Page 79 of Resist

The clothing thing is more of a suggestion.

For some reason, I thought the pussy-zipping-catsuit would be the outfit to try my self-restraint the most. Except for the last almost two weeks since I’ve worked at BlackwellPublishing, I’ve wanted to fuck her senseless on her desk in those very expensive, well-tailored suits of hers.

And now she’s standing in the foyer of Protocol getting a red band taped around her wrist to indicate she’s not on the market or looking for a playmate.

It’s a throwback to the night we met, when she wore a red band as a brick in her defensive wall.

A pang of guilt flickers in my chest at the thought that she’s let me in, or at least she’s let me remove a couple of the blocks keeping her at arm’s length from the world. Under any other circumstance, I’d have taken the opportunity with both hands, I’d have wined and dined her. I’d have taken her to bookstores, and public readings and brought her to see flamingos on Gibbon Island on the Tropics Trail at Minnesota Zoo.

Yes, I even researched where I could find her favorite birds.

But I can’t do any of those things. I can’t woo my wife. I can’t fall for her or let her fall for me, because there’s going to come a time when I have to tell her that her father is a criminal, and she’s going to hate me. If she loves me when I do, that’s going to hurt both of us a lot more than if we’re simply two friends living under the same roof.

I’ve already made mistakes, been guided by my dick, my lust, the fact that she’s an intriguing human being, and my curiosity won out. But I can’t let us fall down the slippery slope any longer.

Ha. Slippery slope.

Ironic choice of words given that we’re both walking into a sex club.

I offer her my arm and a warm smile which she stares at, just like she did the first time we were together. “Come on, Corabelle. We’ll get through this just fine.” I’m lying through my teeth. “I’m sure you can ignore my magnetic sex appeal for a few hours.”

She might be able to, but I’m not sure I can. I’ve had her, I know how she tastes, how she smells, how her body reacts to mine. I know that she might not roar and scream in bed but I’ve learned her noises.

My body seems to not have gotten the memo that we’re not here to play, because a zing of apprehension, expectation, and straight up lust charges through my body as we navigate the Saturday night crowd and find our way to the bar.

Corabelle orders us non-alcoholic cocktails from Nyx, one of Protocol’s bartenders and they offer us both their congratulations on our nuptials. Corabelle’s smile is brittle as she accepts our drinks—on the house at Nyx’s insistence—and the well wishes.

“We can go sit in the staff area again if you’d like? We don’t need to mingle, or... watch.”

Corabelle nods, her nostrils flaring as she takes a drink like she wishes there was alcohol in the golden liquid.

Nyx hands her two more glasses. “You know there’s no liquor in those, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Corabelle mumbles as she accepts both of the glasses and meanders through the crowd. I follow, part of me on edge that she’s so uncomfortable, and the other part relieved that I’m not alone in my discomfort. Except I’m not totally sure that’s what her issue is.

We find a quiet corner to stand in, face to face, but she’s staring at the drink in her glass.

“Corabelle?”

She tips her head, but she’s still not looking me in my eyes.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I just think it’s hilarious that we were corralled out the door to the club by our friends the day after we reset our boundaries. And by hilarious I mean not at all.” She nibbles on the edge of her glass, her eyes finally meetingmine over the rim. I wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally let me look at her, but sadness wasn’t it.

At least I think it’s sadness.

She shakes her head. “It’s fine. I know it’s for the best. And if we keep sleeping with each other...” She blows out a breath. “I know some people can fuck without feelings. I used to be one of them.” She points at me. “But you, I don’t know. I feel guilty about last week, and every part of my body wants to make it up to you. I can’t fuck you without those feelings. So I can’t fuck you at all.”

My insides turn to mush, and relief curls its threads around my body at the acknowledgement that she feels something for me too, that I’m not like everyone else to her. Yet, at the same time, part of me wishes I was. It would make what I need to do, the dirt I need to dig up on her father easier.

“I really don’t want to hurt you, Sterling. And I feel shitty that I already did. It wasn’t my intention.”

The depth of her feelings surprises me. It probably shouldn’t, but given how guarded she is I guess I assumed she didn’t feel deeply at all. It seems, however, that she feels plenty, she simply doesn’t express it externally.

It feels like another double edged sword to the heart. The fact that she’s showing me her feelings means she trusts me, and yet, I’m about to set fire to her life. On purpose.

I throw my first drink down the hatch, but it doesn’t help the dryness taking over my mouth, then accept the second glass from Corabelle. “You know there’s no liquor in those, right?” She mimics Nyx’s warning.

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