Page 10 of Caught By the Chief of Staff

“Thank Christ,” he bites out as he thrusts deep one more time before planting himself deep inside me and shoving us both over the cliff.

I sprawl on the bed for who knows how long with my ass still draped over Rick’s lap and his cock still deep inside me. In reality, it probably isn’t long at all. My breath saws in and out of my lungs as I struggle to catch my breath. I wish I was paying better attention. Maybe if I hadn’t let my walls down, he wouldn’t have caught me off guard.

“Why?” he asks in the quiet of the dark hotel room. “Just tell me why you did it.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I do. I know exactly what he’s asking, but it’s too dangerous a game to be playing now. For years, I’ve been raising our daughter alone, all in the name of keeping them safe, but now that our lives have intersected again, I’ve had him but not. He gives me his body then takes it away again when I can’t answer his questions.

“Just tell me why you left. Tell me why you left me and took my daughter with you,” he pleads. It’s the hurt in his eyes that cuts me to the quick, so I avert my own, unable to bare the devastation in his any longer. This round of our game is almost up, and once again, we’ll both walk away losers.

“I can’t,” I whisper the truth, knowing he will hate me just a little more for refusing to tell him the reason why I left and should have stayed gone, all while hoping against all hope he would find us and we would get that happily ever after. But those endings are only for fairy tales. This is real life, and there are real-life monsters in it.

He pulls back, separating his body from mine. My instincts are to roll over and hide, but like always, I have to see this through to the end. I have to give Rick just enough to wound me even more, because it’s what I deserve for what I’ve done. He can never know everything I did was for him and our daughter.

“Sometimes, I can’t even look at you, and others, I just want to fuck the mouth that lies to me so prettily. So which is it going to be?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“That’s just not fucking good enough anymore,” he says as he prowls off the bed and steps into his pants, pulling them up his muscular thighs and zipping them. He tugs his shirt up his arms and steps into his shoes. He rolls his tie up and stuffs it in his pants pocket, and then he grabs his coat and slings it over his shoulder. When he makes it to the door of the room, he doesn’t turn back, but he does say the words that tell me I’ve probably lost him once and for all. “You know, if you would have just told me, I probably could have forgiven you. But I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” I whisper into the night, but he’s already gone.