Page 30 of Fool's Desire

This time, Joel slipped inside her excruciatingly slowly, and it seemed like forever until he was fully seated. Then he, too, stayed completely still, and Desi groaned internally in exasperation. Curling himself around her back, Joel reached around and released both of the pegs on her nipples at the same time.

Desi gasped in a breath and clenched around him as her circulation was restored and a pulsing hurt clamoured in sharp needles along her nerve endings and her breasts swelled in response. Joel rolled her abused tips between his fingers and then massaged each breast heavily as a prickly heat bloomed across her entire body, sending a tingling sensation right to her toes. She willed him to move, to ease the throbbing ache that had settled between her thighs. Her internal muscles pulled at him; she didn't have enough control to stop them, and when he eventually pulled slowly back out again, she thought she might just collapse into a soggy pool of longing. A tiny noise slipped past her lips when Joel began to move but his response was incendiary and he pounded into her core like a jack hammer.

Desi didn't know how much longer she could hold out; her breath was short and came in little pants. Her arms and legs trembled with the exertion of denying her orgasm; beneath the blindfold, her eyes were scrunched tightly closed, but Joel still didn't speak. Was he ever going to? What did that even mean?

Joel felt his balls draw up and a tell-tale tingle in his spine; he was about to come, but Desi was still holding out. He wasn't such a bastard that he could find his own completion and leave her hanging, waiting for a command he never gave, so he dragged in a breath and roared, "Now!"

Then he let go himself and slowed his thrusts while her entire body shuddered and she milked his cock with the strength of her contractions and sucked his scrotum dry.

Chapter Seventeen

Joel studied Desi's open plan apartment as he sat at the breakfast bar which separated the kitchen area from the lounge, buttering bread while she grilled bacon.

He hadn't taken much notice of his surroundings last night, but now he couldn't help scrutinising her living space, and he found it surprising and rather disquieting.

He had accepted her professional persona, as different as it was from the Daisy he remembered. He understood that the image and maybe even the aloofness she exuded was a necessity for the affluent business woman she'd become, but he hadn't really expected it to bleed over into her personal life.

The place was upmarket and the furniture was excellent quality, but everything around him lacked personality. He might as well be inside some soulless, generic hotel suite.

The walls were all a standard magnolia, and there were no photographs or paintings to break up the bare expanses of wall. Solid wood flooring ran throughout the building. In the lounge, it was softened only marginally by a plain, cream rug which was positioned in front of the cream leather sofa, and light wood lounge furniture sat with their surfaces unadorned. There were no clutter or knickknacks, not even the occasional ornament or vase. It was cold and sterile with not a single clue as to the occupant. The whole place looked like a blank canvas that was waiting for someone to fill it. Maybe she'd only just moved in?

"How long have you lived here?" He decided to find out.

"Six years," Desi replied, removing the bacon from the grill pan with a pair of tongs and placing it on some kitchen paper to drain.

Joel cast his mind back to the bedroom. Same wood floors, a similar cream rug on the side he assumed Desi got out of bed in the mornings. A functional double divan with storage underneath and plain cream covers. Bedroom furniture in the same light wood as the lounge. An ottoman at the end of the bed, a bedside cabinet that held only an alarm clock and a vanity unit with a mirror and stool which was unusually devoid of any possessions, not a single thing cluttering its surface, not a perfume bottle or a hairbrush; everything was obviously tucked away within its drawers. The bathroom told the same story but in bright white. No shampoo or bubble bath bottles dotted the sides, not even a candle adorned the barren area. It was like no one actually lived here at all.

"I expected to see some of your pottery and sculpture," Joel hedged.

Desi paused what she was doing. "I don't do any of that anymore," she finally answered, setting a couple of sauce bottles on the worktop where she was assembling their bacon rolls.

"Really?" he pressed. "But you loved that stuff!"

Desi pursed her lips as she set his plate in front of him, as if she was deciding what to tell him.

"After I changed universities and swapped majors, I didn't have time. I did an abbreviated course, which squeezed my first two years into one, so I spent every single minute of the day studying," She set Joel's food in front of him and settled down to eat her own. She didn't tell him that had been the only way she could function, by filling her brain with so much information that she never had time to dwell on what had occurred. In truth, she had found the time for her sculpting in the beginning, but it had given her too much time to think, and every piece she worked on turned into a mess and that had made her mad. Mad with herself and mad at Joel, she'd end up smashing them to bits. The clay hadn't turned out to be the soothing distraction that she'd hoped for, so instead she had thrown all her energy into her studies and become an automaton. In retrospect, it might have been more cathartic if she had persevered with the clay, at least then, she might have purged all the angst out of her system, instead of just bottling it up.

"When I graduated, it was pretty much the same story. I had to work hard to prove myself in a male dominated workplace and harder still to convince the directors that I wasn't going to run off having babies every couple of years." She took a bite of her own roll and chewed for a moment. "After I'd secured the CFO position at United, the passion had pretty much shrivelled up and died."

And not just her passion for pottery and sculpture, Joel pondered. It appeared that her passion for everything had been remorselessly stripped away.

She sat in front of him now in sharply pressed black slacks, a grey silk blouse and high heels, her face perfectly made up and her hair ruthlessly tamed back into its tight twist. There was no hint of colour in her wardrobe, either, and he found himself foolishly missing the colourful ribbons that she used to wear in her riot of curls.

The weight of the past pressed heavily on his shoulders again, and Joel knew he needed to tell her what had transpired. The reasons why he hadn't come after her, hadn't checked on her. It might be too late to mend the damage that was already done, but maybe knowing the truth would go some way towards recapturing her enthusiasm for life and salvaging her future.

When they'd finished their food, he stood and dusted a stray crumb off of his shirt, then he took Desi's hand, led her over to the leather couch and deliberately settled her on his knee.

Desi perched rigidly with her spine as straight as a board, but Joel slipped the shoes off her feet and pulled her head to his shoulder, rubbing her back until she relaxed a smidgen. It wasn't much, but it was a start, he supposed. Enough for him to begin, at least.

"That last evening you came by my place," he began and felt Desi stiffen all over again, a negative resonance humming in her throat, but he tightened his arms around her to prevent her from jumping up and persevered. "We need to have this out, Desi." He sighed, resting his head against the back of the sofa. He felt her slump against him and continued.

"First of all, I'm sorry. Sorry for the way things appeared that night. But truthfully, not everything played out the way you think it did."

Joel paused, but Desi remained silent. At least she wasn't trying to refute his statement.

"Did Eric ever come on to you or get a bit fresh?"

Desi reared her head back sharply to look at him.

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