Fuck, she’s sexy. I can’t help grinning as I follow her orders.

She climbs up the foot of the bed and crawls up the length of my body. Her breasts are on perfect display and they steal my attention, but I’m also drawn to her eyes. They’re on fire with lust and something else. Something soft and beautiful that I can’t quite make out.

Then she’s licking my cock, and I forget all else but her wonderful tongue. “Do it again.” I haven’t forgotten who’s in charge, but she needs to know what I want.

“Maybe I will,” she teases.

Jesus, she’s so goddamn adorable.

She bends to my dick again, kissing and licking my crown before she takes me into her mouth.

I groan. “Oh precious, you suck me so good.” She teases me—licking and sucking and fondling without taking up a steady rhythm. Soon I have to take over or I’ll die. I tangle my fingers through her hair and hold her still as I thrust into her mouth.

She doesn’t let me get away with this for long, and when she resumes control, she releases me. I moan at the loss of her warmth.

“You want more?” she taunts. “You’ll have to wait.”

I do want more, but I’ll take anything she’s giving. She climbs further up my body and straddles my waist. My cock nudges against her ass. Fuck, it’s pure torture. I’m in heaven.

She spreads her hands across my chest, and as my skin burns from her touch, she bends down for a kiss. She tastes so good. I cradle her face with my hands, holding her in place so I can devour her.

But she shakes her head free, and I’m reminded how out of my comfort zone she’s put me. I don’t know what to do when I’m not directing the scene. “What do you want?” I ask, though I wonder if it sounds more like begging.

“Touch my breasts.”

Gladly. I slip my hands inside her nightie and fondle her tits. I’m rough because I know it’s how she likes it, but also because I’m so turned on I can’t be gentle. I pull down her gown and sit up to take her breast in my mouth. I suck and bite at her nipple, and I’m rewarded by her cry. “Hudson, oh, God.”

I love her reaction, and I have to have more. I slip my hand under her panties and swipe across her clit, through her folds until I find the opening of her pussy. “You’re already so wet, precious.” I lick across her peaked nipple, and she shudders. I’m about to shove my fingers into her hole when I remember she’s in the driver’s seat. So I urge her to drive. “Shall I put my fingers inside you? Tell me.”

“I want your cock inside me.” She’s tentative with her request, and it only makes me harder.

There’s nothing more I want than to bury myself in her warm cunt, yet I force myself to hold back. I suck on her other breast until she moans. “But you aren’t ready for me, precious.”

“I’m ready enough.” She’s demanding. “I want to ride you.”

That’s all it takes. I rip the sides of her flimsy panties open and throw them aside. She grasps my cock, and I jerk in her hand. She balances over me. I’m so close to being lost inside her.

“I can’t imagine why I deserve this,” I say, palming her breasts. I know from our times before how it will be, how I’m going to feel when her pussy clenches around me. Not just physically but emotionally.

And I spook.

So I say something shitty as a reminder to both of us that none of this can be real. “I should be rewarding you for your very believable girlfriend act today.”

She stills, and I realize instantly that I’ve hurt her. And the implications of why that statement would hurt her tell me what I didn’t necessarily want to know—she is feeling it too. All of it.

I’m not sure how to deal with that knowledge. A bubble of euphoria has burst in my chest and spreads through my limbs. But my brain tries to halt it. She can’t fall for me, it says. She cannot. Because if she does, it’s going to hurt her more when all this comes to an end, and it has to come to an end. And that will destroy me.

I just don’t know what will destroy me more—that it ends or that she’s hurt. Shit, I’m so fucked.

Her eyes seem to recognize everything going through my mind. Then, with a defiance that almost makes me proud, she lifts her chin and slides down on my cock. She’s tight and raw. She wiggles, trying to work me in deeper. It’s a metaphor, I think, how she’s trying to slip further into my life and how she meets resistance from me time and again.

Though there’s nothing to be done about the metaphor, I can help her with the literal. I place my hand on her belly, pushing her back slightly until she opens up and glides down until I’m buried completely.

“Fuck,” I groan. “You’re so tight, Alayna. So good.” They’re sex words, but in my head, the meaning is hazy. Is it her clenched wet cunt that feels so good? Or is it everything else about her that feels so fucking good?

Or is it all of it?

She lifts up and down my length. I try to command the tempo, but she maintains her steady pace, sliding up and down. Up and down. It’s the most erotic sight, and my inability to direct any of it makes me restless. My hands wander over her body, touching her, caressing her, finally settling my thumb on her clit where at least here I can take some control.

“God, oh, god,” she cries, squeezing my cock with her pussy. She’s close, and I’m caught up in the way she writhes and squirms on top of me. Her skin glistens with sweat, and her cheeks are flushed so beautifully.

She talks as she rides me, her words mixed with broken moans. “I’m happy, Hudson. You’ve made me happy.” She’s not usually a talker, and I absorb every single sound she makes, every sentiment she shares.

All of it heightens the confusion of desires within me. I don’t want to hear these things. I want her to say more.

She does say more. “And I’ve made you happy too.” I want her to stop. I want her to go on. “We’re falling in love. This is us, falling in love.”

Those words are the death of me. They’re beautiful poison, and I can’t listen anymore.

“Enough.” Instantly, I flip her underneath me. I bend her legs and push them back while I pound into her with a rebellious force. I drive to silence her words that still echo in my head—in love, we’re falling in love. She shouldn’t have said that. I thrust into her, punishing her for voicing the ridiculous thoughts. If there’s any truth to it, I refuse to acknowledge it.

But I know. As Alayna comes undone underneath me, as I spurt my own release into her with long, hot pulses, I know that she’s right. That this can’t be thrashed out of our systems with desperate, frantic sex. That this can’t be forgotten or buried or ignored. There is emotion between us, and if that’s what it’s called—if it is actually love—it isn’t going away.

And what the fuck do I do with that?

I roll off her and fall onto the bed. As much as I want to be, I’m not angry with Alayna. I’m angry with myself. And Celia. Angry that she has any part of my relationship with Alayna, of what might be the most genuine moment of my entire life.

Most of all, I’m affected. When I’ve never been affected by anyone, and that means I’m also confused and maybe a little afraid. Or maybe a lot afraid.

Not knowing what else to do, I pull Alayna into the crook of my arm, close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I wish that I could fall into the bliss of unconsciousness, where thoughts and feelings can’t bite and nip at me as they do as I lie here wide awake. It’s not like there’s anything new to dwell on. The same thoughts recycle through my mind: We’re falling in love. Can I actually be in love? I have to end this game. I have to tell her everything. But then I’ll lose her. And won’t I lose her anyway? Eventually doesn’t all love end?

Or what if it doesn’t end? What if this door she’s opened, if the flood of sensation she’s unleashed, is a permanent part of me now?

It’s nearly an hour later before her breathing settles into a deep rhythm, and I know she’s asleep. I slip out of her embrace and throw on some sweats. Even with clothing on, I feel stripped naked. Is this what love feels like?

I take a seat in the armchair next to the bed and watch her as I try to sort it all out. Mirabelle’s wedding-day words return to me: When you love someone, their world interests you more than your own. Everything about Alayna interests me more than myself. That’s why I’d thought of that memory. Because somewhere in my fucked-up psyche, I understood that what I felt for her was love before she even named it. I’d avoided the acceptance of it, knowing that this amazing, wonderful birth of love inside me couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Whatever I do next—and I still have no idea what it will be exactly—I do know that there will have to be a denial. Either I’ll deny this emotion and all that this woman brings to me, or I’ll deny Celia and her fucked-up game. Denying this love would be painful for us both, but admitting my hand in deceiving Alayna…I can’t even bear to think about how much she’d despise me for that.

I spend the rest of the night hours looking for any other way out of this mess I’m in. I come up with plan upon plan that involves further manipulation and lies. But I don’t want to be that person anymore, so I abandon each one and am left without a strategy. This is another first for me, another newness I can credit to the beautiful creature sleeping in my bed.

When the pale light of morning starts streaming through the window, I imagine for a moment waking her up and telling her I love her too. With words and then again with my body. I can picture the warmth in her gaze as I say it. I can hear the way she’ll say it back to me. Again and again we’d pass the declaration back and forth with our lips, with our tongues.

This fantasy doesn’t go far though, because of all the decisions I’ve yet to make, there is one thing I know for absolute sure—I can’t tell her how I feel without telling her all of it. My definition of love is still forming, but I am certain it includes transparency and honesty, and I can’t give either without shedding all my secrets. I can’t truly proclaim my love to her while keeping this dark curtain closed over one of the most important parts of us.

It’s an ache in my side. A double-edged sword. I can’t claim her without releasing her. So I let her sleep.

Needing a distraction, I pull out my laptop and look through my emails. I’d turned everything off the day before, taking the day off work at Alayna’s request, and now I have a slew of unread messages to sift through. Quickly, I realize that many of them are from Roger and other members from my Plexis team. Despite my attempts to stall, the board is taking a vote to sell at noon Monday. Which is today. My personal life is in an uproar, but this—my company—this I can do something about. It’s business, it’s familiar. It’s where I can make a difference.

It only takes a couple of texts and a handful of emails to arrange my departure later this morning. I shower and pack my things, careful not to disturb Alayna. I stare at her for long minutes before leaving. There’s so much I want to tell her, so much I want to be with her. But I don’t know how. So, though I’m fearful this could be the last time I see her naked in my bed, I slip out without a goodbye.

Leaving her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s also the only thing I can do.

* * *

Downstairs in the kitchen, I find fresh coffee. And Celia.

She’s sitting alone at the counter bar, as if waiting for me.

I don’t speak to her or acknowledge her in any way until after I’ve poured myself a mug and taken a long swig. I need the shot of caffeine to deal with her. I wish it were something stronger.

Glancing at the clock on the coffeepot, I say, “It’s barely eight.” I set my mug down. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?”

Her voice meets my back. “I’m talking with Sophia about some redesign she wants me to do.”

Yes, that. Right. My mother had announced that the day before. Celia may legitimately be working for us, but I know her well enough to know that her visit was purposefully planned to coincide with my own visit.

I turn to face her, scanning the kitchen for signs of others. “Where is she then? My mother.”

Celia shrugs. “She went to go get some magazine with a picture she’d like to use as inspiration.” She props her elbows on the counter and rests her chin on her clasped hands. “What about you? Why are you up and dressed for business during your Hampton vacation?”

“An emergency at work. My vacation is over.”