It's normal to kiss during sex. In the heat of the moment nobody thinks about what it means. The problems arose after, when she'd pulled her t-shirt back on and was not-so-subtly showing him the door. He could never get enough of those little moments when she let her guard down around him. Her hair was still a mess from when he'd pulled the band out and for once, she didn't put it back right away. It spilled over her shoulders in those gentle curls that only came out after she'd gotten sweaty.
"Get a move on, dude. I need to lock you out before I hop in the shower."
"Or we could shower together." He leaned in to kiss her, but she put her hand up.
"As appealing as round 3 sounds, my shower isn't big enough for us to have any fun. Besides, shouldn't you go get ready for your day job?" She almost never alluded to their work. Was there a reason she brought it up? Was she upset about the meeting?
"Earlier…" She rolled her eyes at him.
"You can spare me the bullshit. Don't make it weird."
"You're upset."
"No, I love getting yelled at in front of all of my bosses." Quentin's heart dropped. "Get out of my house already." She smiled that half-smile she always gave him while she shooed him away, but in her eyes there was something like amusement. So she was mad, but she didn't hate him.
He stepped back and she shut the door behind him. Quentin listened to the lock click, to her footsteps as she walked away. He was filled with the irrational desire to keep standing there, waiting for her to sense him like he sensed her.
She had this uncanny way of separating work and sex. Half the time she acted like they didn't know each other. She had never acknowledged him at work, never been anything but professional.
Quentin, on the other hand, couldn't keep his emotions from leaking out. He couldn't stop himself from walking past Marketing for no particular reason, glancing at her chatting away with that weasel of a man that sat next to her.
He couldn't stop himself from pulling up her personal file and staring at that terrible picture of her they'd taken on her first day.
He especially couldn't help the rage he felt every time she looked at him like they didn't know each other, like he hadn't been inside her the night before. He never lost his composure the way he did when he talked to her. It was humiliating.
Quentin knew he felt something for her. He'd managed to deny it for almost two months before he broke after breaking a cup watching the weasel put an arm around her. He'd spilled his coffee on himself and his secretary jumped into action, practically feeling him up to 'dry him off', and Em didn't even spare him a glass.
She was supposed to feel the same burning hate he did at the sight of another woman's hands on him. She was supposed to crave his attention the way he craved hers.
Quentin wondered how many of the women he'd hooked up with in the past had lingered like this, hoping for a few more minutes of his time. He'd never struggled to get laid. Everyone wanted him.
He hadn't touched another woman since the night he first held Em. He couldn't explain to his friends why he was turning down supermodels, women he would have taken without mercy in the past. He'd always been a one-night-stand kind of guy, yet somehow he ended up coming to this dingy little neighborhood over and over to fuck the same girl on a double bed.
Quentin wanted her all the time. He craved her like caffeine in the morning and red wine at night. He wanted her in his bed, on luxury sheets, falling apart at his touch. He wanted her there the morning after, wearing his clothes, smiling her real smile at him.
She would be his if he made her be. He could cut funding from the marketing, finally get rid of the weasel and graciously offer her a position as his assistant. He could buy this shithole apartment and bulldoze it, make every complex in the city turn her down until she had no choice but to ask for his help.
Then she'd be with him all the time, and she would finally see him, want him, need him.
But Em was smart, and stubborn, and if she ever found out she would run away from him. Even if he could drag her back every time, his heart couldn't take the hatred. Not when she wanted him now, even if it was only for his body.
She wanted him. If he could keep this, keep her in his life… he could bear the anxiety, the longing. He still had her, on nights like these. That had to be enough.
It wasn't, but it had to be.