Nicholas slants me a wild look, eyes blazing. “What are you going to do, Naomi?”
There’s a frisson of anticipation and suspense in his tone; something that still hopes, in spite of our constant attacks. I reach for a sharp weapon but don’t find any. Facing him on our battlefield, I drop all my armor.
“Cry,” I whisper.
The strings of our reserve snap and he falls onto me, astride my lap, knees digging into the couch to support his weight. His fingers tangle in my hair and his lips find mine, soft and warm and inviting.
He isn’t gentle. Nicholas’s tongue darts along the seam of my lips in demand, and I open for him because my head is spinning and focus is a myth and he’s kissing me like this. Has he ever kissed me like this? If he has, I don’t remember it.
It takes me a couple seconds to catch up, but when I do I’m floored by how eager my body is to betray my better sense, forgetting the destructive things we’ve done to each other. All those thoughts slip underwater as I arch against him and he tilts his hips against mine, needing closer contact. We’re kissing so hard that we keep forgoing the need to breathe. It’s unimportant at this point. Minor details.
The longer we touch, the more confused I am, until I begin to think I’ve got my facts flipped. I think I hate him eighteen percent.
Nicholas repositions us so that I’m on his lap instead, which lends me a thrilling dynamic of power. I could derail this right now if I wanted. Or I could tighten my grip around his wrists and kiss, bite, taste. I can do anything I like. I can feel that he’ll let me.
One thing needs to be cleared up right now, though. “You’re never giving anything to Stacy for as long as you live,” I inform him. “I don’t care if she asks you for a stick of gum. I don’t care if she asks you what time it is. She’s not getting a single thing from you.”
His wicked laugh shivers against my neck. “There is no Secret Santa.”
I rip away to study him, my fingers curling around his collar. “What?”
He doesn’t reply, so I tap his shoulder with the back of my hand. “No, seriously. What?”
Nicholas’s eyes are lust-inked and volatile. His voice scrapes from his throat. “Tell me, and don’t lie. Are you cheating on me with Zach? Have you ever, at any point?”
There’ve been a few clues so far that I’m stuck in a dream, but this confirms it. I stare at him closely, trying to figure out if he’s serious. He cannot be serious. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Please don’t. Don’t make me feel like this is all in my head.”
It’s the tortured way he says it, and the please, that sways me. I’m not sure I’ve ever been tender with Nicholas before, and what a shame is that? I don’t know how to be vulnerable with him, but there’s no alternative here. I have to tread gingerly. I try to kiss him, but he doesn’t move his lips against mine, waiting for the truth, breath releasing in small, staggered pants. He’s just as jagged as I am.
“No,” I say, gazing into his eyes so that he knows I’m being honest. “I’m not cheating on you with Zach or anyone else. I’ve never cheated. Why would you ask that?”
His reply tumbles out in a rush: “You don’t like me being around any of your work friends. Zach hates me. Whenever I see him, he’s hostile for no reason. You laugh really loud when you read his texts. And you’ve lost interest in me, which isn’t in my head, either. I’ve felt you going away.”
What he says actually makes sense, but at the same time it’s so absurd I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my chest.
It’s the wrong reaction. Nicholas’s eyes flash with anger. He tries to push me off, but I surprise him by locking my arms around his neck. Still shaking with laughter, I say, “I’m sorry. I’m just imagining the look on Zach’s face if he heard you accuse him of messing around with me.”
He’s embarrassed and irritated and struggling in earnest now, so I hurry up. “He doesn’t like you because you’re a scary bogeyman dentist and he thinks you’re on the warpath to give him twenty root canals without anesthesia. He’d love knowing he’s been living in your head like this, because that’s just Zach. He enjoys irritating people. But no, there’s nothing going on between Zach and me. Ever. If you don’t believe me, you can go ask him. He and his boyfriend will get a kick out of it, I’m sure.”
Nicholas falls still, eyeing me skeptically. “Boyfriend?”
“Yep. I think he dates women, too, or he used to, anyway.” I shrug. “It’s none of my business. We’ve never been interested in each other like that.” I narrow my eyes. “What about you? Have you ever cheated?”
“No.”
He sounds sincere. He looks sincere. I want to believe him, but—
“Not with Stacy?”
He swallows and averts his eyes. My stomach bottoms out. “I was talking about Stacy to mess with you. I just wanted a reaction. I wanted to see if you’d even care if you thought I was …” He’s at loose ends, trying to come up with a decent explanation. “I shouldn’t have—ahh.”
“You deliberately tried to make me think you might be into another woman? To hurt me?”
“Not to hurt you. To see if you were capable of being hurt by it. It sounds bad, but there’s a difference.” I’m not sure there is.
“You’re right, that does sound bad.”
But I’m not blameless in all this. Just a couple of days ago, I filed a millimeter of wood off the leg of his desk so it would wobble. I’ve tried to drive him nuts on purpose, too.
With that, I lean in and kiss him again. His surprise gives way to desire, hands grasping my hips. It’s electrifying, how illicit this feels to me. I’m not the same Naomi and he’s not the same Nicholas. It’s like I’m cheating on my fiancé. The kiss keeps changing its name with new meanings. It’s fast and quick, hard; then slow, exploring. We’re in sync through every transformation, patient and then not, curious and testing and desperate. Above all, aware. I don’t forget who I’m kissing. I don’t tune out.
That’s the element standing out to me so strongly now: how alive this man is. Every piece of him, vivid, communicating with all of my senses. It’s not that he’s never looked like this, or felt like this, or tasted like this. It’s that I’ve been asleep. I wonder what kind of revelations he’s having about our kiss. What he’s discovering about me now.
It’s a wonderful relief that for these moments, we’re on the same wavelength. Fighting him has been exhausting and it’s a nice change of pace to steam up the room in other ways. I want to generate a fog of lust so thick that he’ll never be able to find his way out.
He tastes like candy, the kind that starts off sour and dissolves into unbearable sweetness on your tongue. We’re boiled down to base needs and nothing more. Hot, searing skin. Lowered lashes. Heavy breathing. Hands everywhere. I want him to touch me without wondering what I’m thinking—take the body, leave the heart. Being so close that he can’t study me is a blessing, hiding right in front of him, distracting him with my mouth on his neck every time he hesitates and tilts, searching out my thoughts.