“No.”
“Then what exactly?”
“Everything. That I want you for myself. That my feelings for you are real. That you’re incredible.” The crease in his brow offset his tousled, inky hair. “I want more. I want it all. I said as much last night, and I brought you here thinking we were on the same page.”
My mind raced. The same page? A lot of things had been said—and done—in the heat of the moment. But he must’ve known this couldn’t be anything more than a mistake I’d live with through every milestone of my marriage.
David’s and my connection had only intensified once we’d given in to it, yes. There was no denying our passion—or even that real feelings existed. But did he actually expect me to leave my husband based on one night?
“AndImeant whatIsaid. I’m not right for you,” I said. “I’m, I don’t know . . . broken. Andmarried. Last night shouldn’t have happened, but it did. We have to leave it at that. Trust me when I say, there’s no other way.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and then whipped them open. “You’re broken?” he asked with a look of disgust. “And you have nothing to give? How the fuck can you say that to me after everything you just showed me?”
“I understand. Being with you was . . .” My voice hitched as I tried to find the words. “A release, and I don’t just mean sexually. I needed it. It opened my eyes to the fact that maybe I can start to heal wounds I thought would never close. But that doesn’t change the fact that I belong to someone else.”
“Hedoesn’t heal those wounds. He probably doesn’t even know they exist.” David stood from the bed. “And you’re going to tell me—”
“Don’t.” I held up my hands, stepping back.
As his eyes shuttered, and his expression closed, my heart dropped. David had been open about what he’d wanted from the start, but how could he possibly know the extent of what he asked for? He didn’t. With his revolving door of women, hecouldn’t. He only wanted what he couldn’t have. And maybe that would work for a while, but eventually he’d see the truth—I couldn’t break up my marriage for a player, even if it was the best sex of my life.
David took a measured pace forward.
“This isn’t how this goes,” I explained. “It can’t happen again.”
“Olivia.” This time, it was a command—he must’ve known what it did to me. He reached for me. “Come here.”
It only took one step from me before he’d gathered me in his arms. He kissed my temple, my wounded cheek, my neck. I cherished the feel of his lips on my skin, knowing it would be the last time. With that, I began to weep silently in his arms. This time I cried for what I was losing, not from guilt or regret. He let me, holding me closer, his large hands caressing my back as the sheet fell to my hips. My nipples hardened against his wall of a chest—his equal desire twitched against my stomach.
“Shh,” he whispered in my ear. He bent and kissed me full on the lips, pressing my wet face against his and sharing the tears. The slow and sensual tempo of his kiss turned urgent and deep. His hand slid down my back and under the sheet, massaging my ass and inspiring the fervor again.
I’d been with boys before; I’d been with boys I’d thought were men. But this was different. David kissed like a man. He tasted, he smelled, and he fucked like a man. It would take all the strength I had and then some.
I understood now that I was the one who would have to be strong for everyone—for David, for Bill, and for myself. It’d been unfair to ask David to be. It was onmyshoulders.
“No,” I said resolutely and pulled away, drawing the sheet over my shoulders. Looking up at him from under wet lashes, I felt small but with him, never insignificant.
“Olivia.” His tone softened, and I could see the struggle within him. “I’ve waited . . . it’s not—I know this is wrong. Don’t you think I know?” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I will be by your side every step of the way.”
“By my side?” I asked. “For what?”
“You came to my bed knowing this wasn’t a fling to me,” he said firmly.
“You knew I would,” I accused. “Has any woman ever turned you down? What choice did I really have?”
His lips thinned into a line. “Don’t pretend you didn’t choose this. You have been nothing but vague about your feelings, and I let you have that—but I was always clear about how I feel, and what last night meant to me. And if anything, I’m even more confident this morning.”
“Confident about what?”
“That you’re mine.”
I stared at him. I was . . .his. It felt true, and it could be in another life—but in this one, I already belonged to another man. “The only way this works is if I leave my husband.”
He crossed his arms. “I understand.”
“I—I . . .” Maybe he’d expected that last night, and maybe I’d let myself believe it could happen. But that didn’t mean he could snap his fingers and make it so. “You and I have known each other less than two months. We’ve spent one night together. Bill and I, we have history, years—”
“I don’t want to hear that.”
