The Gamble

In fact, since I walked into his A-Frame, except for the time I spent in the backseat of the rental, I hadn’t felt lonely. Not in the times I woke up during my illness when Max was there or even when he wasn’t and knowing he was close. Not even yesterday when I was alone. It had been a long time since I felt that safe contentment of knowing my solitude would be fleeting, gone before the wretched loneliness settled back in.

And it was more than even that. His hand at my breast, his leg cocked into mine, it felt sexy and it made me feel sexy. I hadn’t felt that way in awhile, a long while, too long and I missed it.

Niles and I, when we first met, had a healthy relationship in every aspect. But once I said yes to marriage for some reason that changed. The sex came less and less frequently until now it’d been months since we’d been intimate. More than a few months. In fact, way too many.

Niles and I didn’t live together. He liked his modern three bedroom flat in Bristol with its view of the river. He could walk to work from there and practically anywhere else he needed to go.

My place was huge, way too much space for me but I liked my rambling, four bedroom semi-detached mainly because it had been Charlie’s. But Niles couldn’t walk to work from my place. He’d have to take a bus which he would never do. And taxis every day would cost a mint. Unlike me, Niles was a barrister and he made really good money not to mention his family came from it. Still, a taxi every day was a bit much.

Charlie had bought the house for song and started to fix it up and when he was gone I’d made it my mission to finish his work and I did. I couldn’t let it go because it had been Charlie’s and because I’d put so much into it but Niles had no interest in moving there.

We were at a stalemate, Niles telling me to put it on the market and move in with him, me resisting. And while I was resisting I buried the feeling of resentment that if Niles paid attention, if he listened, he’d know how much that house meant to me and I wouldn’t have to resist.

Furthermore, these days Niles and I rarely saw each other during the week. Maybe to have a drink, sometimes I’d go to his house and make dinner. But we spent most of our weekends together usually me at his house again spending the night just sleeping.

But he didn’t hold me when we slept. We didn’t make love. He didn’t curl his fingers around my breast in the unconscious but still possessive way Max was doing at that very moment.

And even though I tried not to think about any of that, told myself to move, to get out of there, to get away from Max, that it was insane to lie in this man’s arms, I couldn’t do it.

Instead I laid in the dark, the moonlight bright and coming through the A-Frame window, held by Max and I decided to allow myself a moment of insanity.

He was asleep; he didn’t know what he was doing, what I was allowing him to do. I was fully awake; there was no way I’d get back to sleep. I’d slide away from him later, after I let myself have this. This haven of safety, this feeling of being desired and, if I pretended, which I decided to do, even cherished, this feeling of being anything but alone and the opposite of lonely.

I let my body relax and I snuggled deeper into Max. In response, his fingers automatically tightened on my breast and he settled further into me. My torso went into the bed, his hand pinned under me, his chest pressed into my back.

I closed my eyes. That felt even better.

I slid my hand along his steely arm, allowing myself another forbidden treat then I pushed my hand under my body, my fingers wrapping around his strong wrist and holding on.

I lay there a long time, probably hours, dozing sometimes, sometimes alert. When I was alert, I took that time to memorize the feel of what I had in that moment, over and over, liking it enough to allow myself a bit more, just a bit. I’d move away later.

Dawn was just beginning to light the A-Frame when I fell into another doze that was more than a doze.

It was me falling fast asleep.

* * * * *

I woke, the sunlight bright against my eyelids and for a scant second I was confused.

Somewhere along the line I hadn’t only fallen asleep, Max and I had both moved, back to our original position of him on his back, me partly sprawled on him.

I felt myself being moved and I kept my eyes closed at the feeling of it. With an exquisite gentleness the likes I’d never experienced before, he slid out from under me. Then he moved me so my head was on the pillow. I felt the covers pulled up over my shoulder and I listened to Max moving away.

For a moment I just allowed the fact to wash over me that big, solid, bossy, ungentlemanly Max could move me that way, touch me that way, not only that he could but that he would and he did.

Then I listened to the noises in the bathroom, taps turning on and off. He came out and a drawer opened then closed. Then I felt his presence leave the loft.

Then reality intruded.

Drat it all! I was such an idiot.

I heard soft noises from downstairs, the kitchen sink going on then off then I threw back the covers and ran to the bathroom.

I used the facilities, brushed my teeth, flossed, washed my face, my mind blank except for the fact I was an idiot. I should have taken my opportunity at escape. Max was apparently a heavy sleeper. I could have gotten away.

I gathered all my stuff in the bathroom and went out to the loft, going straight to my suitcase. I dumped the stuff in willy-nilly, frantic, sorting through my clothes to pull together an Escape Max Outfit.

I was so focused on this, I didn’t hear him hit the loft and when his arm snaked around my waist, I jumped.

“Mornin’ Duchess,” he said into my hair when my back hit his front.

I went stiff and started, “Max –”

“Coffee,” he interrupted me.

“Max –” I began again, pulling at his arm and he let me go.

I took a step to the side, turning to him, opening my mouth to tell him exactly what was on my mind (though I didn’t know what that would be since nothing, at that moment, was on my mind) but he caught my hand. Then when I pulled back and took a step away, to my shock he twirled me, his arm lifting mine over my head like we were on a dance floor. He stopped me with my back to him and curled his arm around my belly, my back to his chest and he turned me toward the stairs.

“Coffee,” he repeated, forcing me with his body to walk forward while I was still held in his arm.

He was stronger than me and way bigger so instead of pulling away I focused on a fight maybe I could win.

“You slept with me,” I accused.

“Yep,” he replied casually.