"It's not already in there? I assumed you'd have an entire paragraph about it. It was hard to read that draft on my phone. To be perfectly honest, I skimmed it. I just figured …"
I shrug. "Honestly, me too. I'm not sure if it's in there one way or another. But we do want to keep this between us." Then I add quickly, "For appearance’s sake."
Her lips, ones that I can still practically taste, part. "But … but what about sexy times? How are we going to have that?"
Her use of the wordwepractically sends me over the edge. My toes grip in my trainers in an attempt to keep me from moving. Every muscle in my body contracts to keep me from taking a step toward her, and then another and another until only inches part us. The desire to touch her overwhelms me. I can practically feel my finger tracing a light line from the back of her hand, up her arm, dancing over her neck, until it rests at the corner of her jaw.
Instead of touching her, as I'm desperate to do, I clench my jaw so tightly it might shatter. As immobile as I am, my mind continues to run away. It imagines her reaction if I were to say to her, "I'm sure we can figuresomethingout."
I can practically see her swallow in response to those words, those delicious lips opening and closing ever so slightly. Her pupils would be wide and dark, the blue of her irises barely visible.
"Xavier, are you okay? I'm sorry I brought it up. We … we can figure out those details later. If you don't mind, I'll take the front room, since it's obviously more of the guest room."
I blink and shake my head. Heavens, I've got to get a proper grip on myself. I don't know where these feelings are coming from. Regardless, I cannot act on them. Ever.
That would be right terrible for Ophelia, knowing she's stuck here with me, and I'm having all thesethoughtsabout her. No, it wouldn't do at all for her to find out.
I can't have her thinking I'm prowling on her, or that shehasto reciprocate because we're married. I want her to feel safe and secure around me, not like this is a con or a bait and switch. It would probably make her feel very uneasy to know that she was sharing space with someone thinking about all the things he wants to do to her body.
I might have to wank in the shower every day for the next three years—or however long this marriage has to last—but I'll never tell her. She needs to feel—and be–safe in her own home, and I'll make sure she is.
Even if it's keeping her safe from me.
"Okay, well, I doubt I can book movers tonight, but I'll work on it first thing in the morning. What furniture do you have and what do you want of mine? I know, the couch is a no-go."
"Actually," I say, glad to have something else to focus on, "I think your couch will work perfectly in the loft. It's your office up there, and there's plenty of room for your desk and that monstrosity."
This time, her lips actually do part, open for a moment in disbelief, before she breaks into a wide grin. Then, out of nowhere, she launches herself at me. Before I know it, her arms are around my neck, squeezing tight as her legs wrap around my waist.
"Xavier Henry, you are without a doubt the sweetest man ever."
I don't know what I should be doing with my hands, but it seems only natural to support under her thighs. She pulls her head back and says, "I thought I was giving up everything. But you—you knew that, didn't you? And you found this place for me. The blue cabinets, the archway, the balcony, and the loft. The loft is just for my couch, isn't it?"
I can only hold my breath and nod in affirmation, her face now just inches from mine, as I'd been fantasizing about only moments ago. I swear I feel her legs tighten around me, her pelvis tilting in and her body pressing into my own. I must be imagining this, right?
"Xavier, I can't even. I could totally kiss you right now."
I have two choices. I can put her down and put some much-needed distance between our bodies before I cross a line that can't be uncrossed.
Or, I can march defiantly across that line by claiming her mouth as my own.
But actually, option three wins as my cell phone rings. Quite unwillingly, my hands leave her thighs, and she slides down my body.
Fuck.
I turn away so she can't see my bloody arousal as I retrieve my phone to answer it.
It'd better be Tony.
Except it's not.
It's worse.
Much worse.
Chapter 33: Ophelia
Saved by the bell.
