Page 36 of Dear Grumpy Boss

Sasha

When I wakeup the second time—the first time was near dawn to Zayn waking me up with soft words and shallow thrusts, high on the brink of his orgasm—bright sunbeams are dancing across my face and bare breasts.

I lick the inside of my mouth and stretch my legs under the heavy duvet. That small movement makes me groan. I’m warm and tingly and sore and a host of other sensations I don’t have words for.

With a soft moan, I roll to my side and reach out a hand.

The coolness of the sheets on that side of the bed hits me first. I open my eyes and discover the empty space on the bed. Heart beating an uneven tattoo, I scoot up and nearly cry at how my muscles resist the motion.

Zayn is…gone.

Reaching for my glasses, I push them on and blink. The suite is filled with golden light bursting in from outside. Fierce as it was, the storm left a new and bright world behind. I feel new and different too.

Through the French doors, I can see the small courtyard of the hotel and, in the distance, the proud peak of Mount Rainier. Every leaf looks sun-dappled with dew drops clinging to them.

And while every inch of me groans with remembered pleasure and there’s a giddy joy in my chest, a quiet sadness settles in too.

I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s gone.

Even if I put the probable awkwardness of waking up together aside—a situation he abhors—he has a very specific morning ritual that I know he doesn’t break for anything.

It’s better this way, I tell myself, throwing my legs over the bed.

I nearly swoon back into the bed with how my knees quake under me. My body feels used up so thoroughly. Like I’m made of bruises and prickles and deep divots crafted by Zayn’s fingerprints.

For a crazy second, I consider not showering because I don’t want to wash him off. But that way lies prolonging the ache in my heart.

He promised me one night and oh, how he delivered it.

I promised him that I wouldn’t leave him. Doesn’t matter that it was in the throes of a mind-bending orgasm and all he admitted was that “He couldn’t, without me.”

His attachment style has always been different after a rough childhood and teen years, and I know he cares for me in his own way.

So last night—once in a lifetime as it was—has to be enough.

Because I won’t break my word to him.

I won’t leave him.

Somehow, I need to think of him again as my very grumpy, very demanding boss who’s harsh with his words but generous with his actions. Somehow, I need to get over the fact that I knowhow he kisses and how he holds me through the night and how he pins me down with his delicious weight.

And how much I’ll always love him.

My shower endsup being long and luxurious.

It’s nearly impossible that I will get another chance to soak in a marble tub like this, so I take full advantage of it.

It comes to me as I’m soaking in the frothy bubble bath and washing my over-sensitive skin that tonight’s our family dinner together.

It’s my first ever one without my grandparents. My first one as a woman who knows what pleasure her body is capable of. My first one with a heart that’s been taken out of its dusty place on the shelf and given a full-throttle bumpy ride.

Now there are footnotes in scrambled handwriting and bent corners and the spine is slightly torn, but it’s all the stronger for how well loved it was for one night.

My mind wanders to a hundred different things and pulls away before a thought forms. But one thing comes back after all the detours and delusions.

Zayn might show up tonight for dinner at my grandparents’ house despite all the lines we crossed last night. He’s a creature of habit and while he won’t admit it, I know how attached he is to our family rituals. Wherever he was in the world, he always flew down for Thanksgiving, Christmas, this anniversary dinner, and Adam’s birthday.

And while I won’t ever ask anything of him that’s personal, this is something I want to do for him. And for my brother, who’s traveled thousands of miles just so I wouldn’t be alone.

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