"Good morning, beautiful." His voice is raspy and dripping with sleep. It makes my heart flutter. The warmness with which he looks at me causes butterflies in the pit of my stomach. He had a long night, climbing into bed after two a.m. Co is the kind of person whose mind will not shut off until everything he plans to do is done. It is a trait I both admire and loathe. It gives me less of him and more of a cold bed.
I move closer to kiss his cheek. "Morning, babe." I run my fingers through his hair. It's long enough to tug on, but short enough not to be unruly. My heart skips a beat at the dent in his left cheek, and the way he hugs his pillow slightly closer, the taut muscles on his arms a distraction. He pulls me close to him, pressing a kiss to my forehead as his hands reach behind me to grab my ass. The heady closeness of him makes me want to stay in bed.
“I’ve gotta get up,” I moan into his neck.
The closer we get, the farther away I seem to be. I've tried to understand it. This shift in me, but it makes no sense, none at all. It's like I'm in a constant battle within myself.
His hands stroke the curve of my waist, massaging my pelvic bone in a way he knows drives me crazy. I throw my head back and bite my lower lip as his long fingers on my skin send welcome tingles between my thighs.Stay in the moment. Stay in the moment.He sucks on my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a way I'm sure will leave a hickey. He likes that, the knowledge that the world will know he owns every inch of me. And then the spell breaks, the voices that plague me winning.
“I gotta get the kids ready for school.”
"Not right now, you don't."
“Cohen.” I love his attention. I crave it. But it terrifies me.
He gives me one more squeeze and relents. "You're killing me." He turns onto his back, one hand over his face.
I push off my blanket, climbing out of bed. After stretching out the kinks in my body, I slip my feet into my favorite pink, fluffy slippers and wrap my nightgown around me. The en-suite door clicks closed behind me. I scrunch my nose at the mirror above the double basin, reflecting the dreadful state of my hair. It amazes me how Co never seems to notice. He still looks at me like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world. He still wants me, and sometimes I have to admit that I don't deserve any of it. Not with the way my emotions tug me in different directions.
I pull my long, auburn hair into a top knot and brush my teeth quickly. I smile at my reflection, making sure my teeth glisten before I undress and step into the shower. The warm water soothes my muscles, and I tip my head back and let it cascade over my body. I hear the shower door open and close, and I keep my eyes shut. He wraps his arms around my waist, his erection pressing into my back.
“You’re fucking perfect.” His voice is filled with lust. I rest my head against his chest and let him cup and knead my breasts. A moan escapes my lips. “I’ll be quick.” he promises.
“Cohen.” My voice is low and breathy.
One hand trails down my stomach until he's cupping my sex. He slips a finger inside me, and I'm like putty in his hands, my mind fighting, my body bowing. Cohen never takes no for an answer. I let out a moan when he starts to rub my clit, giving in, losing my inhibitions as if they were never there. I tip my head against his chest, and let him claim my mouth. His kiss is hard, punishing. He drives his tongue into my mouth. He doesn't stop his torture between my legs, and I cry out an orgasm as he pinches my clit.
He withdraws his fingers and turns me around, pressing my back against the tiles. I am a full head shorter than he is, and when I look up at him, his eyes burn with a hunger only fucking me can satisfy. I trail my hand down his chest and wrap my fingers around his length, pumping the way he likes, and he throws his head back. “Just like that.” He growls, as he grips the back of my neck.
"I want you now, Co," I say. He looks down at me, lifting me into his arms, my legs wrapping around him. I gasp at the feel of him pushing into me. I sink my nails into the flesh of his back, eliciting an animalistic groan. Cohen plunges into me, my back slapping against the tiles and I can’t mute the moans of pleasure the brutal force of his thrusts bring me.I know. I know. I know.Turning rigid in his arms, the orgasm that felt like heaven suddenly feels like hell. The voice in my head screams to me that this is all wrong. This is all wrong.
“Cohen.” I hiss. His name falls from my lips like a curse.
He feels it too, yet he drives into me one more time, anger and disappointment in his fiery gaze, and then he empties himself inside me. “You are mine, Sin. You will always be mine.” He hisses the words in my ear.
I loathe the way my mind betrays me yet again.
I'm breathless when he sets me on my feet, my legs shaking. He turns away, his shoulders tense as he leans against the wall, barely able to contain his anger. It ripples over him, and falls off him, enveloping us both in it. I rinse off without a word and exit the bathroom, leaving this moment in that little glass box. This is our life now. We live from moment to moment. We hold on, because what else do we have if we let go? I don’t know what changed us, but something did.
I knock at Willow's bedroom door. The buzz of the hairdryer is a familiar sound these days.
“A few more minutes,” she shouts over the noise. These days my daughter is up at the crack of dawn, drying her hair, picking the perfect outfit.
When did she grow up and leave behind the Disney T-shirts and tutus?
I suppose I should be grateful she still likes her father and me. When I listen to some of the mother’s talking at the PTA meetings, I’m horrified at the distance that seems to exist between them and their kids once the teen years come around.
Willow is fourteen, but she still looks forward to our shopping days and bake nights. I’ve had to stop cutting her sandwiches into shapes. Goodbye, dolphin cheese toast, and butterfly baloney.
These are things our youngest, Gracie, enjoys now. My sweet Gracie Jo. I walk down the hall to the pink door, opening it slowly. Gracie is half off her princess bed. Pink lace curtains hang over the white four-poster. A mural of Anna and Elsa fromFrozendominates one wall. I step over dolls and Legos, grateful when I don’t get one stuck in my foot. Those things are the devil, tiny slices of hell.
I move aside her curtains and place her back onto the bed. I push aside her dark hair from her sweet little face and smile at the childish innocence only a six-year-old can have. Gracie started a half day preparatory school this year. It was hard to let her go initially, but I know she needs to be around children her age.
An hour later, I'm throwing Willow's tomato and cheese sandwiches, a bran muffin, and a banana into her lunch bag. Gracie's little Frozen tote is packed with the same contents and a juice box.
Willow bounds down the staircase, grabbing her lunch off the counter, then starts toward the door. She shouts goodbye in passing.
"No breakfast?" I call after her.
