E L James - The Mister

Mindless sextheres a lot to be said for it. No commitments, no expectations, and no disappointments; I just have to remember their names. Who was it last time? Jojo? Jeanne? Jody? Whatever. She was some nameless fuck who moaned a great deal both in and out of bed. I lie staring at the rippling reflections from the Thames on my ceiling, unable to sleep. Too restless to sleep.

Tonight its Caroline. She doesnt fit the nameless-fuck category. Shell never fit. What the hell was I thinking? Closing my eyes, I try to silence the still, small voice that is questioning the wisdom of bedding my best friendagain. She slumbers beside me, her sleek body bathed in the silver light of the January moon, her long legs entwined with mine, and her head on my chest.

This is wrong, so wrong. I rub my face, trying to erase my self-loathing, and she stirs and shifts, waking from her doze. One manicured fingernail skims down my stomach and over my abdominal muscles, then circles my navel. I sense her sleepy smile as her fingers slip toward my pubic hair. Catching her hand, I bring it to my lips. Havent we done enough damage for one night, Caro? I kiss each finger in turn to take the sting out of the rejection. Im tired and disheartened by the nagging, unwelcome guilt that gnaws at my gut. This is Caroline, for heavens sake, my best friend and my brothers wife. Ex-wife.

No. Not ex-wife. His widow.

Its a sad, lonely word for a sad, lonely circumstance.

Oh, Maxim, please. Make me forget, she whispers, and plants a warm, wet kiss on my chest. Tossing her fair hair away from her face, she gazes up at me through long lashes, her eyes shining with need and grief.

I cup her lovely face and shake my head. We shouldnt.

Dont. She places her fingers on my lips, silencing me. Please. I need it.

I groan. Im going to hell.

Please, she begs.

Shit, this is hell.

And because Im hurting, toobecause I miss him, tooand Caroline is my connection to him, my lips find hers and I ease her onto her back.

When I wake, the room is flooded with bright winter sunshine that makes me squint. Turning over, Im relieved to see that Caroline has gone, leaving behind a lingering trace of regretand a note on my pillow:

Dinner tonight with Daddy & the Stepsow?

Please come.

They are mourning, too.

ILY x

Fuck.

This is not what I want. I close my eyes, grateful to be alone in my own bed and glad, despite our nocturnal activities, that we decided to come back to London two days after the funeral.

How the hell did this get so out of hand?

Just a nightcap, shed said, and Id gazed into her big blue eyes, brimming with sorrow, and known what she wanted. It was the same look shed given me the night we learned of Kits accident and untimely death. A look I couldnt resist then. Wed almost danced the dance so many times, but that night I resigned myself to fate, and with an unerring inevitability I fucked my brothers wife.

And now wed done it again, with Kit laid to rest only two days ago.

I scowl at the ceiling. I am, without doubt, a pathetic excuse for a human. But then so is Caroline. At least she has an excuse: shes in mourning, scared for her future, and Im her best friend. Who else could she turn to in her hour of need? Id just pushed the envelope on