Limerence (8 page)

His eyes flare at my ungrateful response. “It’s my fault that he is not with you?” he asks.

I nod stubbornly.

“Mia, if he cannot get his work done on time, then that is not my fault. Maybe he should have a word with his employer. I am just the customer; a customer who is paying handsomely for his skills. And I am a businessman, looking at businesses in the area. Don’t flatter yourself, love.”

There is no response to that. I know he’s right, and I have just embarrassed myself further, and leapt to ridiculous assumptions. I set my glass down and stand on unsteady feet.

I look up to his gorgeous face. His expression is neutral, and I wonder what he is thinking. Does he feel the tension between us or is it just me? He holds my gaze; my breaths seem shallow and I feel a warmth emanating from him. I don’t know what to do with myself and feel suddenly awkward.

Awkward and aroused.

I take a step away, needing some distance between us, but I slip on my shoes and begin to fall backwards. His strong arms are around me almost instantly, supporting me before I fall. His breath washes over me like sweet vanilla and I breathe him in. My heart feels like it’s going to bounce out of my chest as we stay poised in our position.

Me: bent backwards over his arm in a dramatic dip, like a scene from some old black and white movie. Him: staring deep into my eyes, his strong arms holding me in place. He licks his lips, his eyes roving across my full chest and then back up to my face, pausing momentarily on my lips before meeting my gaze and taking my breath away.

I swallow, and am about to say
thank you
and pull away when the door opens and Oliver walks in, looking tired and pale. He looks over at the scene in front of him, his eyes widening in anger.

I look from Oliver to Mr Breckt in horror, realising what this must look like, and notice that Mr Breckt is grinning widely. His strong arms pull me up to standing, pressing me against his hard chest.

“Ollie, this isn’t what it looks like,” I stammer the typical cliché.

However, it makes no difference what I say to Oliver as he strides towards us, fists raised and his face filled with anger.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Mr Breckt’s voice is stern, his demeanour calm yet threatening.

Oliver’s brow furrows in further anger, but he stops his forward momentum nonetheless. “Well, you’re not me, are you?” he asks, not expecting a reply. His eyes flare as he looks at me still wrapped in Mr Breckt's arms.

I curse myself and step out from his grasp. His grip momentarily tightens around me when I attempt to pull away. He looks at me, ignoring Oliver seething in the middle of the room.

“Are you feeling better?” Mr Breckt’s voice is soft with concern and his dazzling green eyes focus solely on me as if my angry fiancé isn’t even in the room.

I step further away. “Much, thank you,” I hurriedly reply. I remind myself to avoid my shoes on the floor this time. I move away from Mr Breckt and around to the other side of the sofa, putting some much needed distance between us.

I look up at Oliver with an apologetic smile. “I slipped outside and he helped me in.” I say it with sincerity, but his look is doubtful. “I was drinking for the two of us.” I say to lighten the mood. I realise that I’m not feeling in the slightest bit drunk anymore.

He breaks his stare with Mr Breckt and looks at me, and he must see something that makes him believe my story, yet his jaw continues to clench and unclench, more so as he looks over my head at the approaching Mr Breckt.

Mr Breckt seems untroubled by the situation, unlike the rest of us. His face is a mask of unconcern, which only seems to anger Oliver further. I know that Oliver is strong, but I can see that Mr Breckt is stronger. His frame and build far outweigh Oliver’s, and I pray to anything and anyone that will listen that this does not end in a fight. A scene from
Fight Club
flashes through my drunken mind: two men brawling topless, sweat glistening over their rippling bodies, dripping across their hardened abdomens. I swallow, feeling nauseous and aroused at the images that dance behind my eyes.

Mr Breckt smirks at me. I feel like perhaps he knows what I was just thinking about, and shame washes over me.

“Mia? Are you sure you are feeling better?” He looks from Oliver to me. “It’s a good job I was here.” He pauses for what feels like dramatic effect. “Anything could have happened to her.” Oliver wraps an arm around my waist in a show of dominance and I cling on to him—damsel in distress style.

I don’t dare look at Mr Breckt for fear of what Oliver will do, and for how he makes me feel. “Yes, thank you. I think that you should go now.” My voice is shaky from all the tension and testosterone floating around the apartment.

I finally look up, seeing his eyes dart from me to Oliver. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” He smiles at me but his eyes are sad beneath it. Moving around the sofa, he holds out his hand to Oliver, who stares at it dumbfounded.

“As the beautiful Mia said, this isn’t what it looks like. I was simply helping her after her fall. It seems she needed a knight in shining armour. Lucky me,” he gloats. He seems so strong and confident but there’s more to him I realise.

Oliver makes no move to take his hand as he stares at him, his nostrils flaring in anger and Mr Breckt finally withdraws it with a knowing grin.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at work on Monday then, Oliver. Until the next time,” he looks me over, “beautiful Mia.” I’m sure he adds it on just to annoy Oliver further.

He smiles and leaves without a backward glance, slipping the door shut behind him with a soft click. My stomach lurches at his absence.

The air is thick and heavy, and I hold Oliver close. Thoughts are whirling around my head, my heart thumping in my chest. I have no idea what to say to him. I would really just like to go to bed and pretend this never happened.

The shame of getting myself in such a state, falling over and throwing up, is too much for me to handle. But then there’s more. There is the weirdness between me and Mr Breckt, and then Ollie walking in and finding us in such a compromising position. I feel nauseous again.

Oliver sets me at a bar stool and goes to the fridge. He retrieves a bottle of beer, pops it open, and takes a long swig of it—all the while watching me. I’m tense under his watchful gaze, but I wait him out to see if he will calm down.

“Do you want one?”

My eyes widen. “Oh, God no, I think I’ve had more than enough for tonight.” I splutter, my stomach rolls at the thought of more alcohol. What I need is food to fill my empty belly, and sleep. The smell of alcohol makes my head spin.

“Are you okay?” My voice is barely audible when I ask him, and he raises an eyebrow at me before responding.

“What do you think?” He fills a glass with water and pushes it towards me.

I feel my cheeks go crimson, but I pick it up and take a large gulp. “I’m so sorry. It really wasn’t what it looked like. I can understand you being mad, god I would be too, but please believe me,” I beg, the words tumbling out of my mouth.

He puts his beer down on the countertop, resting his hands on either side of it, and looks at me. “I know, Mia, and I do believe you. It was just a shock, coming in to find you . . .” He struggles for the words and he closes his eyes. “I do trust you, Mia. It’s him I don’t trust.” He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath as he comes around the counter. He wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. I turn to him and hug him back. I suddenly feel like crying. Oliver trusts me, but I agonize.
Should he?

“I hate that guy so much, like you wouldn’t even believe. I don’t want him in our home and I don’t want him near you.” I can feel his jaw grinding as he leans his head against the crown of mine. “I’ve had the most horrendous day, Mia. You wouldn’t believe it.” I hear him swallow and I look up into his face.

“What’s happened, Ollie?”

He hugs me tighter, leans down to me and kisses my lips. “Don’t worry about it, Mia.” I look into his eyes and see something there—something sad. On the other hand, maybe my own guilt-wracked conscience is seeing things that aren’t there.

I reach up and kiss him with all the passion and love I can muster in my shame filled state, all the while mumbling apologies to him. Oliver slides his jacket off his shoulders letting it hit the floor. His hands fist in the back of my hair, and he pulls away from our clinch and stares fervently into my face. His eyes are like pools of warm chocolate, deep and luxurious, and I feel lost to him, swallowed whole by his desire and love, and total adoration of me.

He pulls and tugs at our clothes, undressing us both urgently, and I sense that he needs this, needs me, right now…like this. I hold on to the counter behind me as he undoes my pants. He bends and slides them down my legs, kissing down my inner thigh and along my calf as he goes. Shivers trail in his wake, leaving goose pimples of pleasure. He reaches my foot, lifting it up and bites down gently on the pad of my big toe, before dragging my pants off the end of my foot. I cry out at the sensation, and he lifts my other leg and gives it the same erotic treatment.

His hands move back up my body. Oliver pulls my panties down as he does, letting them slide down my legs, and I kick them away. There is nothing between us now and no one else in this moment. Oliver pulls his T-shirt over his head, his chest a wall of hard muscle. He lifts my top up and over my head, and then unclips my bra, freeing my breasts before taking them in his strong hands and massaging them, pulling on my nipples as he takes them in his mouth one at a time and sucks. I moan out and grind my crotch against him as he looks up at me.

His eyes blaze with need as he pulls my body roughly against his. His breath shaky when it leaves his mouth and I feel a tremor of tension running through him. He lifts my leg to his waist and I watch his muscles tighten on his forearms as he pushes himself inside me in one swift movement. I cry out loudly when I feel the fullness of him. All the time he stares into my eyes, crushing his lean body against mine, our bodies wrapped tightly together in a knot of limbs.

It’s quick and passionate—almost as if he is staking a claim on me—as he bites down on my shoulder, thrusting into me repeatedly. I cry out again and again, as I take all of him. I lean back on the counter and he lifts my other leg up to straddle his waist. I hold on to the sides of the breakfast bar as I feel the pressure of my orgasm building in my core, and looking into his eyes, I see it building in him too. His hands hold my hips firmly and I lock my ankles around him. He thrusts again even harder, spilling himself inside me, and I cry out again, dragging my nails down his back.

*

We sit for the rest of the night entwined on the sofa, wrapped in blankets and watching old eighties movies with a Chinese takeaway. Occasionally, I sense Oliver looking at me from the corner of his eye. He seems so sad and lost. I don’t know what to do to make him feel better, so I snuggle closer to him. We feed each other the Chinese noodles and laugh together until the early morning. I notice that Rachael hasn’t come home. I look at the clock and assume she’s either out dancing or has gone back to Chris’s house.

I’m so dog tired and weary with everything, I don’t have the energy to worry about her love life. Especially since mine is becoming so disastrously shaky. I just want to crawl into bed, curl up with my man, and leave all the week’s awful events behind us. My legs drape over his under the blanket, and my head rests on his tense shoulder. My eyes are blurring as sleep tries to intrude. I am drifting along on a bed of clouds; Oliver’s arms are around me, holding me to him—keeping me safe.

“Time for bed, Mia,” Oliver whispers in my ear. I look up at him through my lashes, a sleepy smile playing on my mouth. I surrender myself to him and place my head against his warm chest. I listen to his heart beating within its strong confines. He carries me to our bedroom and places me gently on the bed.

“Be right back, baby.” He pecks me on the cheek and turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

“I’m going to have a quick tidy round. I won’t be long. I’ll bring you some water back.”

“Just leave it, Ollie. We can sort it in the morning.” I pull my bed shorts and vest top on, flinging my dirty clothes in the corner without care.

“Mia, you’re going to have a cracking hangover tomorrow. The last thing you’re going to want to do is wake up to the smell of cold Chinese and beer. Anyway, you need to drink lots of water.”

He makes to leave and sees my face fall, quickly returning to give me another peck on the lips. I try to kiss him deeper but he pulls away.

“Let me look after you,” he pleads as he holds my face in his hands. He looks into my eyes with concern.

I force a smile for his sake and nod. “Okay.”

“Sleep, Mia. I won’t be long.” He pulls the covers back from the bed and I crawl in with a pout. It doesn’t seem right to be going to bed without him. Not after what happened tonight. I shake my head when he turns out the light and leaves the room.

I decide to wait up for him to come back; he said he would only be a few minutes. I lie back on my pillow while I wait. I realise I haven’t asked Oliver why he was so late home from work or why he hadn’t returned any of my calls. I stifle another yawn as my head sinks deeper into the soft pillow, my eyes rolling with tiredness. I can hear him walking around and I try to place what he is doing as I slip into sleep.

*

I wake, but it’s still dark out. It feels like I have only been asleep for a few minutes. My head is groggy from my dreams, and my brain is banging inside my skull. I want to clutch it with both hands, it hurts so much. Oliver warned me over this hangover. I need water, and painkillers, but the thought of moving any part of me is just that—a thought. I pray I don’t feel this bad all day. I try to drift back off, but as I do, I hear talking. I listen as it becomes more urgent and angry. I realise Oliver is not beside me when my hand reaches out for him, and I struggle to open my eyes. However, I am so unbelievably exhausted and my head feels like it is about to crash in on itself. My eyelids feel like there are lead weights on them. I can feel sleep lulling me back under, to compensate for the pain and tiredness, as the conversation gets louder.

“I can’t.” Words, whispered and heated, drift to me.

“Please don’t do this . . .” They drown out into a breathy mutter.

I’m panicked now when I realise it’s Oliver's voice. My eyelids open. The bedroom door is open a crack, the way Oliver left it, and I can see light spilling in the room from the hallway. I take a deep breath and heave my body upright, trying to rub the sleep away from my face. My head is banging and the room sways when I try to focus on the words.

“You don’t frighten me, none of you do. I know all about you—about him!” Oliver sounds angry, furious even, and my heart races in panic.

I want to go to him and make sure that he’s okay, but dizziness washes over me, forcing me to lie back down. The room is spinning, and I close my eyes to steady myself.

“Please…I’m begging you.”

I can hear the conversation continuing, but the words elude me as I fight my body’s natural reaction to purge itself of alcohol.

Please do not puke. Please do not puke,
I beg myself. I can feel my mouth watering in advance of the upcoming vomit.

I breathe in through my nose slowly, and out through my mouth, until the room stops spinning. My stomach begins to settle and sleep lulls me back under, no matter how hard I want to fight it.