Chapter 27 #2
A low groan punches the air as he takes in the sheer lace at my thighs.
All restraint dissolves around us. My core clenches, and my chest vibrates with anticipation.
He closes his eyes for one brief second; fingers twitching, aching to move.
Instead, he keeps them on my knees, slowly inching them apart.
My fingers find the heat between my legs, and I hum with pleasure.
“Are you wet?”
“Soaking.” The word barely makes it past my throat.
When I touch myself, the sensation shoots through me.
This rhythm I know by heart, this dance I’ve performed countless times with his name on my lips, his face behind my closed eyes.
But now he’s here. Watching. His hands grip my knees, knuckles white, battling the effort of staying still when everything in him wants to reach for me.
Our breathing—mine shallow, his ragged—is the only noise in the room.
I pick up the pace, hips rocking, building toward release.
When I shatter, it’s with his name caught between my teeth.
Pleasure crashes over me, fast and relentless.
James’s grip tightens. A sharp breath drags from him.
I bite my bottom lip, willing myself to stay quiet until the trembling stops. My head falls back. Jaw goes slack.
He catches my hand, brings it to his mouth, and tastes the pleasure coating each finger. His tongue traces their outlines with something approaching worship before he presses my palm to his chest, over the wild drumbeat of his heart.
“God, I’ve fucking missed you.” He rests his forehead against mine.
“Me too.” I exhale, and because my mind is fried, I ask without thinking, “Do you… think of me when you’re… with her?”
“No.” His face is serious, and my heart stops. “Because I haven’t touched her in a year.”
“You… what? Why?”
His fingers brush back a lock of hair. “You were always there. Forefront of my mind.”
I close my eyes, overwhelmed by all of it. This confession. What just transpired. Jules’s words from our call: he’s heartbroken, going through the motions, only with her to not lose connection to me. It all circles and prods the walls that have been crumbling all night.
“It’s been torture only hearing scraps from my mom.”
“She’s still arriving tomorrow?” I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Yeah, she is.” His voice comes out weary, tinged with the crushing reality of this week. “I think she’s more excited to see you than me.”
“We both need some rest. People start arriving early, and it’s already so late.”
James reaches for me, reeling me back into his body, his fingers brushing back my hair, holding me at the base of my neck—unwilling to let me go.
“I promise I’m not running,” I thread my fingers through the scruff of his beard, memorizing the feeling of him. “I’ve thought about us nonstop.”
“I’m still here, Sydney. This—coming here—was the only way I could see you.
You didn’t answer any of my texts. I didn’t know what else to do.
I know how this looks, especially with..
. what’s supposed to happen in a few days.
” His lips ghost over my neck, only a feather of touch below my ear.
“But I don’t feel any different than I did last year.
I want to leave here with you. You. Me. Anna.
That is the only outcome I want at the end of this week. ”
“Not a day’s gone by that I haven’t wished I’d heard you. That I’d listened, on New Year’s.”
James exhales a breath of relief, as though the air has been stuck in his chest for a year. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, processing my confession.
I should feel guilty.
He’s supposed to marry Ivy in a few days. I’m still married to Mason, even if we haven’t slept together in a year, we’re still married. Pretty sure masturbating in front of another man crosses the vow to be faithful. I’m well beyond that. Infidelity started long ago, even if we’ve never kissed.
But the only thing I feel is contentment. Because he’s here. And I’m finally listening.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I slip down the hall and fall into my cold bed.
When I drift off, it’s to dreams of green eyes, whispered confessions, and a love as clear and constant as moonlight.
I sleep soundly until a sudden weight presses against me.
Little hands creep toward my ribs. I wait for her to get close enough and strike.
I flip Anna onto the bed and attack her with tickles.
She shrieks with laughter, her tiny hands pushing at mine—joy in its purest form.
“Mama! Noooo!” she wails through her giggles.
Mason stands in the doorway, watching, his face carefully blank.
He could be observing a piece of art or a basketball game for all I could tell.
I don’t know if he wants to join, or if he even knows how.
He’s never been able to surrender to these simple joys with Anna.
Not the way she needs. Not the way she deserves.
“Sorry to wake you.” He inclines his head politely and sets their bags down. “But it’s getting late. People will be arriving soon. Have fun at the party?”
“I was up late… cleaning. The party was fine. You know how those things are.”
He nods, but doesn’t comment.
Anna snuggles into me, her soft curls tickling my skin, her pert little nose brushing my cheek. Every part of her wrapped around me, trusting completely.
The weight of the choice settles deep in my body.
Loving James, choosing him, has never been the question. The choice I have to make is letting go of the damage left behind by my parents, who chose their happiness over their child.
Facing my fears of repeating their mistakes.
That’s what I’ve been battling since I saw those positive pregnancy tests.
Because if I leave Mason, I’ll have to share Anna. I won’t get every holiday. I won’t be the one who tucks her in every night or wakes to her sleepy smile every morning. I won’t always be there to kiss scraped knees or chase away bad dreams.
And that thought cuts me clean through.
I know what it means to grow up wondering if you were the reason someone left. And that fear—Anna feeling my loss, associating it with me leaving her father—is the kind of pain I have to be willing to risk. I press my lips to Anna’s curls, hoping her steady breath might hold the answer.