He pushes himself up onto his elbow and smiles at me. “But we don’t need to do those until Sunday,” he says.
“Huh?” I say stupidly.
“Well, I just thought that seeing how badly we’ve already fucked up, then what’s the harm in fucking up again? And again. And again. We can go back to reality on Monday. I know we have to. But until then, well maybe you could stay. Spend the weekend here with me?”
I open my mouth to say no. To tell him all of the reasons that’s a terrible idea. But what comes out instead is nothing. I feel my head nodding, my feet carrying me back to Brett’s bed.
I know even as I’m lifting up the blanket that I should tell him no. I mean this is crazy. I can’t just stay here. I have to leave. But I don’t say anything.. Instead, I slip back into Brett’s bed and into his waiting arms. And when I do find my voice again, I don’t tell him goodbye. I tell him I would like nothing more than to spend the weekend with him.
18
The weekend has gone over too fast. I wanted it to last forever, and it seems the more I wanted it to go slow, the faster it went. It feels like I’ve just blinked and the whole of our time together is gone.
Yesterday, Brett and I laid around living room, me in his t-shirt, him in his shorts, and true to his word, we pretended like no one existed outside of the apartment. He cooked me dinner and we ate it out on the balcony, watching the sunset. I threw my clothes in his washer and dryer but even once they were ready, I decided I much preferred his t-shirt.
We spent the full day talking and the better I got to know him, the more I can’t help but dread this weekend ending. It’s not just a physical thing anymore, although I still can barely keep my hands off of him. We click on so many levels and while we’re from different worlds in some ways, in other ways, we have so much in common that it’s almost freaky.
I know that under any other circumstances, Brett and I could have had something really special together, and several times over the weekend, I’ve found myself hating Mr. Connell for his stupid, archaic rules about interoffice relationships. It’s not entirely on him though. I still don’t think I’d be fully on board with being one of those women who sleep with their boss, even if it wasn’t against the company’s rules.
I’ve lost count of the amount of times Brett and I have had sex over these last few days, and I have no idea of the amount of orgasms I’ve had. A lot. I know that much. I know I’m sore from all of the sex, aching in the most pleasant way possible. And I know if we could do this all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I can live with the ache to get the orgasms, to get Brett inside of me. I’m just glad I carry my birth control pills in my purse, or we could be in very real trouble right about now. And even then, I don’t think I would have had the willpower to say no to having sex with Brett.
Over the course of Friday night, yesterday, and this morning, I’ve come to realize that Brett makes me feel special. He makes me feel like I’m all he needs, as though I’m the only woman in the world who can command his attention. It’s a bittersweet notion, because I know it has to end today. But I refuse to let myself think about that too much. I don’t want to ruin our last day together by being all melancholy. Oh God, why does this have to end?
Rising from the couch, I move to the kitchen where Brett is buttering some bread rolls and whistling. I need to move around, to do something, I can push these thoughts away fully. I am so sick of asking myself why Brett had to be Mr. Connell’s son, of why I had to work for his father. No matter how many times I think about it and curse my luck, it doesn’t change the situation, so what’s the point in upsetting myself?
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask. “I know I’m no cook, but I think I can manage a sandwich without making too much of a mess of it.”
“You can grab some cheese and start slicing it if you like.” Brett chuckles. “Just pretend it’s for a salad and you’ll be fine.”
I pull a face at him, but I move to the fridge and grab a block of orange cheese. I get a knife and a board then begin slicing the cheese. I’ve barely gotten three slices done when Brett is behind me, so close to me that I can feel his body pressed against mine.
“It’s no good,” he says.
“What’s wrong with it?” I demand, glancing at him over my shoulder and then looking back at the perfectly sliced cheese.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with the cheese. I applaud your cheese cutting skills. But it’s no good you being so close to me and so close to naked at the same time,” he says.
“Oh…” It becomes an elongated oh as his fingers grope between my legs from behind, running through my slit and making me wet instantly. “We’ll never get lunch at this rate,” I say, already breathless from his touch.
“We’ll eat it later and call it an afternoon snack,” he says, whispering it directly into my ear while sending goose bumps chasing each other down my neck and over my body.
Brett pulls me backwards so my body is pressed tightly against his. He kisses my neck as he fingers keep working me. I gasp as his fingers
