Page 56 of Take It Offline

I was so close.

“Why?” I ask, desperate.

Why can’t I come like this?

Why can’t this part of me work the way I want it to?

There’s so much noise in my head—stop; don’t stop; tell him to leave; oh god, he’s going to hate me; shut up and pretend; why did I even ask for this?—that for a second, I don’t realize Charlie has removed the tie and covered me with the sheet.

I blink up at his face. His eyes are creased in concern, jumping around mine, searching for something, and, oh god, he’s gorgeous like this. Hair ruffled, lips red.

My frustrated clit throbs.

Yeah, yeah. Get in line. We’re all disappointed at this turn of events.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he says, as serious as when he’s debating with me about document categories. If I wasn’t still so keyed up, I’d probably laugh.

“Okay, I won’t.”

It’s only when his trademark smile slips back into place that I exhale my relief.

When his gaze drops to my mouth, my breath catches. I want his lips back on me. I want to watch as he teases marks into my pale skin. But I say nothing.

Charlie clears his throat and rolls away.

At first, I’d put it down to bad sex.

Then the data stacked up, and I realized the common denominator was me.

Sometimes, I warn men beforehand, but mostly I’ve learned not to, because when I do, they either think I’m being coy, or they think I’m playing a game.

If it is a game, it’s a terrible one where everyone loses.

And they tried. Really, they did. But that always made it worse.

The way they’d look up at me, doing their absolute best, eyes hopeful, then dejected, then annoyed.

I couldn’t stand it.

Making them the focus became the easier option. Make them come before they get frustrated and wave them off afterward. Say I’m tired. Send them home.

So when Charlie stands at the foot of my bed, heel of one hand dug into the base of his erection, I hold my breath, waiting for him to ask me to return the favor.

He doesn’t.

Neither of us speaks while I slip into fresh clothes. My gut is churning with a tension I can’t work out how to address. How do I say “thank you for trying to give me an orgasm”? Is there a card?

I’m still working it over in my head when I find Charlie packed up and standing by the door. Right. Of course he isn’t going to stay. Why would he?

“Usually, I’d give you one last breathtaking kiss before leaving, but uh,” he says as he scratches the back of his neck. “I guess that’s off the table.”

I swallow down the urge to put it back on the table. And then throw myself on there, too, and give tonight another go.

Me and my ridiculous rules.

“I guess so.”

He turns to leave, and I can’t let that be it. Not if I have any hope of sleeping tonight.

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