NOVGO.NET Chapter 74: WHAT HAPPENED TO US
Chapter 74: WHAT HAPPENED TO US
LAURA
After Ivy left and I put Eli to bed, I took a long bath where I did some more things I shouldn’t do like touch my swollen pussy and moan Tristan’s name like it was the air I breathed.
Then I orgasmed without control, shoving my fingers deep inside my pussy and crying out from how hard it clenched around my fingers, as my back arched off the wall.
God, how much more could I endure this torture?
When I was sated enough to think clearly, I grabbed a glass of white wine from the kitchen downstairs, and that was when I noticed the papers lying in a neat stack, on the island where Ivy and Eli had been when I came home.
I recalled seeing Eli doodle with his crayons, so maybe the papers were his. The speculation was confirmed as I picked up the paper and stared at different crayon drawings I couldn’t exactly understand.
Two of the drawings stood out to me, however. Two drawings made with black crayons. Stick figures with spikes for hair, and in the empty circle of a doodle stood something that looked like a beard.
"God." I took a sip of the wine to wash down my confusion, then I folded up the papers and took it up to his room.
When I got to his side, I stared down at his calm features as he slept. He was every bit mine, but whenever he opened those eyes, I was reminded so painfully that he was someone else’s blood as well.
Looking down at Eli, the evening with Tristan flashed through my mind. Fuck.
Not again.
I pulled the sheets up to my son’s chin and pressed a long kiss to his brow. Then I went back to my room and forced myself to sleep. Which was really a war between the erotic images of all the things I wanted to do with Tristan, and all the reasons why I shouldn’t do anything with him at all.
After a long-standing battle, I threw the sheets off with a hiss of agitation. Then I reached for my laptop and decided to try working.
I had a lot of ideas to drill through for the upcoming New York fashion week—which was still months away, by the way.
I was just restless and needed to do something.
Scrolling idly through my unattended work emails helped take off the edge a bit for the next few minutes. There were a lot of collaboration deals that had poured into the Phoenix brand ever since I partnered up with Tristan. It was not such a bad deal, after all. I had a feeling that there was more to come. More good, more bad. More ugly. More chaos. More...passion.
I cleared my throat and reached for the rest of the wine on the bedside table. And my laptop pinged with an incoming email notification just then.
Making me tense up in shock when I saw the name on the address. Tristan Pierce. Image attached.
I was so shocked that I knocked over the wine and it splashed on the bed as it toppled over.
"Fuck." Why did he always leave me in such a mess?
I dumped the laptop on the bed and went to clean up the mess. Trying to get it over with as quickly as possible so I could see what he sent me by this time of the night.
Or was I just eager to talk to him? After what happened at his office?
I hoped the message was something that required my response.
But when I finally returned to my laptop, the eagerness was snuffed out by a sharp snap in my chest.
He could have sent anything. Anything.
What if it was something that stole my breath the moment I saw it? Something I could not get out of my head no matter how much I tried? Something that would compromise our work relationship?
The laptop pinged again and a text slid across the screen.
Pierce001@tristan: hey :) you up?
I stared at the text for a long moment, my jaw ticking. Then my eyes trailed to the time at the bottom of the screen. Why the fuck was he sending me a smiley text at 12:48am?
Another text pinged in.
:I just wanted to show you what you do to me even when you’re several miles away from me and I can’t touch you.
This was wrong. This was unprofessional. But I wanted the texts to keep coming in, so I stayed online and read every single message he sent.
And he could see that I read them. Because he sent another text.
:Are you going to talk to me?
:I want you, Laura.
:Can we talk for real? About what happened to us?
What happened to us?
He came into my life like a bulldozer and left me ruined, wrecked. In all the best ways and all the worst ways.
:You don’t know what you did to me when you left.
Alright, honestly, I’d had enough.
So now he was the one who got hurt? Did he know what his penetration in my life did to me?
I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline to text him back and unload the weight on my mind. I wanted to give him the piece of my mind he deserved. But when I tried, my fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling.
God. Why did we have to meet the way we did?
I wanted Tristan so bad that I wished we had met under different circumstances. Maybe not as a boss and his employee caught in the whirlwind of a complicated fling.
Another text dropped.
:Talk to me, Laura. Please.
Instead, I slammed the laptop shut, chugged down the rest of the wine to bid forth sleep and forget about Tristan.
But when I pulled the sheets up my face, I thought about the way my body had tightened when he said he wanted me.
My pussy clenched between my legs.
Fuck. I should probably stay away until we have real business again.
°°°
The next morning Eli yapped and yapped about all the treats Uncle Harlan got him when they were together. And the whole time, my mind was on those drawings I found.
I couldn’t lie, they had been quite legible and good for mere doodles of a five-year-old. I wondered if my son might have a knack for art already. A real impressive one that would hopefully get better.
My inner child kicked her feet around in excitement.
"Mom! When do I get to see Uncle Harlan again?!"
"Shush, Eli. And sit down." I cut him a warning stare and he sat his ass down on the passenger seat. "Now, tell me, have you been paying attention at school?"
He nodded, pouting.
"Good. You’ll see Uncle Harlan if you’re a good boy."
When we arrived at Eli’s school and went up to his homeroom, his teacher said the strangest thing to me when I asked about his performance.
Which surprisingly, had to do with the drawings I saw. "I think your son is obsessed with drawing tall men with dark hair."
Tall men with dark hair?
Harlan did not fall under that category.
But Tristan did.