When she finally spoke, so did he. “I should go—”
“Do you want to watch another—?”
They both laughed. “What did you say?” he asked.
“Just that I should probably go to bed.”
“Oh. You’re tired?”
“I’m not tired. I was…What were you saying?” she asked.
“Just…” His hand fell to her waist, reaching out for the bottom hem of her shirt. He leaned closer, his eyes trained on the maroon fabric caught between his fingers.
She should go into her room. She should close the door behind her and go to bed. Her brain swirled with “shoulds,” but she couldn’t make her feet move away from him, trapped in his gravitational pull.
“We should—”
“Lainey, I…” He trailed off, his voice thick.
His eyes drifted up to hers. She stepped closer without thinking, his locking gaze like the tug of a string. With each of her footfalls, he drew her backward into his room until suddenly they were beside his bed where the air was warm and time was slow. Her pulse pounded in her ears, waiting for this man—her husband—to do…something.
“Elliot, you…” When she spoke he dropped his head to her shoulder, like being both this close and this far was physically painful. He let out a deep, deliberate breath that skimmed down her spine, hot and precise as a finger. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest and pulsed in her hands. “You said that you and I…you said we can’t—”
“I know what I said.”
He lifted his forehead to hers. Their breaths came in shallow waves, drawing them together and apart.
“I just—I need…” His voice fell away, replaced by his hands. They swept up the sides of her arms and all the way into her hair, his fingers flexing among the strands. “I don’t know if I can do this much longer.”
The words tightened in her body like a coiled spring.
“Do what?” Her hand pressed against the hard lines of his stomach—a bald contradiction to her innocent question.
“Pretend I don’t want you.”
Her breath hitched. Her limbs went loose and weightless. His bedroom wall was the only thing holding her upright. That and the hand gently tugging at her hair and the thigh creeping between her legs. She was surrounded by the sight of Elliot and the scent of her soap on his skin.
“God, Lainey.” He sighed her name into her cheek like it was something forbidden.
“What if we just did this once?” She hardly recognized her own voice. It was breathy and desperate. “I’m guessing that wouldn’t be smart, huh?”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” he answered through a strangled throat. “But I’m starting to think I’m not that smart.”
Her thoughts scrambled as their mouths caught for an instant—like each was waiting for the other to come to their senses. But his mouth opened for her at the first slide of her tongue. Like he’d known. Like he’d hoped that they would be this comfortable. This in sync immediately.
He let out a soft, bitten-off groan into her mouth, as if she was simply too much to take, while his hands traveled her body with a firm touch. He was sculpting her between his palms, like she was a work of art he wanted to live inside.
His lips traversed her jaw, her ear, her neck with smooth, languid sweeps against her skin that sent tiny rivulets of desire through her abdomen, building until her need for him poured out of her like water. Their bodies crashed, a collision of waves, as he pressed himself so tightly against her that she could no longer tell what feeling belonged to her or him.
When she couldn’t bear the slow agony a second longer, she took his hand and guided it under her shirt. Newly calloused fingers scraped up her soft belly, sweeping under the swell of her breasts. He groaned into her lips, hot and feral, as though the feel of her alone was everything and not nearly enough, all at once. It made her crazy. It made her want more. So much of their relationship was like that—trying to best each other. She should’ve known they’d be that way in this, too.
He moved against her with care and confidence. He knew she liked what he was doing because he’d made it a point to notice what she liked. She wanted to be closer. She wantedhim. Lainey was beginning to worry that she’d never get enough of him.
“Elliot, please,” she whispered against his throat. “Just this once.”
“You sure?” he asked. He pulled back to look at her, his eyes darting all over her face like a polygraph.
She nodded, but nothing changed. He continued to look at her, the silence pressing against her chest until she could no longer bear it. “I’m sure. Trust me.”
