in on a secret; I was privileged. This woman in my arms was not Clara Bateman, my business partner. This woman was committed to her pleasure and mine. There was no high-handedness. There was no who’s right or wrong. There was only this. Us. These feelings. This want. Nothing else mattered. When we finally joined our bodies, when I felt her clench around me, and heard her cry out because I’d found the deepest part of her, everything else disappeared.

It was just her and me.

And I knew my life would never be the same.





“He told you about that, huh?” I questioned, my cheeks heating. I can’t believe Paul gave Ashley so much detail about our first time together.

“It wasn’t explicit,” she points out quickly, a hint of disappointment in her tone. “He held back.”

“So should I just pick up from there?”

“Yes. I’m eager to know what happened.”



I had no idea that one night with Paul would take hold of me the way it did. I could never have imagined it would be that spectacular. But it was. So we did it again. And again. And again. It was cathartic. We were like two teenagers amped on hormones; addicted to each other.

We agreed to keep our relationship quiet, especially from Marcus. He wouldn’t have understood. Hell, we didn’t really comprehend, so how could we make him understand? So at the office, we mostly ignored each other. But when no one was looking, Paul would always find a way to touch me, some way to tell me he craved me.

At night, we were inseparable. He would cook for me while I worked on some kind of house project. Then, we’d spend hours in bed doing anything but sleeping. On the few days we’d have off together, he’d take me hiking or we’d go for long drives, getting lost in the middle of nowhere and ending up in the bed of his truck.

We didn’t talk about feelings or future plans. Everything was about the here and now. I’d spent months depressed, dragging myself through each dreary day, and suddenly it was as if the sun came out and fell upon my face. At the time, maybe I was in denial. I tried to tell myself my newfound happiness wasn’t because of Paul, per se. I mean, obviously he was a part of it, but I told myself it was that I realized there was life after Kurt. I could move on. I could be happy again. And even if Paul and I didn’t work out, I wouldn’t regret it.

That’s what I told myself.

We were living in a bubble. A big, beautiful bubble, and with each day, it grew and grew. But eventually . . . bubbles always pop. It was only a matter of time.

The day our bubble popped was a Thursday.

A typical, nothing special Thursday.

Marcus had left early, which meant it was my day to close. Switching off afternoons had really helped things between us only in the sense if we weren’t around one another, we couldn’t fight. Like I said . . . life was feeling pretty damn good.

I was in my office when Paul walked in, a devilish smirk on his face. “Hello there, beautiful,” he purred. Something in my belly fluttered with that look. Every. Single. Time. The moment we made love, the moment his naked body pressed against mine, it was like a switch was thrown; some kind of connection was made. I couldn’t help reacting to him. It was natural, something I had no control over.

“I thought you were heading home,” I giggled at the sight of him. Yes. I giggled. That should give anyone an idea of where I was in this. Clara Bateman giggled.

I was cleaning up my desk when he marched behind me and seized my hips, pulling me back against him. “I was, but I wanted to see you first,” he murmured in my ear before taking my earlobe between his teeth and biting.

I hissed as I leaned back into him, begging for more . . . for more of everything . . . for more of him. His hand slid roughly up my body, untucking my shirt, before he found my breast and groped it. My body was his. I was at his mercy.

“I’ve fantasized so many times about bending you over this desk and f*cking you senseless.” On this particular day, I was wearing a skirt; a longer one that reached my knees. He began pulling the material up until he saw my ass.

“Damn, I love that ass,” he admired. “Bend over the desk, Clara,” he ordered me. “I want to see that perfect ass sticking out, waiting for me to slap it.”

I did as he said and lay down on the desk, my ass out and at his mercy. Being with Paul was unlike anything I had ever experienced. He was good at not letting me think too much about what we were doing. He was confident in a way the other men I had been with weren’t. Sex had been awkward at times for me in the past. There was always so much planning or overthinking. Mostly from me. I was an analytical person; my mind was always trying to move to the what-ifs and so on. Other men, and by other men, I meant two at that time, could never get me out of my own head. Paul did what he wanted and trusted that it was what I wanted. He trusted if he did something I didn’t like, that I would tell him. But until I did, he would keep going. That worked well for me. I liked everything he did to me.