Chapter 26 #2
I stand just inside her apartment, hands at my sides, suddenly unsure what to do with the freedom I’ve wanted for weeks. We’re alone. No locked office door. No hotel room purchased under an excuse. No wife waiting at home. No ring hidden in a pocket or sitting on a nightstand like a threat.
Just us.
Laurel closes the door. Locks it. Then turns around and looks at me.
“I don’t want to pretend we’re only here to talk.”
My body reacts instantly. “Laurel.”
“I want you.”
My control tightens hard. She walks toward me slowly and stops in front of me, close enough that I can see the pulse beating at the base of her throat.
“But I need it to be different,” she whispers.
My chest aches. “It is different.”
Her eyes search mine.
“I’m yours tonight because I choose to be,” she says. “Not because I’m lonely. Not because we’re hiding. Not because everything is falling apart.”
I lift my hand to her face, then stop just short of touching her.
“Can I kiss you?”
Her eyes soften. “Yes.”
I cup her cheek. Then I kiss her. It starts slow.
A brush of mouths. Then Laurel opens for me with a soft sound that breaks every careful thing I was trying to be.
Open mouth. Her tongue slides against mine, and I lose the last of my restraint with a groan that comes from somewhere too deep to control.
The kiss turns desperate in a heartbeat.
She grips the front of my shirt and pulls me closer. I back her against the door, one hand cradling her jaw, the other at her waist, and kiss her like I have been starving for the exact taste of her. Because I have. For weeks.
She moans into my mouth, and my body answers with a rush of heat so fierce it almost scares me.
I break away just enough to breathe. “Bedroom?”
“Down the hall.”
“Are you sure?”
She kisses me again, which is answer enough.
Still, I need the words.
“Laurel.”
She looks at me, breathless and flushed.
“Yes,” she says. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”
I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist like she remembers exactly where she belongs against me. The thought nearly destroys me.
I carry her down the hall, kissing her as we go. We bump into the wall once. She laughs against my mouth, and the sound rushes through me like light. Her bedroom is soft and half-unpacked. A mattress on a frame. Two nightstands that don’t match. More books. A lamp casting everything gold.
I set her down carefully and she reaches for the buttons of my shirt. I catch her hands.
Her brows draw together. “What?”
I lift her fingers to my mouth and kiss them. One by one.
“I don’t want to rush.”
Her throat moves. “We don’t have to.”
“I have wanted you every second since I last touched you.”
“Me too.”
“But tonight…” I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “Tonight I want to remember all of it.”
Her eyes fill and she blinks quickly.
“Don’t make me cry before sex. That’s rude.”
A laugh breaks out of me. Then I kiss her again, softer this time. The kind of kiss that turns heat into ache.
We undress each other without hurry. Her fingers slide over my chest as my shirt falls open. Mine trace the curve of her shoulders as her dress slips down her body. Every inch revealed feels like a gift I have no intention of taking lightly.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
Her smile wobbles. “You’ve said that before.”
“I’ll say it again.”
“Do you want this life?” she asks. “Not the secret one. Not the affair. Not the adrenaline and locked doors. This. Dinner. Apartments. Work in separate places. Hard conversations. People judging us. Me possibly stealing your product ideas from across enemy lines.”
Despite everything, my mouth curves. “You wouldn’t steal.”
“No. But I’d improve them in ways that hurt your feelings.”
“That sounds more likely.”
Her hands tighten slightly. “Sin.”
I look at her. There’s only one answer.
“Yes,” I say. “I want this life. With you.”
Then she kisses me again.
The last of my clothes hit the floor. So do hers.
When I lay her back on the bed, there is no guilt in the room.
Here, there is only Laurel beneath me, her hands sliding over my shoulders, my mouth at her throat, the soft hitch of her breath when my palm moves over her breast. Her body warms under mine.
Opens. Her nails drag lightly down my back, and I shudder.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
“I missed you too.”
My mouth moves down her body. I take my time because I can. By the time I settle between her thighs, she’s trembling.
Then I enter her slowly. Her mouth falls open beneath mine, and I kiss the sound from her lips as I sink into her inch by inch. The heat of her around me is enough to make my arms shake. When I’m fully inside, I stop and rest my forehead against hers.
I start to move. Slow at first. Then deeper.
She wraps around me, hands in my hair, legs around my waist, mouth open against mine as if breathing has become something we have to share.
Every stroke feels like a promise I do not know how to make with words yet.
So I make it with my body. With my hands.
With my mouth. With the way I look at her and don’t look away.
She comes quietly at first, then all at once, breaking against me with my name caught in her throat. I hold her through it, watching her face, memorizing the way she looks when pleasure and feeling become the same thing.
I don’t last long after that. My release hits deep and slow and devastating, tearing through me until I bury my face against her neck and shake with it. For a long time, we stay tangled together. My body over hers. Her fingers in my hair. Our breathing uneven.
Eventually, I lift my head. Her eyes are closed, but tears rest at her temples. I brush one away with my thumb.
“Laurel.”
She opens her eyes.
“I love you,” I say.
Her face softens in a way that nearly breaks me.
“I love you too,” she whispers.
I kiss her again. And for the first time, there is no locked door between us and the truth.