Disclaimer: As before.
Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews; as you can maybe tell, this is going to be a bit different from my last story, so I appreciate hearing your views. Also, I'm finding this story to be a little harder to write than the last, so please be patient if I'm a bit slower in updating.
Neela lay very still, listening to Ray's breathing as it gradually steadied and slowed, until he fell asleep. She couldn't stay there in his bed, next to him. The longer she spent there, the more she felt it compounding the feelings of guilt and betrayal.
The second she was sure he was in a deep enough sleep not to be woken, she slipped out of the cold bed, shivering. She left what was remaining of her clothes on the floor, not wanting to touch them, and went straight to the bathroom. She turned the dial on the shower as hot as it would go and stepped under the water, letting it wash over her, trying to forget. But twenty minutes later, all she had achieved was using up all the hot water; the heat hadn't taken the chill from her bones and she knew no amount of water would ever wash away the dirty feeling that plagued her.
And yet, standing in the steamy bathroom, she couldn't stop herself from wishing Ray was there with her. She wished he was there to kiss her until her knees went weak, then push her up against the wall, and run his hand tantalisingly slowly up her leg, stroking the inside of her thigh, until he reached… God, it was just as well the water was nearly stone cold by now. It was thoughts like these that had stopped her from walking away from him earlier. There had been so many times she had dreamed of him, so many times when she had been with Michael she had pictured Ray moving on top of her rather than her husband, having to bite her lip, once even hard enough to draw blood, to stop herself saying the wrong name. In light of that, she couldn't force herself to pass up the opportunity of having Ray tonight. She had had to know what it was like, and now she did, she couldn't walk away, however much she hated herself for it.
She stepped out of the shower, turning off the water, and began towelling herself dry. Glancing in the mirror, she saw the dark mark he had left on her collarbone, another one the side of her neck. Her back was sore also from being pressed against the doorframe, and even though she couldn't see the bruise, she knew it was there, but she didn't care. None of it mattered. Because come the morning, they would pretend nothing happened. She knew instinctively there would be no talking about this, no discussion of what should come next. They would ignore it completely, until the next time it happened. And the next. Neither of them had the willpower or the strength for it to be any other way.
Leaving the bathroom, she passed the door to his room, which she had left open. Pausing in the doorway, she looked in at him peacefully asleep. Was he not plagued by guilt like she was? Did he not hate himself? How was he even able to sleep? But then of course, what was she to Ray? A challenge most probably, something he could brag about to the guys in the band; he had finally managed to nail his uptight, straight laced, married roommate. He certainly wouldn't be battling the heart wrenching angst that she was going through. Turning away in disgust from him, and at her own stupidity for falling for it, she retreated to her room.
There were boxes everywhere, and for a moment, she wondered why. She had forgotten that she was leaving, or meant to be anyway. She could go now. All she had to do was call a cab and walk right out of that door. He would wake in the morning to find her gone, nothing left but a pile of ripped clothes on his bedroom floor and half a box of Special K left in the kitchen cupboard. Her head told her to go. She was married, she was too old to be sharing an apartment like a student anyway, and Abby had offered her a refuge. There was no rational reason on earth to stay, and millions why she shouldn't.
But even as the thoughts ran through her head, she knew she was fooling herself. If she had really wanted to go, she wouldn't be sitting here on the edge of her bed, deliberating the point; she would have gone hours ago, before all this had occurred.
She put her head in her hands and groaned quietly. What a bloody mess. What a bloody, fucking mess.
Ray woke suddenly, shortly before dawn, when he rolled over expecting to put his arm around her, and found the other side of the bed to be empty. Hang on, he thought, who had he been reaching for? And then he remembered. It all came flooding back to him in a confusion of guilt and shame and pleasure, and shame at the pleasure.
Neela.
She had been right here in his bed, crying his name and wrapping her smooth legs around his waist. Kissing his lips, biting his neck, clawing his back. He knew for sure it wasn't a dream by the indent on the pillow where she had been lying, and when he stretched, pulling at the scratches she had left, the pain made him wince. He looked around the room, and caught sight of their clothes on the floor. His weren't in too bad a state, but hers… he felt another rush of shameful pleasure just looking at them. There wasn't a lot left of them. Shutting his eyes, he let himself relive the taste of her, the feel of her skin as he ripped off her clothes. He had fantasised about her so often, but he had never dreamed it could be so passionate, so satisfying, so… good.
He wished she'd stayed. As much as last night had meant to him, waking up next to her, leaning over and gently kissing her neck, stroking her hair, making her breakfast, would mean so much more. If someone had told him he would actually be longing for the tender early morning routine of lovers rather than a night of animalistic sex, he would have laughed at them, but now he wanted very badly to do all those things for her.
But then of course, it wasn't his place to be doing all that. A husband was allowed to kiss her tenderly, bring her breakfast in bed, return her loving smiles, but he wasn't her husband. Her husband was on the other side of the world, fighting a war in the heat and sand; he was just some guy she shared an apartment, bills, the odd meal, and now, a bed, with. Yes, that was it; she obviously just wanted someone to keep her warm at night until her husband came home, and he was simply there. He had never thought Neela could be so cold, so calculating.
If only he didn't want her so badly. He wanted her, and hated himself for wanting her, and hated her for making him want her. Kissing her had taken his breath away, even looking at her turned him on, touching her even more so. He'd never desired anyone as much as he had her last night. That moment in the doorway when she had finally looked up at him, that was when all the doubt faded. He could see that she wanted him too.
Of course, she didn't feel the same as he did; she was married to another man, but she wanted him, and he guessed that was better than nothing. Well, that was what he told himself anyway. He figured that maybe if he told himself enough, he might even begin to believe it. Although lying there alone, his heart as well as his body aching for her in spite of himself, and deep down, he knew that nothing less than all of her would ever be enough.
