And yes, Officer — I went with him in his car.
The drive was quiet, but not peaceful. Sitting beside Gregory felt like sitting next to a storm. Every time his gaze flicked towards me, my skin prickled. My arms folded tightly across my chest, as though I could shield myself from the strange warmth spreading through me. It was the last thing I needed, an attraction to another man. That would foul my plans of getting my once caring Raymond back.
At one point, traffic slowed to a crawl. And an impatient driver from another lane swerved recklessly, forcing Gregory to brake hard. My body pitched forward, but before I could cry out, his arm shot across my waist and held me firm. Strong. Steady.
I swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes. But his arm didn't move. It stayed, his hand resting at my side, radiating heat through the fabric of my blouse. I stared out of the window, every nerve in my body screaming at the contact.
When the road cleared and he steered us into a quieter street, his arm remained where it was — as if holding me there was the most natural thing in the world. By the time we turned into H___ Crescent, where presumed Natasha lived, I had almost forgotten how to breathe properly.
Inside the house, it happened quickly.
One moment, I was standing near the living room window, clutching my folder of fabric samples, trying to remember why I was even there. The next, his body was pressed against mine, hard and insistent. His mouth hovered close, his breath hot against my cheek. My trouser and blouse were little protection against the burning heat of his body and his hunger.
"What…" My lips parted, for breath or for his kiss. I wasn't certain, but I knew I needed and ached for both.
"What are you questioning, Timi?" His voice was low, a growl edged with hunger. "My need… or yours?"
I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him to let me go. But my voice betrayed me, softening into something that sounded more like surrender than resistance.
He pressed tighter, his hands spreading my thighs through my trousers. His erection strained against me, and my body trembled with the shock of wanting it.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" His breath seared my skin.
My stomach knotted in response to the hunger in his voice. Heat flushed my face, spreading through my whole body.
I closed my eyes, shame and desire colliding in my chest. I should have remembered Raymond at that instance. But my hands gripped his shoulders without thinking, steadying myself against the tide threatening to pull me under.
He kissed me. Fevered, consuming, impossible to resist. His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs. When his hands pulled at my clothes, I lifted my arms without thinking, letting the blouse fall. The sound of the zipper on my trousers followed, and then they too were gone.
I should have stopped him. I should have left. Instead, I stood there in my bra, my heels, trembling like a girl who had never known touch.
"God have mercy," he murmured, stripping off his shirt, his gaze never leaving me.
I fumbled at his belt, my fingers clumsy, my body already undone. When he was bare, I gasped, shocked by the sheer force of him.
And then, Officer — I was lost.
On the cold floor of his best friend's living room, Gregory made me forget my name. His hands, his mouth, his body — all of it stripped away the months of neglect I had endured with Raymond. He gave me a completeness I had never imagined possible, a feverish pleasure that wrung my voice from me until I was whispering his name like the Lord's prayer.
When it was over, I lay trembling on the floor, my hair plastered to my face, my chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
It terrified me. The intensity of it. And then reality struck. Shame, guilt, fear. I rushed to pull on my clothes without daring to look at him. My heart pounded with guilt as much as with satisfaction.
I should have taken the measurements, checked the sizes. Instead, I stood barefoot, dishevelled, too aware of my own body and the hunger still humming through it.
"Come again tomorrow," he said quietly, placing my bag in my hand.
"I have work," I murmured.
"Then tonight," he urged, brushing his lips against my forehead.
I shook my head. Guilt clawed at me. "I can't."
His reply was simple, steady: "Whenever you want, Timi. I'll be here. Waiting."
I left those words behind in Natasha's house, but they followed me anyway, whispering through the night.
That was the beginning. The very first taste of the forbidden fruit.