The wind picks up outside, rattling the windows, a reminder of the storm that's coming. But in here, in this moment, we're safe. We're warm. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
"Chase?"
"Yeah?"
"Kiss me again."
And he does.
Ten
Chase
Today has been one for the books. After I kissed Paisley for the second time, we watched some more TV and cooked dinner together. Now I'm in bed, wondering what the hell she's doing in her room, on the other side of the wall.
Groaning, I think back to the two kisses we shared, and for the first time in a long time my cock stirs. My body is interested, and it hasn't been in almost a year. Kind of thought I was passed that part of my life, even though I'm only thirty-seven years old.
In the past when my body has responded, it's been thinking about my deceased wife, not about the woman in the bed in the other room. Reaching down, I circle my length with my hand, and close my eyes.
Paisley's face appears behind my eyelids immediately. The way she looked at me before she kissed me. The soft sound she made when my lips touched hers. The way her body felt pressed against mine when I pulled her closer the second time.
My hand moves slowly, almost tentatively at first. It's been so long since I've done this, since I've wanted to do this. But thinking about her, about the taste of her mouth and the way she sighed my name—it's enough to make my body respond in ways I didn't think it could anymore.
I imagine what it would be like to kiss her again, to really kiss her. To take my time exploring her mouth, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan. To feel her hands on me, not just gripping my shoulders like they did earlier, but sliding under my shirt, tracing the muscles of my back.
My breathing picks up as my hand moves faster. I think about the way she looked today in the side-by-side, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright with life. The way she moved around my kitchen tonight, like she belonged there.
Like she belongs here. With me.
The thought sends a jolt through me, and I have to bite back a groan. I imagine her walking into my room right now, wearing one of my oversized shirts. Climbing into my bed. Kissing me the same way she did earlier.
I picture sliding my hands under that shirt, discovering if her skin is as soft as it looks. Hearing my name on her lips as I touch her, taste her, make her feel good in all the ways I'm desperate to.
My hand moves faster, my hips lifting off the bed as pleasure builds low in my spine. It's been so damn long, and thinking about Paisley, about all the things I want to do with her—it's overwhelming. My palm catches pre-cum and rubs it over the head as I speed my hand up. This won't take long, and when I reach down to cup my balls, I know that's it.
I come with a strangled sound I barely manage to muffle, her name a whisper in the darkness. My chest heaves as I catch my breath, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process what just happened.
Guilt tries to creep in—guilt that I'm moving on, that I'm having feelings for someone who isn't my wife. But underneath that is so much more. Relief, maybe. Hope. The realization that I'm not as dead inside as I thought I was.
Paisley makes me feel alive again.
I clean myself up and try to sleep, but it's a long time coming. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. And every time I see her, I want her more.
Morning comes way too early. I wake to sunlight streaming through my window and the memory of what I did last night. Heat crawls up my neck as I get out of bed and pull on clothes, trying to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to look at her today.
She's already in the kitchen when I come out of my bedroom after my morning workout. She's got her hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing leggings and a soft-looking sweater that makes me want to touch her. She looks up when I walk in, a smile on her face that fades when my eyes don't quite meet hers. I'm dealing with some shame now that I'm facing her in the light of day.
"Morning," she says, her voice a little uncertain.
"Morning." I move to the coffee pot, keeping my back to her. "You sleep okay?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Fine."
The lie sits heavy between us. I can feel her watching me as I pour my coffee, as I lean against the counter and stare at the dark liquid like it holds the answers to all my problems.
"Want me to start the eggs?" she asks after a moment.
