Page 46 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

*

Hallie

I flop back onto the pillows with a groan, my heart fighting with my conscience.

Conscience: Oh. My. God. What have you done?

Heart: Had really, really hot sex with a gorgeous guy?

Conscience: No! You’ve slept with your boss! Holy fuck! Why on earth did you do that?

Heart: Because he’s handsome and charming, and he kisses like a god?

Conscience: No! Because you’re weak and stupid! You’ve put both your jobs at risk, and for what? One night of passion?

Heart: But it was such a night… You have no idea…

Conscience: You were drunk, and you made a foolish decision you’re going to regret.

But the thing is, I wasn’t drunk. Yes, I had enough cocktails to loosen me up, but I knew exactly what I was doing. I slept with Fraser because I wanted him, and whatever happens at work, I don’t regret a thing.

I look up at the ceiling as a wave of guilt sweeps over me. The problem is that it’s not just about me. Fraser’s job was already on the line after his relationship with Ginger, and now he’s risked it all again for me. Whilst that might be flattering in many ways, the last thing I want is to be the reason he loses his position.

I think he does regret it, and that makes me so sad, I want to cry.

I curl onto my side, looking out through the window at the view of the dark sea and the night sky. As a modern woman, I should have had more self-respect than to sleep with a guy who could then walk out with no intention of taking the relationship further. To some extent, he seduced me, because he knew I was vulnerable, and that I’d be unable to resist any form of attention he paid me.

But equally, I know him well enough to understand that he didn’t plan this, and that he did do his best to fight it. I could see how much it pained him that I hadn’t been loved the way he thought a woman should be loved. And now we’ve actually slept together, I understand why he was so angry.

I think about how he kissed me… for ages… and how he worshiped my body with his mouth and hands… how he went down on me and tasted me… how he took me in every position that must be in the Kama Sutra… and how he brought me to a climax so many times I lost count. If sex for him is like that every time, it’s no wonder he felt the need to show me.

Bringing down a pillow, I wrap my arms around it. My body feels well used, my muscles aching, the sensitive area between my legs a little tender, but that’s nothing compared to the dull ache in my soul at the thought that it won’t happen again. Not with Fraser, anyway.

I mustn’t feel down about it, though. I went in with my eyes open, knowing it was a one-off. What he’s done is show me what’s possible, and now I know, there’s absolutely no reason I can’t recreate it with another man. He was good, but I’m guessing he’s not an aberration. No doubt Joel and Linc and many of the other young men I’ve met enjoy sex in much the same way. It’s Ian who was the odd one out.

I give a long, heavy sigh as I think about how many years I spent hoping I could change him, and wishing he could love me and treat me the way I wanted. All that time when I could have been having rampant, hot sex with someone who appreciated me. I’ve been so naïve, and so dumb. I’m ashamed of myself. Dee, Elora, Zoe, and other friends have told me either directly or by insinuation that I’m mad for staying with him for so long, and they were all right.

I hug the pillow tighter as I think about Fraser again. I wonder what he thought of how I was in bed? Did he think I was bad, too? When we started, I felt very shy showing him how I felt and what I enjoyed, but I flush to think of how, by the end, I was sighing and moaning out loud at his touch. Of how I said his name when I came. And how I even took the initiative once or twice, encouraged by his groans and exclamations of, “Oh yeah!”Hopefully he thought I was okay. Well, it doesn’t really matter. The important thing is that I learned so much about both sex and myself, knowledge I can carry forward when I eventually reach Mr. Right.

If we didn’t work together, would he be interested in seeing me again? In dating me properly? I suppose I’ll never know. But we can’t risk it happening again. He obviously feels drawn to me out of some misguided desire to educate me, and I’m sure it’s also because he likes me and he wants to help me. So I need to make sure I don’t lead him on, because that’s not fair to him.

I need to get to sleep. First, I rise and go to the bathroom. As I wash my hands, I look up, and I’m startled to see my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my face is flushed, and my lips look all bruised. I touch my fingers to them, shocked. I look as if I’ve had wild monkey sex, which is kinda what’s happened, I guess. I don’t look like me at all.

Continuing to stare at myself in wonder, I dry my hands, then go out, climb back into bed, and curl up under the covers. I think of Fraser next door, and wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s lying awake, staring out at the sea, too.

I fall asleep, my mind filled with memories of his lips on mine, and him moving inside me.

*

The next morning, I’m ready and sitting there waiting when he calls for me at eight.

I open the door and discover him leaning against the door jamb. He’s wearing a light-blue tee, cargo shorts, and Converses. He’s showered and shaved. His hair is ruffled, and he smells of the fresh air—I think maybe he’s been for a walk along the seafront.

“Morning,” he says. He looks a tad sheepish.

“Morning, boss,” I reply, coming out and closing the door behind me.

He gives a small smile. “Did you sleep well?”

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