Page 36 of The Attack Zone

I’m in Mitch Greggs’ bed. What a weird thing. But he just gave me another night of mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex, so I’m not going to complain.

We spent the first two nights of the week at my place, but I figured I should make at least a little bit of an effort, so I came over here yesterday, and I have to admit, I rather like Mitch’s place. It’s sleek and clean and modern, and the bed is the perfect mix of soft and firm.

Mitch, on the other hand, is all firm. He’s muscles and tension and strength, and I love it. I love running my hands over his body, and I love what his body does to me. My secret little fantasies were onto something, apparently.

He’s taking a shower while I lay in his bed, still exhausted from before. I hear the water shut off and a few moments later, Mitch is standing in the doorway of his bathroom with shorts hung around his hips and a towel in his hand, drying off his hair. He has a smirk on his face as he takes me in withhis eyes and I can’t help but think that this arrangement we have is perfect. We can finally, openly appreciate one another’s attractiveness.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, smirk falling a bit as he approaches the bed. He sits down and scoots up to rest against the headboard.

“Sure,” I say, rolling towards him. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I actually let myself nuzzle into his chest and wrap a leg across his hips.

“Why don’t you let me go down on you?” he asks.

Oh, shit.

That.

“Well ...” I start, before chickening out.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “I just enjoy doing it is all.”

He ... enjoys it?

“It just seems to take me a long time,” I say, refusing to look up at him.

“And that’s a problem because ...?” He brushes his hand down my bare back.

I want to tell him. I really do. If anyone can make me like it again, it would be him.

“I used to really like it, actually,” I say.

“What happened, love?” he asks.

I finally look up at him, his eyes are a mixture of confusion and maybe a bit of anger?

“There was this guy,” I say.

“Ah,” he says with a nod.

There’s no judgement in his tone, though, so I keep going. “I thought we were going to get married. But one night, I guess I took too long while he was ... you know ... and he just kinda lost it. Wound up saying some pretty hurtful things after. We broke up the next day.”

“What the fuck?” Mitch says. “What did the fucker say to you?”

I take a deep breath. This is almost certainly too much information for a casual hook up. But this is Mitch. Not just some random guy. And I think part of me wants him to know.

“He said that I’m too married to my career. That all I care about is making it to the top. That I must take forever to come because I’m so preoccupied by spreadsheets,” I look down. “He told me he wanted me to quit my business, be his wife, and ‘get a hobby’.”

“Get a ...” Mitch starts. “Hobby? What did he expect you to do?”

“Who knows,” I say. “He just wanted to control me and hated that I’m perfectly capable of managing myself and my life without his help, I think.”

“You’re more than capable, Stacey,” he says. “You’re incredible.”

Oh boy.

Oh dear.

We are moving into unsafe territory here. I should move away. Go to my own side of the bed, or even better, to my own apartment.