The fabric glides against my abdomen, and the cool air brushes my bare skin as he pushes up my shirt, past my belly button, coming to a stop just under mybreasts.
I suck in a breath and turn my head. I don't want to see his face. What if he hates what he sees? He was with Jenna, perfection personified. I’m certain she doesn't have a dimple on her ass, let alone crepey skin on herstomach.
“Aubrey." He breathes my name and I look. His hand dangles out over my stomach. His eyebrows are raised, asking permission. I meet his gaze and nod. When his hand touches my stomach, I feel more than just it’swarmth.
“You're as beautiful right now as you were the night we met." His hand runs in a circle, searing heat over myskin.
“Of course.” I sit up, and Isaac's hand drops from my stomach. My shirt falls back into place. Everything is as it was before. Except for Isaac. He hasn't moved. He's still between mylegs.
I bite my lower lip and close my eyes. Isaac's nearness is almost too much to take. I can smell him, if I squeezed my thighs together I'd capture hiswaist.
With a gentle push, he lowers me back down on the counter. My eyes open when his hand releases the back of my head and I watch him lift my shirt again. He leans down, kisses my belly button, then branches out, working in a semi-circle. His fluttery kisses descend, until his mouth is at the top of my hipbone. He nips my skin and goosebumps cover my arms. His fingers meet the waistband of my pants, one finger running the length, from hip bone to hipbone.
My hands are in his hair, the urgent sound of my zipper competes for space with the sound of heavy breaths. I look down, and he looks up, the stubble on his chin grazing my tender skin. It's just like it was the last time, our only time. He stands, lifting my butt off the counter with one hand, then starts to ease my jeans off my hips. I wiggle to help him, and he smiles down tome.
A faraway yell pierces the thick, lusty kitchenair.
Everything pauses. My jeans, halfway down my hips, the peek of lavender lace, the rush ofblood.
Isaac helps me up, then off thecounter.
“I—” My hand comes to rest on hisshoulder.
"It's OK. Go check on her." He adjusts himself through his shorts and clears his throat with a shallow, embarrassedsound.
When I reach Claire, she's already fallen back to sleep. Her rhythmic breath is deep, her lower lip slack. I lean in close to her face, feel the short stream of warm air touch my cheek, then back away so I don't disturbher.
I could go back out there. We could pick up where we leftoff.
The wall holds my weight as I sag against it. My heart thunders in my chest. I'm not sure if the adrenaline is from what I was doing with Isaac or from hurrying toClaire.
Either way, the spell has beenbroken.
I lie down beside Claire, careful not to jostle her casted arm. Streams of moonlight give off enough light that after a few moments of my eyes adjusting, I can see her profile. Her pert nose. Eyes the same color and shape as herfather's.
Tears stream sideways into the pillow, and an ache starts behind my forehead. I don't know why I'm crying. It happens sometimes when I spend too long staring at my daughter. Maybe I should see a therapistagain.
Or maybe I should go back out there and let Isaac be mytherapy.
Instead, I close myeyes.
It’s good things didn't go any further tonight. This is one relationship I can't afford to fuckup.
Last night...
I roll over and close my eyes. I don't want to be awake yet. I want to envision what could have happened if Claire hadn’t yelled out. If Aubrey hadn’t fallen asleep in Claire’sbed.
She was relaxed. Her walls were down. She was sweet and sensual. She wantedme.
I love seeing her like that. It's a welcome change from her usual front of self-possession.
She'll blame it on the tequila. I know she will. It’s an easytarget.
The sunlight peeks in through my curtains, and one of Aubrey's hairs shines on my sheets. It must have hitched a ride on my shirt, because she sure as hell wasn’t in my bed. I pick it up, let it dangle from my fingertips before I drop it onto the floor. Outside my door I hear a giggle, then a shushingsound.
It's Saturday, but that means nothing to me. I don't sleep in. I throw back my covers and stand, ignoring the strain against the front of my shorts, and go turn on theshower.
When I get out, I feel more prepared for the day. Less affected by thoughts of lastnight.
