Emily’s Diary – Entry 27

Wherever You Want

None of what happened last week matters. Only this: on Wednesday night I gathered every scrap of courage I had and texted Ben.

"I'm taking Saturday off. I can be wherever I want. Or wherever someone else wants me to be…"

I know it was insanely bold, and it could have blown up in my face, but…

…but it didn't!

He replied almost instantly: "I have an idea…"

With shaking hands I typed back: "That works perfectly for me too."

The rest of the days passed in some kind of hypnotic, dreamlike haze. I must have worked, and I must have dozed off a few times, but I only really felt alive while I was getting rid of every last hair, picking out underwear, and stashing condoms everywhere, so there'd be one within reach no matter what happened.

It's pretty embarrassing, maybe even pathetic, how badly I wanted it. But I wanted it even more than that.

At the same time, I was scared of him too. For one thing, I was about to irrevocably torch our business relationship. For another, a guy like this — over forty, single, a perfect body, a charming face, an overpowering kind of style — was probably single for a reason.

Or maybe he'd just been waiting for me his whole life.

It wasn't easy packing a small bag to be ready for every possible scenario. If it happened, where would it happen? In the back seat? On a blanket in some field? At my place, after he dropped me off? Would we even get that far?

The stress peaked when he texted that we'd be leaving in the early afternoon. I still had no idea where to. I didn't quite dare ask what to bring. I was afraid he'd think I was an idiot for overcomplicating things, and that I'd ruin everything before it even started. I told myself he'd say something if I actually needed any special gear.

I was a nervous wreck, and it actually hurt. One minute I couldn't catch my breath, the next I was doubled up on the living room rug with cramps so bad I could barely move, and then some strange, heavy feeling would settle over me. Like a bad omen. Which, of course, is completely normal when you're hurtling headfirst into the unknown.

This time he was waiting at the front door instead of by the car. Hands clasped behind his back, his hair slicked back, in pink-tinted sunglasses. He radiated money and unpredictability — calm, and utterly impossible to pin down.

And I was hit, all at once, by that familiar heat pooling low in my body and an icy wave of uncertainty. It was as if I’d been split in two. My back and my brain were sending me warning signals. My chest and everything below it, meanwhile, thrummed with impatience.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my throat still a little tight, trying to break the tension.

My tension, that is — none of it showed on him.

"Don't worry about that," he said, with a knowing half-smile.

I tried to come off playfully casual. I don't know if it worked.

"Don’t I even get to know whether we’re staying on land or going out on the water?"

The smile stayed put as he shook his head. He opened the car door for me and waved me in. The moment he got in beside me, his phone rang. He rolled his eyes. For a moment he just stared at the screen. I could tell he was torn about what to do. Then he answered.

"Sorry, one minute," he mouthed at me.

That one minute turned into forty-five. From what I could gather, he was talking to his lawyer about some problem that had come up after selling a boat. I couldn't quite tell if he was suing someone or being sued, but he sounded pretty tense. He kept calling his former client a "little shit" the whole time, and I could barely hold back my laughter. All I really picked up from the call was that "someone needed to be taught a lesson" — though I never did find out what the actual problem was.

When he finished, I acted like I hadn't heard a thing. And he, as if nothing had happened at all, flashed me that overpowering smile again.

I didn't tell him I'd already been to the castle he was taking me to. Thessa had once brought us there for some kind of retreat-ish thing. Since it doubled as a hotel, the fear crept back in. My fingers dug into the edge of the seat as we pulled into the parking lot.

"There's a short trail from here up to the lookout — you can see the whole area from up there. Afterward, if we feel like it, we can have dinner here. Or wherever feels right."

His velvety voice, and what he'd said, put me at ease. He hadn't brought me here for a room — he'd brought me somewhere beautiful, a place to go hiking from. We'd talk, take in the view, and it wasn't even certain we'd get any closer to the hotel than the parking lot.

The constant state of arousal, mixed with the occasional jolt of panic, was wearing me down a little, but at least one thing was now clear: he wasn't trying to get me into bed.

Yet.

So we walked. We climbed up to the lookout. We looked out. We climbed back down, walked some more. As tends to happen at times like this, our hands brushed every once in a while. It sent shivers through us. Through me, at least — of that much I'm sure.

Then he opened the car door for me again. I was just about to get in when he caught my elbow, pushed the door shut again, pulled me close, and kissed me.

As sudden as it was, we sank into it just as intensely. It could have happened somewhere more romantic, sure, but leaning against the side of the car, the world still felt complete.

His mouth was firm and warm. Not what I'd imagined, but what he did with it was masterful. We kissed for a long time, passionately. I wanted to savor every second of it before it ended.

I have no idea why I even opened my mouth — I had nothing to say — but it slipped out anyway:

"Such a shame we have to go."

Without pulling back even an inch, he breathed against my neck:

"We don't have to go anywhere, if we don't want to."

His hand moved over me harder, more impatiently. I didn't dare ask anything back. We simply headed toward the entrance of the castle hotel. A few minutes later, with a single motion, he yanked the red velvet cover off the bed, decorative pillows and all.

The anxiety finally lifted, and I could give myself over to what I'd wanted for so long. And he did everything he could to make it unforgettable.

Every time I felt like I couldn't take any more, he'd stop. He'd blow cool air over the back of my neck, or wherever he thought I'd gotten too worked up. Then he'd start again, in a completely different way. If I had to guess, he showed me his entire repertoire. I'd never made love this long in my life.

In fact, it never would have occurred to me to stop again and again, only to keep going in some completely different position. And I'd always thought I knew how to do it right — and so, usually, did my partners. But Ben…

He drew it out until I felt like I wanted to beg him for release.

Later we went down for dinner. My guess is it was included in the price. Naturally, I didn't ask.

At the restaurant, unfortunately, that strange, ominous feeling crept over me again. Probably because Ben had booked the room in advance, all while trying to seem spontaneous.

Then again, it was a completely logical move on his part. If there was even a one-percent chance I'd give in, of course he'd hedge his bets. A wealthy businessman isn't going to screw around in the woods, on some prickly branches, with his pants half down.

Not even in the trusty back seat.

After dinner, we went over what we'd learned that afternoon one more time — just in a different order.

Exhausted as I was physically, I didn't sleep well. My mind wouldn't stop racing. So am I this guy's girlfriend now — a guy almost twenty years older than me? Is this a relationship? Real, grown-up stuff? Sunday lunch at his mom's? A shared circle of friends?

We didn't talk about any of that, of course.

At times I was drenched in sweat, and I thought my heart would leap right out of my chest. Then I managed to calm down: we'd only had one — well, two, technically — encounters. And besides, it was entirely possible he was into casual too.

By noon today I was already home, and now I get to be nervous about what tomorrow brings. In the most literal sense of the word.