“Tom,” she whispered.
CHAPTER 58
Tom
She was here.In his arms. Letting him touch her, letting him kiss her.
He'd dreamed about this. Fantasized about it.
His wife. The woman who'd thrown him out on Christmas and had every right to keep him out forever.
The lace pulled against his skin—foreign and jarring. Every movement made him hyperaware of it. He was exposed in ways that had nothing to do with being naked.
It was terrifying.
"Tom," she whispered again.
His hands found her waist.
The sweater she wore was soft under his palms. And beneath it he could feel her—warm and real and solid. The curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. His hands remembered this. His body remembered this.
He pulled her closer, her body against his. She fit there. Against him. Like his body had been designed specifically to hold hers.
Lauren's hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair. The touch sent heat down his spine.
When she pulled his head down, he went willingly, kissing her like he'd been starving for it.
Hehadbeen starving for it.
She made a small sound against his mouth and he swallowed it, greedy for every noise, every reaction.
He was going to savor every second. Every touch. Every soft curve under his hands. The way she tasted. The little catch in her breathing.
This was a gift.
He pulled back and reached for the hem of her sweater.
"Let me," he said, and she did.
Tom lifted the soft fabric and the sweater fell to the floor.
His hands found her hips and she shivered under his touch. The pale skin of her stomach. The soft curves. The simple cotton bra made his mouth go dry.
Tom bent his head and pressed his mouth to her shoulder. Her collarbone. The soft place where her neck met her chest.
He couldn't get enough.
The dip of her waist under his palms. The swell of her stomach. The way her body curved and dipped and invited his hands to explore.
This body. Her body. Everywhere he touched felt like coming home.
She was soft. She was delicate. She was strong.
"Tom." His name on her lips made him lift his head. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
He wanted to touch every inch of her. Wanted to worship every curve and soft place until she understood—really understood—how badly he wanted this. Wanted her.
"You're so beautiful," he said, and meant it so completely that his chest hurt. "God, Lauren." His hands spanned her waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin of her stomach. "You're perfect."
