“Let me make this clear. This is a one-night stand,” Ashley said, when she was in his Bugatti. Setting boundaries was priority number one here.
Right now, she might be too coiled up in hormones to care about the fact that she was sleeping with her ex-husband, but she was going to feel differently about this when the unresolved anger and betrayal snuck up on her again.
“We’d both be stupid if we let it progress beyond that.” he agreed.
Now that Andrew was on the same page, she could actually focus on the snazzy, neon-orange upholstery of the car.
“You bought a new car?” she enquired. This was her first time inside a luxury car and it did feel different.
“Last year. You like it?” He stroked it tenderly, like it was his baby.
“It’s a real upgrade from the Accent.” she remarked.
“It is. And it’s French, which attracted me to it. Do you know I’m French on my mother’s side?”
“No wonder you’re such a natural charmer.”
“Not sure my employees would agree with that assessment of yours. I’m only charming when I’m around you.”
And she had to wonder why. She couldn’t possibly be at the top of his favorite list. Suddenly, she remembered a conversation from long ago. “I thought you didn’t know anything about your mother?”
“I had an agency investigate her. She’s living happily with two kids and three grandkids in Cape Cod.” There wasn’t anything in that tone she could use to ascertain how he felt about his mother’s new life.
“Don’t you want to meet her?”
“No. Seatbelt.”
The engines purred. Even they couldn’t help but respond to Andrew’s touch.
“So where is this apartment of yours?” she asked, when they’d hit the road and Fifth Avenue was a shadow in the rearview mirror.
“It’s in Manhattan. I bought a place on Riverside Boulevard a few years ago. Where are you living these days?” Andrew asked, turning on the music. Jazz. And coincidentally Julie London.
“Brooklyn.”
“You moved quite far.”
“The rent was lower,” She wasn’t exactly making an eight-figure income to be buying property in Manhattan.
“Looks like a traffic jam. A bad one,” she said. Up ahead, a river of cars stretched as far as their eyes could see.
“It’ll clear,” Andrew said, optimistically.
After fifteen minutes, they had not moved an inch and his optimism had degenerated into impatience.
“We’re going to be stuck here all night at this rate.” Andrew slammed the wheel.
“Good. Maybe we’ll come to our senses and realize that sleeping with each other is a really bad idea.” She could hope.
“Or maybe we’ll get too impatient to wait and decide to have sex in the car.” He flirted with his eyes. “I’m seriously toying with the idea.”
“Not a chance. We weren’t that reckless even when we were twenty-two.”
“Age gives you the license to do many things.”
“We are not that old. We’re only in our early thirties.” If she wasn’t careful, they were going to end up getting charged with indecent exposure.
“Are we? I feel so old.”
That resonated with her—she didn’t feel quite like thirty-one, either. She’d seen too much in her short life. A marriage, a divorce, illness, death of a parent.
And she wondered, as she sat in the car and looked at Andrew, what else was to come.
***
Thanks to the endless traffic jam, it was past midnight when they came to the penthouse that Andrew owned on Riverside Boulevard. The multistoried monolith, with its glass facade and hundreds of shiny lit windows, carved itself out against the black sky like a tower of light.
Through the revolving doors, the reception area was exceptionally quiet except for the buzzing of the air conditioner. The night security guy was watching the CCTV footage, eating a burger. Andrew pressed the elevator button and they rode to the fifteenth floor.
A huge window, offering a sumptuous view was the only feature in the silent corridor. Only one apartment on this floor—and Andrew keyed in the password. A beep later, he widened the gap in the door so their bodies could fit through.
An involuntary gasp rolled out of her.
It was like one of those ultra-chic, dream homes that appeared in home magazines. Immaculately clean—as it could only be if the house owner was a millionaire with a housekeeper coming in every day. Every single piece of furniture was eye-catching and unique, like it had been custom-built. A television was embedded on the wood-paneled wall. Little lights from the ceiling illuminated the sofa with colorful cushions than occupied a whole wall’s length.
“You brought me here to show off, didn’t you?” She touched the flowers planted inside an African-themed vase.
“That might have been part of my motive,” Andrew admitted, with an unapologetic smile.
The living room was carpeted in beige. The Hudson River could be seen through the sliding glass doors that guarded a spacious balcony with a pair of chairs around a garden table. Unable to resist getting closer so she could view the river at night, Ashley took off her shoes and opened the balcony door.
A slap of the humid air she’d just escaped hit her cheek. But for the stunning landscape view, it was worth it. She was envious of him—he could greet every morning looking out at the sun rise over the waters.
“It’s breathtaking,” she remarked.
He hugged her back. “I find you more breathtaking than the scenery.”
Drawing her away from the balcony with his hand dropping to her waist, Andrew drew white curtains over the sliding doors and turned to her. His expression was unmistakable.
The rumble of red-hot desire conquered her nerves.
Time to do the honors. She took off the blouse and let down the zip of her skirt. With a rough yank, she managed to get rid of her pantyhose. Flinging the bobby pins holding her hair in place to the floor, she freed her hair.
Andrew’s eyes never once left her and by the looks of it, he was enjoying watching her strip. Wearing nothing but lingerie, she tiptoed to the sofa and slumped to it. He tore off his coat impatiently and then shook off his shoes and neared her, keeping the invisible thread holding their gazes intact.
Nestling her body on the fluffy surface, she cooed, “Come.”
Fully clothed, he reclined against the sofa. Ashley transferred herself to his lap, curling her feet around his waist. Her sensitive folds grated against his trousers, protected only by the sheer black fabric of her panties.
She unbuttoned his shirt, one little button at a time, bringing her breasts closer to him.
“We only have one night,” he reminded her.
“Patience.”
“I’m trying, dear.”
She bit his earlobe and then worked her teeth up to where the cartilage joined with his cheekbones.
Not content at staying still, he lifted her breasts, stroking the undersides with barely-there touches of his fingers. A low groan came from her lips. She was most sensitive there, even more than her nipples. His light teasing sent her into heaven. He still knew her so well.
“This is almost too pretty to remove, but it has to go.” He eased the bra from her body. Her boobs poured over his face and his breath traveled over the mounds. Gooseflesh broke out all over her.
He took her nipples one by one, not using his tongue, but rather tormenting them with the tip of his maroon silk tie, running them over her buds, her areolas, her undersides, till the shivers coursing through her made her collapse back into the couch. Real silk over her sent her to the edge of paradise and then back again. She curled her toes when the pleasure became too much to bear.
It was amazing, the things he could do to her. And he hadn’t even started using his tongue or hands yet.
She ground her hips against his penis and squeezed it between her thighs.
“You’ve already got me hard, baby. Now let’s get rid of these damn clothes.”
Andrew let her undo the zipper of his pants. They slipped to the beige carpet, along with his boxers. She went over his shaft, corded by muscle and vein. There was so much she wanted to do to him.
“Safety first.” Typical of Andrew to say that. And even more typical of her to have forgotten about that.
Since their divorce, her sex life had become such a wasteland that even basic safety rules were obscure to her now. In fact, she almost didn’t remember anything about sex except anatomy.
With her straddled onto his hips, he picked out a condom from the drawer beside the sofa and put it on. Her breaths grew shaky as she took in the raw, masculine beauty of him being wrapped in latex. She could have kept watching, if not for the hurricane of hormones clawing at her.
When he was ready, she continued pounding him between the V of her legs without penetration, hearing his breath grow shallower and more erratic as he tried to accommodate the rapture.
“Use your hands,” he begged.
“It’s not a lap dance if I do.” She was going to make him suffer a little longer. That would make his release all the more satisfying.
Pulling her face over his, she whispered her next command. “Lie down.”
“What are you planning?”
“Shhh. It’s a surprise.”
She climbed over his chest, until her pussy was close to his mouth and her mouth faced his erect length.
“I’ve never seen you so up close before,” he said, then his tongue flicked out and teased her clitoris and the flesh that surrounded it. She arched her stomach, unable to withstand the pleasure whipping her. She was so close.
Grabbing his penis, she skimmed over the ridges with the edge of her tongue to build up tension and then released it by taking him in her mouth. Her hands swiped over the base. She echoed everything he did to her, every sharp snap, every lingering caress until they both came simultaneously. Her world shattered until her body was empty of everything, except a deep, pulsing sense of satiation.
“Ashley…” His voice faded into the blur of euphoria. A light pat on her butt made her sit up in his lap.
“That was fucking awesome.” The gray of his eyes had almost turned black.
“My pleasure.”
“Mine, too.”
Trying to count all the stars from the sexual explosion looming in front of her eyes, she failed. The number was too large for her limited math skill to quantify.
She flopped onto his bare chest. In contrast to years ago, it was much more toned. And hair-free. Her fingers slithered over the hard valleys of carved muscles and she couldn’t stop herself from licking those yummy abs, especially now that there wasn’t any hair that would get tangled up with her tongue.
His stomach shuddered. “I’m ticklish.”
“Someone’s been working hard at the gym,” she remarked.
“And someone’s been getting sexier by the year.”
His arm coiled around her. Wet and sweaty after couch sex, they both took the next couple of minutes to just breathe and lie over each other.
Her fingernails dug deeper into the soft, yielding body of the couch. She dragged her cheek to his chest and reveled in the coziness of lying against him. The ballooning of his stomach as he breathed in kneaded her cheek. It had been ages since she’d had this much physical contact with someone, ages since she had surrendered to another so completely.
He caressed her silken tresses with his palm. Flashbacks of their first experience of intimacy ran though her. He’d stroked her hair the same way. It made her feel like a little kid, almost.
“You know, this was the first lap dance of my life,” he drawled.
It had been her first too. “So how did it go?”
“It blew my mind… and some other parts of me too.”
Ashley smiled triumphantly.
“So what’s next?” he asked.
“You tell me.”
A jerk later, his spine was vertical again. He sat up against the arm of the sofa. With his face barely inches from hers, she leaned in, expecting another smooch, but instead of his lips, it was his biceps that she felt as he hoisted her up. He did give her a quick peck, but it fell short of the intense, deep lip-lock she had hoped for.
Cosseted by his granite chest, she found herself being carried across the living room to his bedroom. He opened the door to his bedroom and then to the adjacent bathroom.
Calling it a bathroom would be like calling a whale a fish. It was nearly the size of the living room. Where the living room had been minimalist, for the bathroom, he had gone all-out Victorian royal. The first switch he pressed made a chandelier with columns of crystal beads hanging from it light up. A chandelier in a bathroom. This was a new one.
There was a fridge, sofas and even a bottle of wine in a metal tub, on the table beside the shower.
The white cabinets, running across a whole wall with a mirror the same length, were old Victorian elegance. One wall was inlaid with a large mirror framed by filigreed silver. She could see their reflections in it. They looked like Adam and Eve, in each other’s arms.
Set over the pristine white marble floor was a large bathtub, into which Andrew lowered her. He turned the water on and steaming hot water bathed her breasts and then flowed down to the rest of her body.
Her elbow hit the wine bottles.
“You drink in the bathroom?” she asked, incredulous.
“My housekeeper puts them there every Tuesday. Nothing like rosé with a hot bath. You wanna try?”
“Yes, please.” She gathered up some water in her palms and poured it over her face.
Moving to the cabinet, Andrew plucked out a wine glass and filled it from the bottle.
“You’re not having any?” She took the glass from him and swirled it around by the stem. Aromas of strawberry and grapefruit wafted to the tip of her nose.
“No, I don’t drink this late.”
She admired his discipline while chiding herself for her own lack of self-control when it came to alcohol. Oh, well, she was never going to be Andrew. Besides, he liked her curves, which gave her the excuse to fill them out a bit more.
The cool, refreshing taste of the light pink liquid waltzed on her taste buds as she took the first sip. Andrew was right. The hot water searing through her skin and the chilled wine harmonized surprisingly well.
“It’s good.”
“Just good?”
“I’m not the biggest rosé fan out there, so that’s as much of a compliment as I can give.”
Glass clinked behind her. “I have Merlot too. You like that more?”
“What I’d really like is some bathtub sex,” she purred.
His eyebrows knitted together. “It’s not safe, Ashley. I don’t want to risk getting you pregnant.”
She stuck one leg up in the air. “We’ve already thrown caution to the wind for tonight, so why not stretch it?”
At her words, Andrew’s spine stiffened.
Okay, she was way over her head here. She set the wine down. No more alcohol for tonight.
Getting pregnant was simply not something she was planning on doing—especially not with Andrew. Granted, she’d never want any other man’s kid inside her… oh, goodness, what was she thinking?
This was only one night—one night of forbidden passion. After this, she was never going to see Andrew again. She was going to date Joe, or some other nice guy like him, get married and have his kids, not Andrew’s.
Then why was the idea of having someone else’s kids starting to give her cold feet?
Ashley clutched her belly. She couldn’t do this to herself. She had her life all planned out—she was going to fall in love with a nice, stable guy who wasn’t six foot one, super-hot with sun-streaked brown hair and the owner of an apartment on Riverside Boulevard. One more trip down heartache lane wasn’t in that plan.
You’re pushing thirty-two, the evil voice in her head kindly reminded.
So what? She had frozen her eggs. She could have kids anytime she wanted.
Andrew looked relieved when the lines on her forehead deepened. “I hope you’re starting to see the foolishness of what you just said.”
“No, I was actually thinking about how I still have to pay the yearly storage fees for my frozen eggs.”
“You froze your eggs?”
“What? It is a super wise move, okay?”
“I’m not saying it isn’t.”
“I can’t control my biological clock, but I don’t have to let it dictate my life choices.” Agitated for no reason, she pumped some of the citrusy shower gel into her palm from the bottle on the edge of the ivory bathtub.
“I never knew you were so keen on having kids.” His voice was cold, disapproving.
Ashley’s heart crashed from one hundred and twenty to zero beats per minute. Wait a minute… did Andrew not want a family? During their marriage, they had not once veered to the topic of raising a family. She had assumed that Andrew would eventually want to have kids—three kids.
But thinking back to how they’d never had unprotected sex even after they’d both gotten themselves checked at the hospital, she realized he had never shown any inclination to procreate. And she had been missing the fact for a while.
The babbling tap water carried away the soap on her hand and with it her assumptions.
“I’ve always wanted kids,” she croaked, telling herself it made no sense for her to feel so wounded that he didn’t want children. His life, his choices. “I’ve just never found Mr. Right.”
A direct hit.
“I hope you find him someday.”
From his mouth, it sounded so wrong.
“I will.” She sounded completely sure of herself. No way was she letting him see the stupid hope inside her.
“I’ll have a shower. I need to wash up, too.”
His body became a splotch against the fogged-up shower glass when he turned on the steaming hot water. She couldn’t see him clearly, and she hoped he couldn’t see her either, because if he could, he’d see how hurt she looked.
On normal days, the dark circles and age spots on her face would have been the first things that caught her attention, not the red veins in her eyes. But the mirror on the wall told all—she was upset.
Grabbing a clean white towel from the towel holder, she cloaked herself in the Egyptian cotton and walked out to find her clothes.
She had to leave. If she stayed, if they progressed beyond foreplay, she’d have too many questions to answer to herself.
Too many demons to face. Too much guilt to take care of. Too many choices to make.
Choices scared her. She was indecisive. She wanted everything. Choosing between having a family and having Andrew almost had her subconscious screaming out the answer—and it wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. So she was going to avoid that choice altogether.
There were still too many things that needed to be confronted in the past before anything in the present would work out. Every minute they spent together brought them closer and closer to a relationship they couldn’t have.
So she left him a note and scuttled out of the apartment—that was the only choice she’d make for today.
