She Devil. Christy McKellen

his body rigid, not moving a single muscle. I nearly screamed in frustration, wriggling my hips and trying to get him to start moving again.

      But he didn’t.

      Instead he leant back and cupped my chin in his hand, turning my head so I was forced to look straight into his narrowed eyes.

      ‘This is why you really came in here tonight, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘You can’t keep away from me. Wherever I go these days, there you are, hanging around at the edge of my vision like a mournful ghost,’ he teased, the words loaded with triumph as he began gently to rock back and forth again, the pressure of his pelvis against my clit sending echoes of pleasure through me. ‘I knew it. I knew you still wanted me. You’ve wanted me back for all these years but you’ve been too much of a coward to admit it.’

      And that was the moment that reality and sense rushed in.

      His jubilation killed dead the eroticism of the moment and in my anger and intense frustration I put my hands against his chest and pushed him hard away from me. I felt his cock slide out of me as he was forced to take a step back and I dropped my feet to the floor.

      My whole body gave a throb of regret at the loss of intimate contact with his and an agonisingly familiar grief began to build inside me. But I knew I had to quash it quickly before my emotions got the better of me. Before he saw the pain and sadness I’d been hiding from him for all these years.

      ‘Don’t kid yourself,’ I said with all the disdain I could muster, pushing down the skirt of my dress. ‘This wasn’t about wanting you. It’s just a hate fuck. Something we’ve been dancing around for years. Which frankly has become very boring. It just felt like a good opportunity to get it over with and get each other out of our systems for good.’

      He stared at me with his eyebrows pinched together, seemingly amused by my statement. ‘You’re really going to give up the best orgasm of your life to maintain your overblown pride?’

      My laugh was scornful. ‘I wasn’t even close to coming then. You could never make me orgasm.’

      He snorted in disbelief. ‘I seem to remember doing just that, quite a few times, in fact, back when you used to behave like a human being instead of a business-driven robot.’

      I wagged my finger at him. ‘Newsflash. You didn’t make me come then, either. I faked it every time because I felt sorry for you and didn’t want to damage your fragile ego.’

      This wasn’t entirely true. While I’d had trouble at first relaxing enough to orgasm, and had pretended I had out of shame at not being able to do it, I’d definitely come regularly once we were past the awkward new-relationship stage and we’d got to know each other’s bodies a whole lot better.

      ‘You’re a fucking liar,’ he said, pulling his trousers closed and buckling his belt.

      ‘Am I?’ I gave him my haughtiest look, one that reputedly could freeze people to the spot. ‘Honestly, you meant nothing to me then and you mean nothing to me now. You’re just a minor nuisance with a big mouth and an obvious lack of self-esteem. Perhaps it’s time you took a long, hard look at yourself.’ I straightened my shoulders, fighting back a wave of shame when I was certain I saw hurt flash across his face this time.

      My gut clenched. What was wrong with me? The man had just lost his father and I was laying into him in the most vicious and hurtful way.

      But he didn’t give me an opportunity to backtrack. He just looked me up and down with his jaw set, taking in my dishevelled state with a cool gaze, then turned, grabbed his jacket off the chair and threw it towards me.

      I was too slow to catch it, so it just slithered down my body and landed in a heap at my feet.

      ‘You’re going to need that more than me. We wouldn’t want you getting any colder,’ he said before turning and walking away, slamming the door shut behind him.

      * * *

      I kept his jacket for far longer than I should have done.

      It just sat there, on the back of the armchair in my bedroom, taunting me for the next few days.

      I’m ashamed to say I ignored my better judgement at one point and picked it up and held it to my nose to remind me of the scent of him. I’m not sure why. Something deep and dark inside me compelled me to do it. An instinct to punish myself, perhaps. A form of self-flagellation.

      It was wrong to have had sex with him. So wrong. Foolish and weak. And the shame of it infected me like a virus, waking me up night after night in a hot, feverish state.

      Eventually, five nights after it happened, when I was still having trouble sleeping, I got up and angrily shoved the jacket into a carrier bag to be sent to the dry cleaners the next day.

      It was funny, but as soon as it was out of the house I immediately felt better. As if I’d exorcised a malevolent spirit.

      But of course I knew deep down that wouldn’t be the end of it.

      Life didn’t work like that.

      And, of course, I was right.