Finding Home (16 page)

He hovered over her a moment longer, his eyes glittering like glass and his hot breath puffing against her face. Then he pushed himself away and turned his back on her, walked into the bathroom and banged the door shut.

Megan was dry-mouthed and short of breath. Her brain reeled with erotic images of Sean having sex with some faceless girl. Her body ached remembering his touch, and all of a sudden Megan had to exert every ounce of her self-control not to follow him into the bathroom. She forced herself into her bedroom and sat on her bed, feeling disorientated.

After a couple of minutes, she crawled between the sheets and tried to steady her breathing, but she could still hear his voice in her ear, and it was doing things to her. She closed her eyes and whimpered under her breath. Fuck it, she wasn’t going to try to fight it yet again. The only way she was going to get any sleep was if she allowed herself to masturbate. And much as she hated the idea of it, whenever she let her hand slip between her thighs and coax her willing flesh, it was the thought of Sean that fuelled her erotic fantasies.

It was enough for her to visualize the scene that had just taken place, his husky voice, his eyes, slightly menacing and dark on hers, and she was wet, her fingers slipping up and down her wet sex and toying with her clit.

In her mind’s eye, Sean pulled off his T-shirt and stood shirtless in front of her so she could both look at and touch his muscled chest and abs, her fingertips skating down over smooth skin toward his groin. As she caressed herself inside her pajama pants, her fantasy self became bolder, reaching out for his waistband, unzipping his pants and freeing— God, she could just imagine his erection, the weight of it in her hand, the hitch in his breath as she touched him. In her mind, his hands took over now on her body, on her sex…

Her stroking became more urgent and the sequence of events fractured in her mind. Lost in a sea of sensations, she imagined him in turn touching, licking and fucking her, until she peaked, her hips arched high above the mattress. She bit her lip hard to stop herself from moaning and landed back on her sheets with a sigh, trembling all over.

No matter how much she fought it, Sean haunted her, and it killed her that with him in mind, she could bring herself to orgasm in just a few minutes. This was not the way to get rid of her infatuation.

The next morning, Megan woke to the sound of the shower running. She was amazed Sean had made it out of bed so soon and appeared to be getting ready for work. She was in no hurry to face him again and lingered in bed until the front door closed a half hour later. But as she poured a cup of coffee and sat down to read her article in the paper once more, Megan resolved to continue to try to repair their damaged friendship. They couldn’t go on like this, snapping at each other at every opportunity. They had to break through the sexual tension barrier and find a way to live together as friends.

Coming home that night, she picked up a bottle of wine as a peace offering when she stopped for food. Megan chose Thai and made sure she had enough Pad Thai and dumplings to keep carb-loving Sean happy.

He was studying at the dinette table, scribbling with a pencil in a spiral notebook Megan had given him for his schoolwork. He looked up when she came in and muttered a brief hello before focusing back on the page.

“You up for some Cabernet Sauvignon to unwind?” she asked perkily. Sean raised his head again, this time with a look of incomprehension. “Uh?”

She flourished the bottle at him. “Wine.”
“Um, yeah, sure. Cool.”

“I thought it would be nice to treat ourselves on a Friday night,” Megan said with a smile. “D’you want some now or are you planning to study late?”

“Now’s fine, thanks. I’m pretty much done. Give me five minutes and I’ll set the table. About last night—sorry. Your story was fine. I was just being—sensitive or whatever. It was stupid. And, uh, sorry about getting wasted, too.”

“No. It was wrong of me not to have run the article by you first, especially after I promised I would. I hope we can put it behind us, though.”

“Sure.” He smiled at her, and for the first time in ages, the atmosphere in the apartment lightened. Sean looked as relieved as she felt to have the air cleared.

The wine, and the food—Sean ate all his noodles and half of Megan’s—kept them relaxed. They chatted about their day, swapping stories about their co-workers and laughing at shared jokes until their banter was interrupted by the phone ringing.

It was Sasha, in a very noisy place, and boisterously drunk. “Megan?” she shouted. “You have to come to Bar Loco tonight.”

“I have to?”
“Yes, you have to. It’s been ages since we last got drunk together, and I miss it. I miss you. You never come out anymore, you’re always working. I have enough of that shit with Stevie. Come play with me!”

“You sound like you’re well ahead of me already. I’ll be playing catch-up all night.”

“Well, you’ll just have to drink faster when you get here. I’ll buy the first round of tequilas. Come on. There’s some people you know and music, and it’s still happy hour.”

Megan considered the possibilities. This could be the perfect opportunity to engage with Sean.

“Okay. Meet you there. And I’m bringing Sean,” she said, looking at him beseechingly.

He shrugged, his expression uncertain, but he wasn’t scowling. “Sure,” Sasha said after a beat. “That’s a great idea. See you in half an hour?”

“Half an hour.” Megan put the phone down and turned to Sean. “You up for going out with Sasha and whoever? Try out that fake ID you got?”

He nodded. “Sure.” Not exactly enthusiasm, but it was a start.

When they got to the bar, Sasha was chatting with one of her former advertising colleagues, a guy Megan vaguely knew, and a couple of friends of his. Further along the bar, James was deep in conversation with a barmaid. Despite the crowds gathering at the bar, he managed to hold her attention, telling her God knew what anecdote from his inexhaustible supply. Megan could only see the back of his head, his spiky blond hair brushing the collar of his jacket, and felt an irrational surge of fondness for him. She prayed he wouldn’t make a big deal out of Sean’s presence—or vice versa.

By the time he’d scored the girl’s phone number and a promise to hang out when her shift ended at midnight, James was in a great mood. He hugged Megan enthusiastically and managed a polite nod toward Sean.

Sean nodded back.

What worries she had about the two of them getting along dissolved. With the buffer of Sasha’s effusive drunkenness, the presence of other guys to supply ready-made football conversations, and the free-flowing beers, the atmosphere stayed relaxed and laid-back.

It was shaping up to be a pretty fine Friday evening. Beer turned into tequila and Megan felt buoyant and light. She loved her life and her fantastic friends and her hot buddy Sean and all the wonderful people in the club. It was a damn beautiful world to live in.

A few more drinks and Megan started to catch the beat of the technopop tune that was cranked up so loud you had to shout to be heard over the thumping bass. She sipped her drink and swayed in her seat, eyes half-closed and head bobbing. Sasha had gone to the bar and Megan had tuned out the guy talk. It was too hard to hear anyway and she was in an almost meditative trance, just her and her drink and the hypnotic music.

She felt someone touch her wrist and opened her eyes to see Sean nod toward the dance floor. She stood and followed him into the sea of gyrating, sweaty bodies. They bumped their way onto the floor until they created a little space to move in and Megan swayed from side to side with a sexy shimmy. She didn’t ordinarily think of herself as that great a dancer, but when she’d had a few drinks, she believed she was a dancing diva. She waved her arms and hands in intricate patterns in the air over her head, hips grinding and ass wiggling.

Sean moved into place behind her and matched his movements to hers. One of his hands rested on her bare midriff, the other on her hip, and together their lower bodies moved in sexual, tribal rhythm.

Sean’s crotch ground away against her ass. Through her too-tight, too-thin skirt, his arousal was undeniable, his erection pushing against her flesh, but instead of stepping away, she leaned back into it. Her back molded itself to his solid chest, the heat of his body almost scorching her skin.

The temperature on the dance floor must have been ninety-some degrees. Megan sweated and writhed with the other dancers and wanted nothing so much as to find a dark, shadowy corner of the club, pull off her underwear and let Sean take her from behind. For real, not mock-fucking like they were doing out here on the dance floor.

She supposed she should be worried about whether her friends were watching, but when she lifted her bleary eyes, she couldn’t even spot them in the crowded place, and she didn’t really care right now.

The fast number ended and a slower dance number followed—still full of bass, but much more intimate. Sean surprised her by taking her hand and spinning her around to face him, then gathering her into his arms in classic dance position, one hand on her waist and the other clasping hers.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and clutched at the damp fabric of his T-shirt.

The music was slow and erotic, but Sean kept his distance now they were face to face, keeping his pelvis a few inches away from hers and holding her politely, almost sedately, as they rocked back and forth.

Sensual and sleepy, she wanted to move in closer, rest her head on his chest and stay that way for about an hour. She glanced up and he looked down at her through his sweat-spiked fringe of bangs, not at her eyes, but at her lips. Automatically, she ran a nervous tongue over them and his lips parted slightly in response. His head started to dip toward her.

Megan gathered her wits and turned her head away before she crossed that line again. Suddenly very sober, she watched the other dancers until eventually the song ended. Sean stepped away from her and by tacit agreement they both left the dance floor.

Another round of drinks waited for them at the table. Megan tossed hers back. It burned all the way down her throat and started numbing her almost right away. That was good. Other people were also good. She started talking to Sasha and made a conscious decision not to make eye contact with Sean again. There were darts and pool and more drinks to distract her from him. But she was aware of him all evening long whether near her or across the bar.

ZY

Megan woke with a headache. It was barely light, and she squinted at her alarm clock. Six a.m. She had a hangover and a mouth as dry as the Sahara, and she didn’t even have a glass of water by her bed. Great way to start the day. She sat up and swung her legs off the bed, wobbling a little as she stood. Damn, she should have kept off the tequila. She remembered a lot of laughter, and a few beers, Sasha getting uproariously and very happily drunk, James making out with the busty waitress on the dance floor, Sean buying a last couple of tequila shots for him and Megan to slam on the bar before hitting home, which she now regretted. It had been a fun night, and she’d only got to bed at—what, one? Maybe five hours ago? No wonder she felt so tired. She needed water, immediately.

She got up, opened the door and padded into the corridor. As she walked through, she heard a rustling and peeked into the living room. In the pale dawn light, she could make out Sean’s shape on the sofa.

Megan’s breath caught in her throat. He was naked, the covers thrown off during the night. Evidently, he’d been a little too drunk to slip on his sweats last night. Naked, and, dear God, hard, and he was touching himself. Her knees almost gave way and she put a hand against the wall to steady herself.

She couldn’t tell if he was fully awake or not, but he was stroking himself, his hand gliding up and down, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Here was a sight she’d imagined more times than she cared to remember, Sean naked. Her gaze was drawn inexorably down the hard muscles of his chest and stomach toward his waist, his hips, and finally his hand, fingers wrapped around his erection, stroking it.

Her mind went into overdrive, a myriad of thoughts and images tumbling through, the sexual tension and obsession of the past few weeks finally letting loose. This is wrong, she thought, but oh, so unbelievably arousing, so overwhelmingly sexy. She was reminded of something he’d said in one of their first interviews, about how some of his clients paid him to masturbate over them, and how she’d found that twisted. Now it made complete sense—and God, now she was just like one of his johns, watching him get himself off and being turned on by it. She wondered what, or who, he was thinking of to make him so hard, and hoped it was her.

Megan felt caught in a trap, unable to move, her senses on overload, and while every brain cell screamed at her to get out, step back into the corridor and ignore what she’d just seen, her animal instincts wanted her to move closer. Her body betrayed her. She felt hot and wet and melting to the core of her being, her sex aching for his touch.

Sean arched into his fist with a groan, and an involuntary whimper escaped her.

His hand stopped.

Bracing herself against the wall, Megan forced her gaze up his body toward his face. His eyes were slits, his irises just visible through the lashes. She blushed deeply, the blood rising up her neck and cheeks until she thought she must be scarlet. Neither of them said anything for a few beats. Sean made no effort to cover himself, nor did his erection subside.

Megan’s mouth was even drier than it had been when she woke up. She had to say something. Or walk out. Yes, that was it, she could walk out and they could pretend this had never happened. Except she was still transfixed by Sean’s gaze, and he was not looking as though nothing had happened.

He was, in fact, staring at her, and sucking in his lower lip as he did so. Megan became slowly aware that she wore very little—a strappy tank top and panties, without the sweatpants or the robe she would normally wear around the house in his presence. The thought made her even more aroused.