I take his mouth again and slide my tongue against his. He moans low in his throat. It’s amazing, this power I have with him. I slip my hand under his polo shirt and scrape my nails over his abs, which elicits another moan.
“Courtney,” he murmurs.
I squirm on his lap as I kiss him, and his erection presses between my legs. I don’t need to hold myself back. I can take him inside me tonight and feel what I haven’t felt in years.
The thought freaks me out.
I’d totally planned to do this today, but I’ve only had sex a handful of times in the past ten years, and although Julian isn’t a partying womanizer like his brother, I’m sure there’s no shortage of women who want to sleep with him. Doubtless he’s had lots of sex with lots of beautiful women who know how to please a man. I’m not jealous, not exactly; I’m just suddenly very self-conscious.
I know he wants me, yet I’m afraid I’ll disappoint him. Not so much because I’m hardly a model underneath my clothes, but because I’m not very experienced.
I break the kiss and lean back. “Let’s go out, away from the temptation of work.”
“To my office at Fong Investments?” Julian asks.
I laugh.
“It’s very private and soundproof.” He raises his eyebrows. “Just saying.”
I push him playfully as I get to my feet. “No, we’re going drinking.”
After a couple cocktails and a steak dinner—my God, I’m going to gain so much weight—we return home and head to our separate bedrooms. I take off my clothes, except for my underwear, and put on the shirt I stole from his closet earlier. I don’t have any nice lingerie, but there’s something sexy about a woman wearing a man’s dress shirt, isn’t there? The sleeves are long, and the bottom of the shirt falls midway down my thighs, but the shirt isn’t huge on me otherwise—I’m not a slender woman. That’s okay. I still look sexy, right? I can strut into his room and climb into his bed and...
I pull off the shirt.
No, I can’t do this.
* * *
Wednesday at work,I’m practically useless. I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t lost my nerve, if I’d gone to Julian’s bedroom last night.
You would have disappointed him, says a little voice in my head.
Fuck that little voice. We would have had spectacular sex, and he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off me.
Yes, I’m a bit scared, but I can’t keep listening to that fear.
I’m going to create some endorphins, and nobody’s going to stop me.
After work, Julian and I walk by the lake and wander through the Music Garden. Then he makes me lamb chops for dinner before we binge-watchStranger Things. I’m horrified that he’s never seen it and that he’s never watched more than two episodes of a show in a row. We say goodnight to each other after three episodes, but in my head, it’sgoodnight for now.
I go to my room and undress. With shaking hands, I put on his blue shirt again and button it up. Then I tiptoe to his bedroom, as though I’m doing something illicit and don’t want to be caught. But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with taking some pleasure for myself.
I deserve it.
My heart beats quickly as I approach Julian’s bedroom. I knock on the door, then immediately open it and let myself in.
“Hey,” I say, standing just inside the door.
He’s reading in bed, head propped up on a few pillows, and he’s wearing boxers and a plain white T-shirt. He’s gorgeous.
He looks me up and down. “You’re not wearing pants.”
“I’m not wearing pants.”
“And you’re wearing my shirt.”
“I thought it would look—”
