I wanted to melt into the floor. I wanted to scream. I wanted to stop thinking about how much it hurt that I never heard from again after our night together. Memories of that night flooded back with all the force and emotion as if it’d just happened last night. Except my cunt wasn’t sore from his fat cock, so that couldn’t be right. I remembered exactly how his dark stubble had felt scraping against my thighs. Speaking of which—this clean-cut business look of his could really do with some bad boy stubble. It would be a warning to the women who got near him, if nothing else. Stay back, heart crusher!
Hell. I really hadn’t wanted to see Cam again. He’d done more than taken my virginity only to leave me the next morning. He’d shattered me, utterly. It had taken years to put myself back together after that night … and morning.
I’d spent most of my childhood pining after him, and when he’d finally noticed me … and my every fantasy had been fulfilled, it had only lasted for exactly one life-changing and unforgettable night. Then nothing. Nada. Definitely no declaration of feelings. Not even a ‘see you later, babe.’ He just left.
I hated him. I’d spent ten years hating him. Sure, it was a long time to hold a grudge. Someone less stubborn would have let go of it by now. But someone less stubborn would never have slept with him in the first place, and someone less stubborn wouldn’t have fought her way up the corporate ladder only to be standing here now.
My first urge was to turn on my heel and walk right back out the door, but I couldn’t do that. This meeting was important. So that meant I needed to deal with the situation at hand: namely, the fact that my mind had gone completely blank. I couldn’t remember a single thing I’d rehearsed. All I could think about was Cameron Richmond’s cock. My memories hadn’t faded at all in that department. He was long, and thick, and I remember how his right hand looked curled around his dick as he positioned himself at my entrance.
He’d felt so good inside of me. I’d been sore afterward, but it had been a happy kind of sore until I’d realized he wasn’t coming back.
“Dylan,” Cameron said with a slow, smug smile. Bastard.
I recalled the sound of his deep, throaty voice saying my name the night we’d been tangled in the sheets and his hot, sweaty body had been pounding into me. Focus! “What?” I said.
“Dylan Sofia Butler. It’s been a long time.”
I wanted to slap his stupid face. But I was an adult now. I was successful. I didn’t need to physically assault him because I could show him how awesome I was and make him rue the day he ever treated me like a one night stand.
I opened my mouth and couldn’t get any words out. The pads of Cameron’s fingers on my face. His hands in my hair, dragging me toward him. The rush of endorphins in my system when his tongue met mine for the first time.
“Sit down, Dylan. Or do you go by Sofia now?”
“I don’t know.” Fuck. Had I really just said that? “Dylan. I still go by Dylan.” I think my mom had always hoped I’d go by Sofia, but I liked Dylan. It meant most people couldn’t tell what gender I was from my name alone, and I’d found that to be helpful in business.
I needed to get my head out of my ass and cram my libido into a nice cement box. The fact that the other negotiator was Cameron didn’t change anything. I was still here to win.
All I had to do was stop thinking about having sex with him.
I wanted her from the moment she walked into the room, but that was no surprise. I always wanted her. Her soft feminine scent hung in the air all around her, and those wideset gorgeous eyes darted around the room – looking anywhere but at me.
She looked sexy in her business suit. The jacket was hugging her curves in all the right places, but it would have been nice if she’d worn a skirt that was more revealing instead of one that hung off her like a sack. I really had to convince her to upgrade her wardrobe.
Not that I was here to interfere in her life, and I definitely wasn’t here to fuck her … (though I wouldn’t say no to it). I needed to make things right between us.
Ten years of silence and avoidance.
It’d been too long, and it was time to put an end to it.
Yes, I’d acted like a jackass, and she’d probably been well within her rights not to let me get close enough again to apologize. For ten years, she’d fled the second she saw me. I hadn’t even been able to get in the same room as her in all that time. I’d tried passing vague apologies along through her brother, but she’d turned them all away. I’d been desperate to see her again, to talk to her, to make amends. Guilt was a brutal bitch. The memory of her wide eyes on mine, the pinched look of pain on her face as I pushed my cock inside, past every barrier she had … well, let’s just say most of my memories of us are equal parts erotic and guilt-laden.