“Be patient, Melissa,” he chides, slipping a second finger under the elastic. His fingers are thick and a little rough, and I can’t help myself—I jerk my hips again. It’s torture of the sweetest kind.
Luke must decide he’s teased me enough, because he moves his fingers out from under the waistband and puts the heel of his hand over my panties. He finds the sweet spot, right against my clit, and this time when my hips move, I get exactly the pressure I need. The tension builds in waves as I grind against his hand, reaching for something . . .
And then his hand is gone, and a few seconds later, my panties are too.
“Luke,” I plead raggedly.
His mouth replaces his hand, giving me suction and pressure and heat. The tension builds again, stronger this time, until I finally shatter.
“Fuck, you’re delicious,” he mutters, pulling himself up to lie next to me.
“Ummm,” I moan, because words are beyond me. My brain has turned into jello. Actually, my entire body is jello, and I could happily stay like this forever.
But Luke finds the foil square and rolls on the condom, and I’m suddenly inspired to open my legs. I think the missionary position is really underrated, especially when the man knows what he’s doing. I love the sensation of being underneath Luke, watching the play of his muscles as he moves in and out of me. Filling me deep. I barely have to move at all, just an instinctive flicker of my hips to make my clit brush against him as he thrusts.
I know he’s close when his breathing gets rough and hisjaw clenches. I didn’t think I’d come again, but I’m close, too. The orgasm actually hits me first, tearing through me in a long, liquid wave of pleasure. It sets Luke off, and his entire body shudders as he comes.
Afterward, we lie in bed for a while, tangled up in each other. Luke gets up to take care of the condom and turn off the light, and I’m suddenly very sleepy.
“You can be on top next time,” he tells me, as he stretches out beside me.
“Not yet,” I mumble. “I look better on the bottom.”
“What?” Luke asks, and something in his voice wakes me up. “What do you mean, Melissa?”
“Oh,” I stall. I used to love being on top, and Luke obviously remembers. But my body was different then—lithe and toned, with nothing to hide. If I rode on top now, gravity would work against me. Every jiggle and bounce would be on full display.
“Milly?” Luke reaches over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. “What do you mean?”
“I need to get in better shape first,” I reluctantly confess.
“Better shape,” Luke repeats slowly, as though he’s struggling to wrap his head around it. “You think you need to be in better shape before you go on top?”
I don’t answer right away, but I guess that’s an answer in itself.
“It’s because of Troy, isn’t it?” he says grimly.
There’s no point denying it. It wasn’t only Troy—there were others who thought I could stand to lose weight, including my own mother—but it was mostly him.
“He didn’t talk about it much, but I could tell he preferred me thinner. Like I was when we met.”
Luke takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, asthough he’s trying to get himself under control. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle. “Tell me, Melissa.”
I push out a sigh and consider where to begin. Luke wraps an arm around me and starts to stroke my back, slow and sure, and it feels incredibly good. It gives me the courage to tell him.
“Three months after I had Claire, Troy bought a treadmill. It was supposedly for both of us, but he belonged to a fancy gym near his office, so he didn’t need it. I worked really hard, but I never quite got back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Couldn’t lose the last five pounds.”
“Most women don’t.”
“In my old neighborhood, most women did. Appearances mattered a lot. And after I had Liam, it seemed even harder. And Troy . . . Troy liked to buy me lingerie, but he always bought the size that fit when we first got married. I guess he thought it would be motivational, or maybe he was just oblivious. It was expensive stuff, too, La Perla and Agent Provocateur, but I never wore it because it was too small. It’s all in a box in the back of my closet now, because I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out.”
I pause. I should stop there. No man likes to hear the details of his lover’s last relationship. But Luke’s just lying there patiently, as though he knows this is cathartic and that I’m not done.
“And when I found out about Olivia, Troy told meI’d let myself go.As though that somehow justified his affair. I wasn’t good enough, so he had to look elsewhere.”
There’s a beat of silence before Luke speaks, and when he finally does, it’s just four words. “Troy’s a fool, Melissa.”
On the face of it, it’s a relatively bland insult—Troy’s a fool—but somehow, it’s more powerful than profanity would be. It’s as though Troy’s not worth the brainpower it would take to come up with something more creative.
