Chapter 9
Sabrina
I need a minute to understand what just happened. To breathe and think and plan.
What now?
I know I’ll have to come out eventually. As soon as I figure out the answer to what now?
What if sex muddies an already complex situation?
How could it not, when every part of me reacted to Dexter in ways I didn’t realize were possible?
I’ve never experienced a connection so complete, unable to distinguish where my body ended and his began.
The physical reaction is only the surface.
I’m brimming with unnamable, unrecognizable, overwhelming emotions.
Tonight changes everything. Breaks down borders between a favor and an obligation, between friends and lovers, between living with Dexter and risking our relationship.
Risking my heart.
That’s what it comes down to. Our physical connection is shaking me to the core.
Loving a friend is one thing; realizing my heart is as ready to submit to him as my body is?
That’s something else altogether. The thought of surrendering to passion and risking a lifetime of friendship twists my insides.
What if these turbulent feelings threaten the stability of our relationship?
No. Never. I won’t risk my relationship with Dexter.
I’d never recover from losing him.
I can’t take another hit.
A soft knock pauses my deep dive into an ocean of panic.
“Open up, Sabrina.” His familiar voice is laced with worry. “Let me in, please.”
“Yeah, um, give me a second. I’m just washing up,” I respond, trying to sound normal before I throw water on my face. The mirror shows the evidence of our lust, my skin marked by the red flowers of his greedy kisses. I attempt to cover my body with a towel before opening the door.
He’s standing outside, boxers carelessly pulled low and failing to hide the enticing arrow of manly hipbones. It is a monumental effort not to stare at his bulge.
“Are you OK?”
Blue eyes roam my body and stop at a mark I couldn’t hide. Dex steps forward and moves my hair back to expose another hickey.
He gently tugs at the towel, which I let fall.
I stand before my husband naked, vulnerable, and marked. Instead of shying away, my body reacts to his gaze—puckering my nipples, tingling the soreness at my core, stealing my breath. Maybe I shouldn’t be turned on by his concerned scrutiny, but Dexter’s attention is impossible to dismiss.
It’s like a wordless declaration: you’re mine to take, to look at, to worry over, to care for.
Warm, gentle hands encircle my waist. “Sabrina, did I hurt you?”
His voice is low and tormented.
No, he’s got it all wrong.
“I’m not hurt. Not at all.”
His brows furrow. “But I lost control, and that’s not OK.” He steps closer, cradling my cheek against his palm while he presses a soft kiss to my temple. I turn my head to kiss his hand.
“I swear I’m not hurt. I just needed a minute because tonight . . . tonight was a lot.”
He tightens his arms around me and kisses my neck, my jaw, my lips. I open to take more of him, but he pulls away, keeping the kiss chaste.
“Tonight was everything,” he whispers cryptically.
Is this a good time to ask what now? Probably. But I’m not ready for the answer. Instead, I turn away and absentmindedly wash my hands again.
“I should, um, clean up. Gotta pee after sex. That’s, like, a rule. It washes the urethra, or you know, whatever is, er, there to avoid bladder infections.”
I’m rambling about gynecological care? Really?
He chuckles. “Does it now? Take your time. I just wanted to make sure you’re good, Baby Brie.”
His hand moves up and down my back. I can’t help warming to his soothing tone.
Dex is always considerate, caring, and generous. He’s also the most amazing lover I’ll ever have.
It’s awfully inconvenient when a marriage of convenience doesn’t go as planned. I didn’t expect one night with him to be more passionate than all my previous sexual encounters combined.
“Yes, thanks. I’ll be out in a minute,” I state casually, as if I’m not completely freaking out.
Alone again, I make quick work of washing up. All my clothes are in a duffel bag outside the bathroom. I quietly peek out the door.
Dexter’s outline is on the bed, facing the middle, arms outstretched like an invitation. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and steady.
Seeing him completely knocked out unleashes a flood of affection.
I’m also relieved. Skipping the what now conversation is a Christmas miracle.
After getting into pajamas, I kneel in the middle of the mattress and carefully pull at the bedding from his heels to bring the blanket higher to his thighs and over an impossibly muscular torso. Staring at Dex’s serene beauty, I touch the strand of hair that flops over his smooth forehead.
His granite jaw, scruffy against my fingers as I cradle his cheeks, represents both strength and vulnerability. I’m holding Dex’s face as he sleeps, loose jawed and trusting.
My lips graze where my hands have been. Knowing I can do that—kiss Dex simply because I feel like it—overwhelms me.
One night with my husband has ruined me for anyone else.