Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Twenty-One: Love?

Curiosity ignited within me, I rushed down the hall, charging like an enraged bull towards the locker rooms.

"Natalia!" James called, my voice ringing clear in the hallway, even over the bubbling brook of voices.

My step quickened, I made for the locker rooms. But he was barging people out of the way, and just as I pushed the door to the secluded changing unit open, he grabbed my wrist, and pinned me to the wall next to it.

"Hey..." He soothed, stroking his hand across my cheek. "What's the rush, gorgeous?" He had the audacity to smirk at me, and act like nothing had ever changed.

"I've got somewhere to be James, now really isn't the time..." I shook my wrists free of his grasp and shoved him back by the shoulders. He tripped backwards into a couple men, who spat various profanities. I stepped into the doorway of the changing room, just nudging aside the door.

"Since when do you care about work over me?" He stopped me dead in my tracks. I had to devise a reason. I had to invent some way to escape him. "C'mon..."

"James, I don't know what to say..." I turned to face him, guilt masking my features.

"You don't have to say anything..." He soothed, gripping me by the shoulders with the same simpering expression on his face. He pressed his lips gently to mine and I felt repulsed. My stomach knotting up, I recoiled convulsively. "What's wrong, little red?"

I couldn't look at him the same. Not without thinking of my inability to please him sexually, how he'd seen me immodest in all my vulnerability, how he'd broken down every wall. "I'm sorry, James. I'm just not myself... I'm not myself," I professed, eyes beginning to water. I kept my gaze projected at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. I couldn't have him see me cry. I wouldn't let anyone see me cry.

He glanced up and down the corridor, checking that no listening ears were intruding on our conversation. Once sure, he focused entirely on me and held me captive by the shoulders. "Is this about last night? Because we can talk about it if you want?" He lowered his voice softly and trailed a hand through my unruly red hair. "Look at me Natalia?" He cooed and I crossed my arms over my chest defensively, my eyes still pointing at the floor. "Natalia, look at me?" His voice gained a more steely edge, and he forced my chin up so I met his eyes.

"What are we doing, James?" I asked him seriously, his complexion was a smudge through the lens of tears. "Sneaking around? Pretending like this is something it's not? Something real?" My mouth went dry and I swallowed stickily.

"You don't think what we have is real?" He sounded crestfallen. And I couldn't deal with the sting of guilt that attacked me when his puppy-dog eyes pleaded me for an explanation.

"Let's carry on pretending it's perfect, then, shall we James?" I tried to brush it off with a tearful titter and a falsified grin. I kept my attention fixated to the ground. I didn't want to see his face when I let him down again. "Pretend like you did talk to me after fucking me last night. Pretend like I didn't disappoint you. Or sicken you..." I shrugged like it was no big deal.

"Is that what this is about?" Realisation crept into his tone and the bitterness in his voice ceased to be. "Look, you weren't that bad..." He soothed, disguising what was something demeaning as a compliment. "That was your first time right?" He questioned, stroking my cheek affectionately, voice soft enough to coax my gaze to meet his own.

I nodded silently and gave him an embarrassed smile, a thin line of tears caught up in my glossy eyes.

"I wouldn't expect you to be the best fuck I've ever had on your first time. And that won't be the only time we do this, Natalia. You'll improve." More embarrassment made my cheeks flare. I felt my whole face go rosy. He cuddled me close, and I broke down, sobbing into his shoulder. He smoothed a hand up and down my spine, to try and halt my whimpers and hiccups. "What do you want me to say, Natalia? How can I make you feel better?"