Enjoy.

Love Lolly and Aina.

- 8 -

I just let him pull me. I didn't even struggle. I guess I was curious to see where this was going. I didn't expect to be lead into the elevator though. Or that he would stop it as it was ascending. Or that he would then turned and looked at me with a hunger in his eyes, pushing me back against the wall. I was freaked.

'Paul, don't do thi –'

But he kissed me, effectively shutting me up.

She was asking for it. I had learnt by then that anything that came from her mouth was a lie. Only when I liked her words, did I choose to believe them. Any words that were in my favour were accepted with my deepest delight. All others were disregarded. Because a lot of the times, she was just bullshitting and denying what she really felt.

Things like, 'Paul . . . oh God . . . don't stop . . . ' are the things that I listen to.

Which, surprisingly, had come from her a lot that other night.

Or, not surprisingly, when you think about it.

He kept on kissing me, making me feel like I should just give in. It was easy to just do that . . . when his hands were slipping under my shirt and leaving hot trails everywhere. I felt like a slut. I tried to shove him away, even though I knew it was useless. He was too strong.

I'd unbuttoned her top within seconds. My hands had been so damned tempted to just rip it open, but a charity thought was spared on her behalf, thinking how it would look if she walked out with a broken-buttoned top.

No . . . no . . .

I slid the fabric off her shoulders frantically, kissing her harder. I loved her resistance . . . I loved her guilt, her betrayal, her fear, her denied pleasure.

It was damn FRUSTRATING, but I loved it all the same. The thrills she inspired were awesome. They made my body ache for her.

I jammed my hand on the STOP button of the elevator again for good measure, slamming her against the door again.

Hard.

Jarring her senses.

What's the point of fighting when all I wanted was for him to continue? Oh yeah. The fact that I'm married.

Damn it.

'No . . . wait, this is wrong..' I made some half-hearted plea, but even to my ears they didn't sound convincing. He ravished my neck, dragging his tongue across my skin, prompting me to lose control. How could something so wrong be so delicious?

He slammed me against the door, making me realize that my shirt was already open. But he didn't stop. He was tugging at my knee-high skirt, pulling it up. I'm so going to hell.

This was inconvenient. Instead, I lifted her up, pressing her against the wall as hard as I could so she wouldn't fall. My hands slid along her thighs as I still kissed her neck. I held her against me firmly, sandwiched between me and the wall. I could feel her heart beating. It was going even faster than mine. And that's saying a HELL of a lot,

This wasn't something innocent. This was just passion speaking. For both of us.

I loved this . . . I loved it with every drop of sensuality in me . . . Her legs wrapped around my hips as if automatically. I continued trying to slide her skirt up.

Damned thing . . . much as I loved tight clothes on her, they were so hard to get OFF.

I was through fighting. Some part of me knew that I was going to regret it later, but right now I didn't care. Grabbing his head, I pressed my lips against his, relishing in his taste. His hair was soft under my fingers and I knew that they weren't so neat anymore.

And there she was . . .

I win, every time.

I grinned against her lips.

- 8 -

. . . Ten minutes later, they were FINALLY getting the elevator working again. Suze and I were, uh, 'traumatized' that we'd been trapped in there. Alone. By the time we stepped out, her clothes were neat again, as were mine. Her hair wasn't as perfect as it had been upon entrance, but it looked sexier now, anyway. Mine was probably a lost cause.

I don't think it took a dummy to work out what had gone on in that elevator. As typical, Suze said she had to go. Just after it had gotten good, too. She always DID that. I guess that was what kept ME coming back for more. And her? Well, if she kept stopping like that, we'd never have a decent screw. So it was her own fault now, wasn't it.

She was in my system now. She was pumping through my veins, pounding at my temples, contaminating my oxygen.

Like a disease that I never wanted to be cured of.

I think that Britney song should be my theme now. Oops I did it again. Yeah. How I did. And in a freaking elevator! Jesse would never have done that. And the worst part was that might be the reason why I responded so well to Paul. He's everything Jesse was not. Impulsive, spontaneous, rough . . . He made me feel things I didn't feel with Jesse.

Guilt was cascading down on me again. How dare I think of such things about him? He loved me. He would do anything for me. And this was how I repay him. Screwing the guy he hated most.

I felt like crying. I was so messed up. Even more when I realized that even after what we had done, there's a part of me that still wanted more.

As maintenance guys were going past us to look at the elevator, I turned to Suze. I hadn't wanted to stop. I NEVER wanted to stop. Not when it was her. 'Well,' I said. 'That was different.' Which earned me a hard slap. One which I just laughed at.

I ought to have slapped her back. I would have, but we were in my office. So I just smirked at her, gave her a mockery of a nod, and turned, leaving her standing the hallway of my workplace, still breathing hard after our . . . um . . . elevator accident.

I just gaped at him as he walked away, apparently unfazed after what just took place. Well, knowing him, he probably had screwed every girl in his office in the same damn elevator. What difference was it with me? I felt so cheap. Walking away, I forced myself to calm down and not running after him and slapping him again.

I guess it only occurred to me there. But this had happened twice, now. Two, amazing times. . . .

Suze was officially a very naughty girl . . .

Go home. This time, don't think twice. Once was bad enough, but twice? That's just unthinkable. It was like those people in the movies . . . oh my God. Am I having an affair with Paul?

She was cheating on her Jesse. With me. Isn't that priceless? I mean, this is how life works. You sit back, and wait till things like this just fall in your lap. You don't run after the girl - if she wants you, she'll come to you. . . .

And damn it, Suze wanted me.

You could tell by her breath, by her gasps . . .

By her barely being able to look me in the eye.

Oh God. I was cheating on Jesse with Paul. History repeating itself. When I swore to myself after the high school incident in his room that I would never give in to him again.

And yet here I was. Years later, doing the same thing. Only worse. I didn't stop at kissing him. I slept with him.

I'm sorry, Jesse. I'm so, so, so sorry . . .

Laughingly, I entertained the possibility of taking her out. She'd say no, of course. She was married. And that was out in public. But then again . . . I was the one making all the decisions here. If I told her to do something, it wasn't long before she reluctantly let me do what I wanted with her.

No details, of course.

- 8 -

There was no way I could go back to the office after . . . that.

I hailed a cab and quickly gave directions to my hotel. As I sat in the cab, I tried to smooth down my skirt and my blouse. My hands were shaking.

My whole body was shaking. From what? Regret? Fear? Shame? Guilt? Desire? Anger?

All of them.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't. God, he was so . . . rough. And demanding. Unlike yesterday, today it was like he was the one who wanted it. Like he couldn't control himself anymore.

Everything we'd done was so physical. Nothing like the gentleness of Jesse.

Stop it.

I reached the hotel and walked to my room in a blur. Fumbling for my keys, it took me a few tries before I managed to turn the lock.

I walked to the couch and sat down, staring into space. I felt so lost. I felt so confused.

When the phone rang, I automatically picked it up without thinking.

'Querida?'

My heart plummeted to my stomach and I almost dropped the phone. Gripping the handle tightly with both hands, I uttered very shakily, 'H-hello? J-Jesse?'

Calm down. Breathe.

His voice went soft, like it always did when he spoke to me. Usually, I would have been overjoyed. Now, though . . . it did something to me that hurt like I couldn't imagine. A pain that was completely my fault. 'Susannah . . . you haven't called.' His voice was playful. Light. Teasing. 'Haven't forgotten me, haven't you?'

I forced a laugh, even though my chest felt tight with phantom pain. 'Of course not, Jesse. I- I've just been busy with the new client . . . he's very picky. We had to do a lot of adjustments with the posters . . . '

I couldn't go on. My eyes started to prickle. His voice. Oh God, I'd missed it.

'I've missed you,' he went on, grains of emotion coming into his voice. He adopted his playful manner once again. 'I've decided that you're not going to work anymore, Susannah. If it means you're away from here, then I won't stand for it.'

It wasn't like he missed me when I was there . . . God. Sometimes I felt like he loved the hospital more than me. I don't measure up to the thrill he gets from doing some eight year old brat's stitches after he's stacked it on his bike.

I was quiet for a moment, not sure whether I should give in to my frustration about his work or to forget about it. In the end, I said, 'Well, Jesse, if you're at home more often, maybe I don't have to work anymore . . . ' I was saying the words playfully, but I was serious.

I love my job, but I love him more.

He laughed all the same.

'Hospital's busy,' he told me with weariness, 'Been there practically day and night. Dr. Layton called in sick a week ago, and we're short-staffed. How's New York? And your grandmother? She's well?'

'Um,' I said, 'Fine.'

He was obviously expecting a slight elaboration on my part. He coughed awkwardly. 'Oh,' he muttered. 'Susannah . . . are you all right? You seem . . . quiet.'

Really? You should have seen me half an hour ago. I sure as hell wasn't being quiet then.

'Of course the hospital's busy. It always is, isn't it?' Then I stopped myself and took deep, calming breath. It helped a little, and I didn't sound as curt as before. 'Grandma's fine. She's busy with her Gardening Club and the usual stuff . . . you know how she is.'

'Yes,' he grumbled. 'I don't know how you are. I'd like to, if you'd only talk.'

'I'm great,' I said, slightly bitterly. 'I'm just - '

Again, something hard and painful in my throat stopped me from talking.

Jesse went on talking about something, but I had to lower the phone away from my face.

This was what I was giving up, for a few minutes of ecstasy.

I'm a slut.

I was shaking, and I had my hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from crying.

'Susannah?'

I held up the phone again, and choked out something in reply. He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

I sucked in a shuddering breath.

'Susannah,' he said sharply, 'You're crying. What's wrong?'

'I'm fine,' I lied, 'I just . . . miss you, and - '

You are SO going to hell . . .

Adulteress.

'I'm fine, Jesse . . . .I - Don't worry about me. I'll be home soon . . . .okay?'

As if I could escape what I had done by going home.

He was silent for a moment. 'You can not think that by saying that I suddenly won't worry. I don't want to leave you like this.'

But you left me anyway! I wanted to scream at him. For your FREAKING WORK.

And your wife had to go to another GUY for sex because you weren't there!

GOD.

'Jesse, it's okay. I'm fine. Okay?'

My voice was defensive now. Tears were pushed away. Anger was present now.

Yeah . . . I only did it because he didn't want me. He may have LOVED me, but he didn't want me. Not like Paul did.

He sighed. 'I'll ring later . . . when you're more yourself. I'm not going to get anything out of you now, you're too stubborn to tell me.'

I closed my eyes, trying to reign in the wave of extreme sadness there.

'Querida . . . te amo. I love you.'

He hung up.

And I just cried.

I threw the phone away, faintly noticing as it banged against the wall. It didn't smash, though. It was tough.

Unlike me. I was weak. All I could do was cry. What was the POINT of crying?

I hated Paul. I hated Jesse. I hated myself.

But all I could feel at that moment was sadness, and I let it wash over me.

It crushed me, tore me apart, and left me for dead. I was cheating. I hated it. I LOVED it. I was degrading myself with every second that I spent with Paul. I did things with him that Jesse would NEVER ask me to do. I was unclean, and I stank of impurity.

I don't deserve him. Jesse. I don't deserve Jesse.

8 -

My case was a bitch. I'd spilt coffee on my employer. My in tray was over-loading. I couldn't think straight. Wonder who's fault THAT was? Well, mine, but I'm not the only guilty party.

After finishing up, I felt like I was going to explode. I was frustrated, angry, and in desperate need of . . . uhhh . . . never mind.

Suze was all I could think about.

Everything about her. What we'd done, what she'd said, the noises she made, the smell of her hair, the way she kissed, her constant denial and resistance . . . it was making me go mad. I loved what she did to me.

But I damned well hated it, too.

So, at 6pm, I packed up my forms that I was never going to get done that night, and threw my briefcase in my car, driving to Suze's hotel. I knew where she was at. We needed to talk. Sort things out. I mean . . . well, okay, there wasn't really anything to sort out. If THAT ever happened, it would be for her to stop this 'thing' that we had going on.

She was married, after all. To a guy who was a workaholic and a fuckwitt, but that has nothing to do with it.

Well, maybe a bit.

I was knocking at her apartment door. I knew she was there. I could hear her TV.

I stared into space, the TV blaring in the background. I was supposed to be watching the latest episode of 'Lost', my favourite show but today even the prospect of Charlie dying couldn't hold my attention.

My mind was a million miles away . . . thinking about someone that I shouldn't have been thinking about. Someone who will ruin everything that I have - my marriage. The most important thing in the world to me, but the way I've been acting lately betrays that fact. Adulteress. That's who I was.

Sighing, I reached for my glass of water when suddenly there was knocking on my front door. Weird. It's late, and I wasn't expecting anyone. Slowly getting up, I made my way to the door and asked, 'Who is it?'

'Santa,' I growled wryly. 'Open up, Simon. We need to talk.'

Because you're on my naughty list –

Okay. Yeah, too far.

I froze, my pulse racing like mad. All of a sudden I felt hot. And not because I was wearing a sweater. 'What do you want?' I croaked, not opening the door.

'To talk,' I repeated in annoyance.

'So talk,' I said, not budging to open the door. Because there was no telling what will happen if I let him in. No telling what he would do. Or what I would do.

'You really want me to shout this all through the door for the whole hotel to hear?' I asked. 'Because I will.'

Damn it. I flung open the door, now angry more than scared. 'What the hell is your problem?'

I walked in quickly, and turned around, facing her. 'Can't pinpoint which one's more pressing at the moment, sorry,' I replied.

I looked around. 'Nice place,' I said.

'Very homey. Not pink, like your old room. Then again, this isn't exactly your homestead, is it.' I stepped turned my head to her, and again, tried to keep it in my pants.

Sorry. Just . . . God, I wanted her.

I stared at him as he looked around the room lazily in that sexy way of his. Oh my God, did I just called Paul SEXY?

Forgive me, God, for I have sinned.

Well, more so than I already have.

'So,' I said, making casual, calculated steps towards her, 'I wanted to talk . . . '

That's the thing about Suze. She's easy to read. I know what to do that will make her tick. I know if what I'm doing is working. I can see it in her physically. I get close, she flushes and moves away. I kiss her, she kisses back and then pulls away. I run my fingers across her skin, she shudders. I know her. I want her. But I can't have her. Not completely, anyway . . .

I swallowed painfully, reminding myself to keep my distance from him. Already he was looking at me in that way . . . and it just made me all nervous as usual. It's strange, how with just a look he can make my mind and my feelings all messed up.

'Then talk.'

I smirked, feeling my work frustrations die away, but some other frustrations arise.

No, really. . . .

Oh God, Paul, CONTROL yourself man.

'Well,' I said, standing in front of her, trying to think of something to say. I mean, I didn't really come here with a plan to discuss the consequences of our little fling or anything . . . 'I wanted to know if you wanted to . . . go somewhere.'

She'd say no at first.

Did he just say . . . 'Paul, are you crazy? There's no way am I going to go anywhere with you.'

And I managed to say that in a firm manner, thank you.

Ha. I know her too well. I smiled a little wider. 'Are you . . . sure?'

The thing that's convenient about walls is that they're always there for you. Really. Like emotional support. They're always hanging around, just waaaaaaiting for guys to press girls suddenly against them.

Gotta love walls.

Well, it did the trick. With my body pressed that hard against hers, her eyes closed, and she rolled her head back a bit.

Trying not to feel.

Wouldn't work though.

I hated this. I hated this.

My hand slid into the arch of her lower back, where I found my way beneath the back of her shirt, seducing the skin there with my fingers. I could feel her reactions. And I loved them. 'I mean . . . in case you wanted to . . . think about it,' I added slightly, my face beside hers, my lips so close to her ears.

Her hair smelt divine.

Looked it too.

Clean, and beautiful.

My mind was telling me that I should push him away, but my body was telling me to give in. His lips looked soft and inviting, and his hand just seemed to . . . know.

Oh God . . . I couldn't.

No more.

Somehow, with a strength I never knew I possessed, I pushed him away. Trying not to breathe heavily, I fumbled with my top and said without looking at him, 'You said you wanted to talk. So . . . talk. Here. I mean, we can talk here.'

Damn her . . .

He just stared at me, his expression unfathomable. But his eyes were dark and dangerous.

This was so not good.

I glared. For the first time, I started to get an inkling of how badly I was screwing her up. Her marriage, I mean. Here I was, trying so hard to tempt her, and there she was, trying so hard to stay true to a guy who she'd already cheated on. We'd gone too far now, she couldn't turn back. So there was no point in saying no, right?

Her constant refusal was frustrating as much as it was appealing.

He reached for me again, but I backed away. His hand hung in the air between us for a moment, before dropping to his side.

I watched him, puzzled and fearful. 'What is it that you wanted to say . . . ?'

I half-smiled, and crossed my arms.

Yeah, Slater. What is it that you wanted to say?

. . . No, don't say that. It won't mean anything to her. And it damned well SHOULDN'T.

I shrugged. 'You've been crying,' I commented.

I could see that here eyes were red.

I quickly looked away. The last thing I need was for him to know about the call from Jesse. And knowing Paul, he could probably guess things like these.

"No . . . just . . . allergies."

And the Award for the Lamest Excuse of the Week goes to . . .

I felt like mimicking that "Achoo! I'm allergic to bullshit" thing I saw on I, Robot but I didn't think it was the time.

'Right,' I said sarcastically. 'And George Bush has an IQ of 198.'

I sighed loudly. 'What the hell do you want, Paul? Can you just spit it out so I can go to bed already?'

I froze as I realized what I just said. I didn't mean to mention the word 'bed' in case he gets any ideas, but too late. Maybe that was his idea all long.

I blinked lazily. She was getting flushed.

Heh . . . want company?

'What happened?' I asked her.

'Nothing happened,' I snapped.

Is that what she was going to say to de Silva when he asked how her trip to New York was?

'Does he know?' I asked very softly, moving closer to her once more. Her hair was practically in her eyes. I pushed it behind her ear slowly. She blatantly shivered.

'Who?' Oh, of course I knew who he was talking about, but I just couldn't give in to him.

Yeah, like I haven't.

My expression went bored. 'He doesn't,' I said. 'But you've talked to him, haven't you?'

I couldn't still be standing here if he knew.

I didn't answer him. I just stared at a spot on the carpet.

'Hmm,' I said. 'Come on, Suze. Come with me . . . you haven't eaten yet, have you.'

I could smell no aroma of food, nor could I see any evidence of take-out or dirty dishes.

I scoffed. 'It's okay, I'm not hungry.'

He knew how bad I felt about Jesse, but it's just like Paul to ignore that.

'You are so,' I argued with a smirk.

Well, I was, but the hell am I gonna go with him.

'You know it's hard for me to trust you at the moment?'

I raised my eyebrows. 'In what context, Suze?'

'As in, being alone with you.'

'Ah,' I said. 'Well, I'm alone with you now . . . if we grab something to eat, there'll be all of New York to keep me in line.'

I hesitated. But he did look sincere . . .

My stomach growled, and I blushed. 'Fine. But after we eat you take me straight back here, no questions.'

I smiled graciously. 'Of course.'

. . . Yeah, Slater. Right.