Becky's POV
For a moment, he was still; surprised, I supposed, at my forwardness. But the hesitation only lasted for a split second before I felt his hand slide around the back of my head, pulling me in aggressively, and it seemed the only appropriate response was to let my lips part against his.
He took the invitation immediately, his tongue slipping into my mouth and exploring the territory, and I felt a shiver of pure bliss run down my spine. Within moments, I was completely lost in him - forgetting where I was, and why I was here.
I was throbbing. I needed him more than I had ever needed anything.
I leaned into him, deepening the kiss even further. When we broke apart to catch our breath, I expected him to say something - to object, even if it was just half-hearted - but his eyes were dark and fierce and single-minded.
There was nothing in his face but pure lust. I melted. He coaxed me down onto the carpet with the movement of his body, stretching over mine, until he was lying on top of me.
I could feel him rock-hard and straining in his jeans.
Oh, God. This was really going to happen. My head was buzzing with arousal and disbelief, and to this day I still don't know what possessed me to look him directly in the eye and say, in a breathy voice: "Thank you."
The look on his face made my heart sink. He pulled away, his expression twisted with something like disgust. At me? At himself? I didn't know. I wasn't sure I wanted to. I sat up quickly.
"What's wrong?" I felt frantic. I was so close to having what I wanted, and he'd ripped it away from me. Why? What had I done? He shook his head, looking at the floor.
"This isn't a good idea," he said, flatly. Well, no shit it wasn't. I sat up quickly.
"You didn't seem to care a few minutes ago," I said, starting to feel desperate. "I lost my head for a second," he said.
"I'm sorry. I really am. But we can't do this." I sat, miserable and motionless, on the floor as he gathered his things. He'd been planning to drive the first load over to his apartment after lunch anyway, but something told me he wouldn't be back again today. After he shut the door behind him, my massaging shower head got the workout of a lifetime.
Once my head was clearer, I became determined that I wasn't going to let that happen again. If he was going to have an attack of conscience just because I said something silly, well, that was his problem. Did he really think I was the kind of person to have sex with someone purely out of gratitude? Had he not been able to tell how aroused I was? How badly I wanted him? He was an idiot to walk away from all that, no matter how complicated it might make our arrangement.
The next morning, bright and early, my phone started to ring. I let him call a few times before I picked up.
"I was going to come over in half an hour with the truck," he said, without so much as a greeting. "If that's convenient for you."
"Sure," I said, coolly. The pizza box was still on the floor when I walked out into the living room. I crushed it angrily and shoved it into the garbage.
When I opened the door, he actually looked a little bit sheepish.
"About last night," he started, and I cut him off with a raised hand.
"Don't worry about it," I said. "I was out of line. No explanation necessary." He seemed to accept this, but as we packed up the rest of my worldly belongings, I could feel him watching me carefully.
After he dropped me back off in my mostly-empty apartment, I walked through the suddenly unfamiliar rooms in silence for a while before collapsing on my bed. It was one of the few things that didn't need to come with me - of course.
But if he thought I was actually going to sleep in his bed with him after yesterday, he was crazy. I wasn't sure if that had ever been in the cards. I'd thought about it, of course - several times, and in exquisite detail - but unless I wanted it to end like yesterday had, it was obviously best if we never let ourselves get that close.
When I answered the door, he didn't even look up. He walked in silently, picked up a box, and walked back out again. Okay. So that's how it was going to be.
On the last trip, I followed him out to the U-Haul and climbed into the passenger seat. He glanced at me briefly, but didn't say a word. I figured I might as well start unpacking and settling in.
It was a bit of a shock to see his apartment with my boxes scattered all over it. It was no longer exactly a candidate for an interior decorating magazine. He'd left most of the stuff on the main floor, but I noticed some of the boxes were up in the loft area. Might as well rip that Band-Aid off right now.
"Why is my stuff up there?" I pointed. He looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head. "You don't expect me to sleep in your bedroom, do you?" I clarified. He blinked.
"You did read the contract, didn't you?" Had that really been in there? Oh, man. I really should have hired a lawyer.
"You've seen the bed," he said, dryly, beginning his trek up the staircase.
"It's a king size. We'll hardly even have to see each other."
I briefly considering picking up the vase of bamboo from the entry table and throwing it at his head. I started digging into the boxes on the main floor. I'd expected my stuff to look dowdy and out of place, but now that I was actually faced with the prospect of unpacking it, I had a crazy urge to throw it all in the garbage and start over. What had I been thinking with some of this shit? Mugs full of pens? A ceramic dog from my trip to England when I was eleven? At the very least, I should put it all into storage.
It had no business being here. I rifled through all the boxes, looking in vain for something that I wouldn't be embarrassed to bring out. Paperclips? Three boxes of paperclips? Why did I even have these? And two brand new six-packs of sticky notes. What the hell did I think I was, a one-person office supply store?
When Riad came back downstairs, I was sitting cross-legged on the middle of the floor, surrounded by crumpled-up newspaper. I had ink stains all over my hands, and I was examining an unopened package of multi-colored permanent markers. He sat down next to me, and, miracle of miracles, actually spoke.
"You've got yourself a nice collection of office supplies there," he said. I nodded. He didn't speak for a little while longer, but I was acutely aware of the soft, even sound of his breathing. He was so close, just inches away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "About what happened yesterday."
"Me too," I lied. He picked up a pen and uncapped it, examining the tip like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.
"I didn't mean for things to get out of hand," he said. "It's not a very good start for us, is it?"
"Our relationship hasn't even really started yet," I said. "Officially."
"I know. I'm sorry I left. I just figured it was best if I..." he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Maybe it's better not to talk about it," he said, finally. "Just know that I'm sorry, and I won't let it happen again."
"Sure," I said. "To change the subject, how do you feel about throwing all of my stuff in a giant bonfire?"
"Seems like a waste of effort," he replied, smiling. "Should've done it before we went to all the trouble of bringing it over here."
"Before you went to all the trouble, you mean."
"I was happy to help," he said. "I mean it."
"Okay." He looked over all of the mess one more time. "You know, if you want an office space, we can convert one of the guest rooms."
"What would I do there?"
"I don't know. Whatever you want."
"Maybe not an office so much as a...studio," I said. "Some place where I can work on my art."
"Of course," said Riad. "Anything you want." I had to smile at him.
I wasn't quite finished being irritated about the whole after-pizza incident, but he was being awfully nice. Of course, it was in his best interests to keep me happy. I had to remember that. Don't let things get too personal. Well, that was going absolutely stellar so far. I sighed, re-packing all my office supplies.
"So these can go into the spare bedroom, I guess. I don't know about the rest of this crap."
"Well, you don't have to decide right now," said Riad, charitably.
"When we get back from the honeymoon you'll have as much time as you need to unpack." It must have bothered him, all of these ugly, disorganized boxes invading his impeccable space, but he didn't say a word about it.
I had to give him credit for that. He wasn't trying to be difficult. It was just a difficult situation. And maybe I'd made it harder than it needed to be, by coming on to him so strongly the day before. Maybe I did feel just a tiny bit remorseful. Still, though. There was no reason for him to be such a baby about it.
"Yeah, I think maybe I'd better focus on the clothes for now," I said.
"I assume that's what's upstairs?"
"Mostly," he said. "Come on, let's take a look."
We spent the next few hours organizing my clothes. He even helped me decide what to get rid of and what to keep, promising me I could rush-order some new stuff online when we were done, so it would get here in time for the honeymoon.
He didn't even raise an eyebrow at how many frayed and hole-ridden clothes I still had, stuff I'd bought before college, the sorts of things that no billionaire's wife should ever be seen wearing.
After that, I got to shopping. He sat me down on the sofa with his laptop, and handed me his credit card. It looked normal - for some reason, I'd been expecting something heavy and jet-black, like the legendary no-limit card that was said to be accessible only to the very wealthy and influential. But this was just fine. He was just a normal guy, after all.
"Have fun," he said, winking at me. "There's no credit limit." Or...maybe not.
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A/N
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