The pain I’d forced down before I left for the meeting tore through, and my head knocked back, a low groan echoing deep in my chest.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I locked the door and dropped onto the sofa where I’d fantasised about Dom. I choked as I threaded my fingers in my hair, just like Dom had. Tearing at myself as I pitched forwards, sending my head between my legs.
I’d done that when I first came into the office that morning as well, but it hadn’t helped.
I tried to breathe, but everything was wrong and fucked up, and more tears assaulted me as the memories of yesterday took over; of Molly’s phone call and Dom’s confirmation, of his kisses, the feel of his mouth on me, around me, loving every part of me.
Weeks I had been fantasising about it, and for all those weeks it had been him. But, just because I was the sick bastard who wanted him to fuck me while thinking I was texting my fiancée didn’t make it any better.
I choked a sob as I clenched my fingers, rocking back and forth, trying to gain some semblance of normalcy.
My guilt and his crime were two different matters. They didn’t cancel each other out.
But Dom had always felt in control and sure of his sexuality. He knew what he wanted, and trapping himunder me like that gave me a sense of power I hadn’t experienced during sex. I didn’t see it as a test of my knowledge or a pressure to prove my capability as a man to pleasure someone else. I just let myself go. It would have been too much to ask Dom if he enjoyed it, even though his smile at the end as I lay on top of him stuck with me.
Why did he think pretending to be Molly was better than telling me how he really felt? What the hell was running through his mind whenever he texted me?
And he’d been getting off on me. I knew he had. Why else would he want me to do all that if he wasn’t getting off, too?
I groaned at the thought. Those waves of lust were strangling me. Even when I was breaking inside, I still wanted him. Even if I never forgave him, the physical need to feel his skin on mine, his hands wrapped around me, his fingers inside me, it wouldn’t ever leave.
What exactly was he doing when he sent me instructions? How did he stroke himself? Did he moan and cry my name? Or was he holding the phone, laughing at how far he could get me to degrade myself just to feel a connection again?
There was a gentle knock on the door, jerking me out of my spiral of despair. I shot up, dizziness taking over.
“Harry?” Anita called from the other side. “Are you in there?”
I forced myself to stand, grabbing the towel rail on my left to steady myself before I shook my shoulders to get rid of the tension. Mum always insisted we kept our heads high and ourbacks straight for times like this, but it seemed every attempt just made it harder. But I still followed her advice.
I tugged at my jacket, pulling it down, giving my eyes a quick wipe with my thumbs as I cleared my throat and I reached the door.
Opening it a crack, I leant against the handle, supporting myself. I could barely take the weight of everything that had happened yesterday, let alone carry myself.
Anita ran her eyes over what little she could see of me, pursing her lips in concern. “Darcy Hastings would like to speak to you privately,” she said softly.
I opened the door further, eyes so heavy that I wasn’t even sure I could manage another five minutes in this place without passing out.
“How do I look?” I asked, already aware that a stray cat had more appeal than I had.
She grimaced, taking in my puffy, stained cheeks. But it was my hair that pulled her attention, which must have been ruffled from my grasp.
“Give me ten minutes.” I gave her a tired smile.
“Good idea.” She nodded briskly before walking away.
Closing the door, I went to the mirror. I didn’t recognise the person who stared back at me. There was nothing to find there. Any shred of humanity I might have had fled me yesterday, and I was stuck in a vortex of questions that pounded relentlessly around my head as I forced myself through the day.
I had nine days before Molly returned to decide what to say to her, all while I attempted to hold myself together.
I could feel myself drawing closer to a crash. I just had to stay firm until the storm passed.
Then maybe, just maybe, my life could go back to normal. If it was ever normal to begin with.
Dom
Imean, I knew I was fucking idiot, but what I was about to do was just the icing on the cake.
As I stood in the grand entrance of the Fischer building, the marble pillars and great golden chandeliers towering above me, I really had to contemplate why in God’s name I thought it would go well.