Of course, he wants to know everything.

This thing may belong to a different time and place, but it hadn't stopped it from barging its way in here.  Now Jake seemed to be inviting it to sit down and have a beer with him.

I hate when he's like this. Impenetrable and cold, and from certain angles and under certain lights, almost terrifying.  This was the side other people saw.  Those people who know his name and what it means.

Bizarrely, and perhaps worryingly, the hard cold rage only seems to highlight the dark parts of him that have always made my blood heat and my body weaken. The parts of him that I'd always found impossible to resist.

For so long I'd tried to understand why he made me feel like that; what it was about him that disarmed and stunned me so completely. I'd come to realise though, that there was no real tangible explanation for it. Some people were just drawn to others, moved towards them by a strong invisible current that you only exhausted yourself trying to fight against. 

It's just that.  Nothing more.  He affects me in a way that no other person ever has or ever will. My life stopped and started again the instant Jake Lawrence walked into that surgery - or maybe it hadn't really started at all before that moment - but from the instant I set eyes on him it was never going to be the same again. He'll be the life and death of me, of that much I'm certain.

Whether Jake is having similar thoughts to my own or not isn't clear, probably not.  He just stares at me hard, his body rigid with an anger which seems to have grown exponentially in mass since we left my parents.

"Not feel like talking now baby?" he says.  The smirk fights against the hard straight line of his full mouth, his shoulders pulled back in a show of arrogance - or in an illusion of arrogance at least.

"I never slept with him," I state, bluntly.   It seems like the crux of this, and surely it's his main concern?  Simplistic but monumentally important at the same time. 

Not for the first time it occurs to me that if I had slept with Laurent, it would have been the biggest mistake of my life. If I had slept with him then this conversation would be something else entirely. I imagine trying to explain that to him now, in sordid detail, about how I'd let another man inside me who wasn't him.  A cold sudden rumble of terror rolls over my bones. Oh, my god.  "That never happened," I add firmly.

His face softens a fraction, but his eyes stay narrow as he weighs over this information.  Surely he doesn't think I'm lying to him?  Then, his mouth turns up into some sort of facial shrug and he nods once, letting out an 'mph' like noise. 

"But you wanted to didn't you?"  he says. 

The way he says it makes it sound like there's no difference between the two. None. He makes it sound like thinking or having the desire is literally the same as acting upon it.  It's not. Of course, it isn't. 

"Tell me I'm wrong Alex."

I swallow. Well, I can't lie to him, not now. Did I want to sleep with Laurent?  Yes. I remember. I did. More than once had I thought about using him to try and forget about Jake even though I knew it wouldn't work. Idiot.

I have to try very hard not to drop my eyes away from Jake's glare. 

"You and I weren't together." Is what I say instead. Instead of lying. His reaction is not what I expected.  He smiles.  The side of his beautiful mouth pulling up as his eyes crinkle with a dark sort of humour, thick and opaque, which almost obscure his true emotion entirely.  Almost. 

"Oh, we weren't???  Fuck, I'd totally forgotten about that - thanks for the reminder baby," He laughs emptily, looking around the kitchen like he's lost something. "We weren't together, fucking hilarious," another small empty laugh followed by a shake of his head. 

"I'm glad you're amused," I mutter.

His whole body hardens and his head  whips around to face me again. He's not laughing anymore, he's glaring, nostrils flared.

"Do I look like I'm fucking amused Alex?"  He snaps.  "Do I?" 

"Well, your tone certainly suggested you might be," I say with a calmness I don't feel. 

"My tone?  And how exactly should my tone be baby? How exactly should I be dealing with the fact that the only image I've had in my head for the last 3 fucking hours is you on your back with some wine-loving french cunt between your legs?"

I flinch. "That's not what happened!"

"Well it hasn't stopped me fucking thinking about it, trust me." he growls, throwing me a withering stare. 

"Then you should stop thinking about it now because it never happened."

He narrows his eyes again. "Stop thinking about it? Fucking hell, why didn't I think of that?? You're so fucking smart Alex honestly," he's nodding now, sarcasm dripping from every perfect bloody pore. "Wish I'd thought of it sooner, to be honest. Done."  he makes some dismissive motion with his hand to emphasise his point.  "Tell me this, though," he asks almost casually, turning his body on the chair towards me.  "Was it as easy as that to stop thinking about me when you were with him? When you wanted to fuck him?"

I take my time answering until I'm certain I'm not about to scream or shout something that isn't going to help my situation one bit. 

"Oh, I bloody wished it was Jake, trust me," I grit.

He smiles again, slowly.  That same dark humour melting over his face once more. "Like a bad fucking rash you can't get rid of am I Doctor?"

"Stop it, Jake."

"Stop what Alex? Which bit? Pretty sure I asked you to tell me what happened and so far you've said fuck all except remind me of things I knew already.   So go on, tell me.  I want to hear all about what he did that made you want to forget about me."

"No," I say evenly.  "I'm not talking about it while you're being like this,"  and by this I mean, impossible to talk to. 

He holds my eyes a moment before slowly sliding back his chair and standing up from the kitchen table.  His shoulders drop and he lets out a breath, nodding once.  "Okay then Alex, so how does this situation play out, in that case? You tell me.  I'm guessing you'd rather we just forget about it? Pretend it never happened?"

God yes, that's what I want. More than anything it's what I want. It will never happen though.  He's teasing me; dangling the complete impossibility like a carrot.

"I told you I don't want any more secrets between us Jake, and I meant that.   But this isn't important because nothing happened with him, nothing. "

"Well something fucking happened Alex or we wouldn't be here would we?" he flares, anger evident again. "Tell me what it was.  Tell me what was it about him you wanted more than me..." He's crowding my body now, large and dominant.  It makes me feel small and weak. I am weak. I was weak with Laurent and I'm weak now. 

This is my punishment for being weak.

I used to think that regret over the things we had done was pointless; a waste of energy and time that served no real purpose. I used to think that regret should only exist to serve as a lesson to teach you what to do next time.  But I know why I used to feel like that - because I'd never really done anything worthy of regret, until now.

I close my eyes because I can't look at him when I go back there.

The hot stone of the garden wall presses against the backs of my thighs. The hot wet sensation of his mouth scrapes against my neck. His Rough needy fingers crawl up my body... the sound of his breaths feel hot and fast against my mouth... his growing arousal hardens against my thigh... guilt... regret and shame washes over me in cold waves.

Funny, I'd always considered shame to have a burn. But this felt cold. I feel cold. I shiver.

When I open my eyes I look up at him and shake my head. "I didn't want him more than I wanted you," I whisper,  "I've never wanted anything more than I want you, Jake. You know that."

When will he understand that the way I need him to? What do I need to do to make him understand that the way I need him to? Not almost sleep with Frenchmen I suppose would help.

The pleading tone of my voice and my words seem to get through.  They hit something inside of him and his face softens, his dark cold eyes brightening to their familiar turquoise green. He stares at every part of my face for what seems like hours; my eyes down to my mouth and then back again.  He looks miles away from me but I don't mind because he doesn't look angry anymore. I'm about to lean up and kiss him when the shadow rolls back over his eyes once more.  Slowly, the anger moves down his face settling over his mouth.

He steps forward and presses me back against the counter, pushing his groin into my body.  Softly, he skims his fingers across the waistband of my jeans, fluttering, shiver-inducing touches back and forth across my tummy. "Did he make you come?" He asks, watching my face closely now.

My heart sinks and a cold wind blows over me again.  I close my eyes again and shake my head. "Please stop it," I whisper

He slips his hand inside the waistband of my jeans, moving his fingers lower to stroke the heat blooming up from between my legs. "Did you come for him?" He asks quietly.   "Did he put his fingers inside you? I know how much you like that... Or was it his mouth? Did he make you come with his mouth?" his voice is so soft, it's the low sexual tone he uses to turn me on.  It's jumbling my brain. Why is he trying to turn me on?

When I open my eyes I find him staring down at me with something else besides anger now.   He wants me, that much is evident.  His tells had become signs I was adept at reading now.  His breathing is short and his eyes glitter with a darkly aroused heat.  The hardness at my belly and the soft tempting touches he continues to place against my body all add to the arousal which now seemed to grow and expand between us.

"Did you come for him as hard as you come for me?" he says. 

"How would you feel if I said yes?" I retort, defiant.   

His jaw tightens again, darkness clouding over his eyes once more. "Well, why don't you try me and we'll see?" He growls quietly.  He continues stroking at the soft low skin below my belly button, warning me with his eyes.

I shake my head firmly. "No. He didn't make me come." I say, holding his eyes so there can be no mistaking the truth in my words.

There's a slight minuscule movement on the left side of his mouth, his expression softening ever so slightly. Below, his fingers dip down, grazing the very edge of where I want to feel him.  A desperate tremble moves through my body and I open my legs a little to try and urge his response.

Bringing my hands up, I place them flat on his chest and move my fingers to the top button of his shirt. It's already undone and so I scrape my nails softly across the exposed warm part of his throat and down to his chest, where he is almost completely hairless. I watch as his mouth opens and his tongue very fleetingly licks at his bottom lip.  As I undo the next button down he watches me intently, wariness and arousal cloaking his face now.   Keeping my eyes on his, I bend forward and press my lips gently against the heat of his chest, licking my tongue softly across the salty hot skin.  The taste of him explodes in my mouth and sends something powerful and desperate to the pit of my stomach and lower, between my legs.  When I move my hand down the front of his body to his belt which I slowly begin to unbuckle, his eyes flash with something bright and hot but his body stays completely still. 

But then, as I go to move my hand between his legs he moves lighting quick, grabbing my wrist tightly to prevent me touching him.

"What are you doing Alex?" he asks quietly, his eyes warning me.

"What does it feel like I'm doing?"

His nostrils flare and he licks his tongue across his mouth as he stares hard at me.  He looks wary and uncertain.  He looks like he needs to be convinced. 

"Please, Jake..." I plead. "I need you." 

Almost immediately, his grip on my wrists eases off and he lets out a quiet breath, but his eyes stay the same uncertain pools of turquoise green.

This technique had worked on me many times. I'd lost count of how many times he'd halted or averted a conversation with sex as a distraction. Please let it work on him now. Please let his need for me be as strong as mine always is for him. I'm weaker than him, though; he's always been stronger and more in control. 

As he weighs over my words I wonder just how bad the shame will be if he says no.

Then finally he lets go of my wrist.  Without taking his eyes off mine, he undoes the zip of his trousers the rest of the way and slides his dark grey boxers down over his hips, his erection springing free in invitation.

"Okay then baby, make me come with your mouth." He commands with a small nod of his head.  I smile as I sink slowly to my knees in front of him. The kitchen floor is cold and hard on my knees but I barely notice and it doesn't hurt. I'm also too relieved to care.

Make him come with my mouth.  He chose those words deliberately, probably chose this act deliberately.  To make himself feel more in control. To make it feel like he's calling the shots here, not me. However when I lick my lips and place my hands on his upper thighs, I feel his body tremble ever so slightly and that's when I know that actually, I'm in control too.

With a soft gaze upward, I meet his eyes and take him in my hand, moving my hand up and down the length for a moment.  He's large and hard (and getting harder) and the tip of him is moist and tempting to my dry tongue.  I lick my lips once more as I run my fingernails softly across his torso, over the sprinkling of hair the colour of wet sand which is rough and wiry against the soft skin below.  He brings his hands up and I watch as he unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, his eyes never leaving mine as he parts it to expose the hard lines of his abdomen. He watches in utter silence as I kiss my way across his stomach and over the tattoo of his son's initials.

When I finally bring the thick heavy heat of his erection to my lips, he finally makes a noise.  A small low groan first, followed by a deep growl as I lick my tongue up the underside of him.  He's warm and smooth and I moan softly as I taste him.   He tastes as wonderful as he always does; sweet and salty hardness encased in soft skin.  As I slide him into my mouth his eyes close and I hear him curse very quietly in the back of his throat; a pained frustrated noise almost.  Keeping a tight hold of the base as I withdraw him, I close my eyes only for a second when I feel him hit the back of my throat.  In response, his hand wraps around the length of my hair and he grips tightly, groaning louder now.

Moving my hands in tandem with my mouth, I suck deep and slow before increasing my speed when his moans become more apparent. When I pull him out entirely, and lick greedily over the tip, savouring his taste, he leans forward and braces one hand on the counter to steady himself.

"Fucking hell Alex," he growls.  In the midst of the moment, I somehow still register that he sounds angry. 

When he drops his head back and pulls me into him, his hips beginning to thrust faster, I know he's close.  I move my hand quicker and suck faster, massaging the soft tender parts between his legs as I prepare my throat for his climax.   It doesn't take much longer.  He comes hard, in great hot squirts onto my tongue, aided by the rough quick thrust of his hips against me.  His taste glides down my throat, warm and welcome and I make sure he sees me as I swallow every last drop.

When it's over and his breathing slows, he steps back and gazes down at me, a calmness exuding from him now that wasn't there before.  I raise myself slowly to my feet and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth as he pulls up his boxers and trousers, buckles his belt and begins to button up his shirt.

"I love you," I say.

He reaches out and brushes his thumb softly across my bottom lip.

"I love you too." He replies in a far away sort of tone.

Moving forward, I fold myself against his chest, delighting when I feel his arms come around me and pull me into him.  He presses his mouth to the top of my head and takes a long deep breath in against my hair. We stand like that a few quiet comforting moments before he drops his arms and steps back from me. "I need to go," he announces.

My mouth drops open, struggles to find words, closes, re-opens again. "What? Where? Now? Why?"

He drops his gaze from me and tucks his shirt into his trousers. "The club. I've only been there once this week. I should drop in; make sure it's still running." He runs his hand through his hair and adjusts the collar of his shirt and runs his hand over the back of his neck.  All the while not looking in my direction.  

That's when it hits me.

I lost his stupid bloody game.  I lost it like I always lose his stupid bloody game. Foolishness washes over me and I nod, biting my lip.  I can still taste him on my mouth and it only serves to compound the foolishness further.  I'm an idiot. 

"You were always going, weren't you? Even before I... even before, you were leaving anyway."  It isn't a question. 

He continues to avoid my eyes, strokes his beard, licks his lips then shrugs.  Christ, I want to hit him. Or cry.  Which would make me feel like less of an idiot?  Neither.   "I need to go think somewhere else. Some space will do us good tonight," he nods to himself.

"Space from what exactly? Me? Us? I don't need space, Jake. We've had plenty of space already.  What is it you need to go think about somewhere else?" My voice is angry and scorned. Angry scorn. The bloody worst combination.

He turns his head to face me then; looking at me finally.  His eyes are wide with incredulity, as though he can't quite understand my stupidity in not already knowing. Well, I certainly do feel stupid right now, perhaps he's justified. 

"Um, I don't know Alex, how about the fact that you just gave me a pretty good fucking visual as to what might have been between you and your friend across the fucking channel?"

My mouth drops open again. "Are you actually serious?"

He frowns.  "Do I look fucking serious?"

I shake my head. "You're honestly unbelievable." 

"Yeah well, you're not bad yourself baby." He says, humourless.

Something snaps inside me then.  "You fucking bastard," I growl quietly, in a noise not too dissimilar from those he makes himself. "You so desperately want to know about France? The sordid detail of what happened over there? I was a bloody mess, Jake, a mess.  I slept for days on end and I cried myself to sleep every night, it was pathetic and sad and I hated it.  I questioned everything about myself; who I was, what I'd done, who I wanted to be." My voice echoes around the calm quiet kitchen as he watches me intently, all sorts of emotions moving over his eyes and his mouth, none of which stay long enough for me to grip on to.   "You broke my heart Jake. That day in here you broke my heart. Not a clean break either.  A messy torn break that felt like having a limb ripped off of my body.  Yes, I did it.  Yes, it was my choice - but really, what choice did I actually have? What else could I have done that day except ask you to leave me? I did the only thing I could do."  At least that's what I told myself after, what I'd convinced myself after. I take a deep breath, and when I speak again my voice is softer. "Then there was someone else, someone who wasn't you.   I wasn't looking for anyone, and I didn't want anyone, not at first anyway, not at all, because the only person I could see was you.  You were everywhere.  Except you weren't.  You weren't there, and you weren't him, and he wasn't you - he wasn't even close to being you, but I wanted to feel something other than the pain and loss and absence of you." I drop my eyes as I go back there again because it still feels wrong to look at him and think about Laurent. "So then there was a moment.... a moment where I let him kiss me and touch me because I hoped it would make me forget about what I'd lost - what I'd given away.  Because it hurt too much to remember it.  It hurt too much to think of you..." I finish, bringing my head up to look into his eyes once more.

He stares at me in silence for such a long time that I begin to think in my dazed, hyper aware state that I've got through to him. That my heartfelt explanation might have penetrated him somewhere. 

"You think you were the only one with a broken fucking heart Alex? You think you own that fucking shit all by yourself?" he says finally.   "What the fuck do you think I was doing for the six weeks we were apart? How the fuck do you think I felt knowing that I'd done this to us - that I'd ruined the best thing I ever had?  Yeah, you did the only thing you could do - and I never once blamed you for it.  Not once.  You did the right fucking thing that day Alex, trust me. You looked at me that day like the piece of shit I am, and I repulsed you like I should have.   But it still fucking killed me, having you look at me like that. I lost you too Alex, remember that yeah?  Remember I lost something too." he barks.   I have nothing to respond with. I feel weightless and empty and turned inside out.  His eyes brim with so much intensity and his body seems full of so much energy that I doubt he would hear anything I said right now anyway.  So I stay quiet.   He takes a step toward me then and when he speaks again his voice is softer.  "But not once did it cross my mind to even touch another woman, fucking hell I didn't even want to look at another woman who wasn't you Alex because no one else existed for me.  I couldn't fucking breathe right I missed you so much.  But I guess we all chose to deal with things differently though don't we baby?"

Guilt.  More.  Thick and heavy.   Finally, I nod, the lump choking up my throat. I want to cry and beg his forgiveness right then but something stops me.  I feel gnawed at and chewed up and so so tired.  "Yes, I guess we do." Is what I say, in a small voice.   

He nods back, holding my eyes in an intense stare for a moment before he drops his head back to look at the ceiling. "Jake I'm sorry..." I go to move toward him but he moves first.  He moves away from me to where his car keys sit on the dining table and his jacket lies in a ball where he dumped in when we came in.

"Yeah, I'm sorry too Alex," he says with a sigh. There's almost no weight in his voice at all now, it's soft and quiet and almost trembles in its fragility.  It makes everything seem worse somehow.  I can deal with Jake's rage. I've dealt with it before and right now I even feel like I deserve it.  What I can't deal with is the idea of hurting him. Which evidently I have done.  "Look, I really need to get out of here right now, I'll call you later, yeah," he mutters, hesitating only a moment before walking out of my kitchen without looking back. 

After I hear the front door close I just stand there rooted to spot staring after the direction he just went. With a heavy heart and his words thundering through my head, I conclude he's probably right.  It's best to let him go and cool down somewhere else, in space that doesn't contain me.  Though we both acted like idiots tonight, I suspect most of the regret will be on my side.

Running my hand across my stomach, I head upstairs to run a very hot, hopefully comforting bath and wait for him to come home. Maybe he'll wake me up and apologise? Or maybe I'll apologise as soon as he wakes me up.  Halfway up the stairs, I freeze when I remember Jake had three beers with dinner and so is now driving into London under the influence of both his temper and alcohol. Christ Jake. On the off chance that he's just sitting outside in the car sulking I go to check - but his car which was parked on the street outside is gone. I consider ringing his mobile but risking him picking up the phone at the same time as trying to drive half drunk stops me.

The bath is warm and I suppose comforting, but then, by contrast, the bed is cold and empty without him.  It's been two hours since he left and so time, I conclude, for him to have gotten into London.  When I dial his number it rings out for a bit before going on to voicemail and so I text asking him to at least let me know he arrived safely.  It's a few minutes before his curt response of:

//I'm safe. Will just sleep here tonight. Talk tomorrow //

comes through, settling my rolling tense tummy just a little.

With a deep sigh, I switch off the lamp and try to force myself to sleep.