Page 47 of Forever Mr Black

“I suppose you were lovers. You used to meet her every week to fuck her. Behind her husband’s back.”

He exhales deeply and pushes his head back into the seat. “I can’t keep having the same argument. It was just sex for me. I used her for sex, to fulfil a sexual need, nothing more.”

“She still likes you.”

Art changes gears and takes a left, keeping his eyes on the road.

“She admitted she cares about you, that you’re special to her.” I take a deep breath. “I think she’s in love with you.”

“I think she needs my help and hasn’t got anyone else to ask because she’s desperate.”

“You didn’t hear what she said to me.”

“Why? What did she say to you?”

“She seems to think I owe her.” I worriedly chew my bottom lip. “That you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t met her. Like she saved you or something.”

“She’s wrong. There’s only one woman who saved me.” He looks at me. “And that’s you.”

His attempt to reassure me doesn’t hit the mark. “She said I wasn’t right for you.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She insinuated you weren’t being yourself with me.”

He frowns and shoots me a look. “How?”

“Sexually.” I can barely say the next bit. “That she let you do whatever you wanted to her and that made you truly happy.”

The car comes to a halt at a set of traffic lights.

He rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “She shouldn’t have said that. I’ll speak to her.”

“But you like being sexually dominant.”

“You know I do.”

“Did you … were you much more controlling with her? Have you held back with me?”

The light changes to green, and we pull away. He stares out the window and avoids my gaze once again.

“Answer me,” I demand.

“I don’t like talking about this … with you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but your ex brought it up,” I snap.

His eyes glitter with anger. “Fine. Yes, okay? Some of the stuff was more … intense.”

I feel sick. “You have held back with me, haven’t you?”

He drags a hand across his jaw and looks uneasy. “It’s complicated.”

We arrive outside the apartment. Art cuts the engine. An uncomfortable silence ensues. I stare up at our apartment through the window. I thought we were done with surprises. I thought I knew every part of him. But I don’t.

I hate what I’m about to say. “Aisling was right.”

He puts a warm hand on top of mine, but I carry on staring out the window, unable to look at him. I’m not sure how to feel. If Aisling was right about this, what else was she right about?

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