3. Georgina #2
Max mentions a difficult session, and I start to offer an opinion before wondering whether he’ll hear advice from someone who knows his riding or encouragement from his wife, safely inside the house.
I used to have something to give him in those moments. But I just don’t know how to make him remember it when he’s so occupied with making sure I’m all right.
Truth is, I miss feeling like his partner. Lately, I feel more like a patient he loves very much, someone to settle comfortably before he returns to the rest of his life.
How do I explain that without making his care sound like something I resent?
“I’m not trying to spoil it.” The chain catches around my finger, and I ease it loose carefully, grateful for a moment in which I don’t have to look at him. I lay the clasp beside the chain and sit back. “Yesterday mattered to me.”
“I didn’t say you were.” He rubs a hand over his face, and I notice how tired he looks now that we’ve stopped teasing each other. His shoulders have dropped, and there’s a crease beside his mouth I want to smooth with my thumb. “But I can’t leave everything every morning.”
“Yes, yes I know… I wasn’t asking you to.” I pull at the hem of my dress where it’s trapped beneath my thigh. “I was asking when we could have another day together.”
“Soon, okay?” He reaches to help free the fabric, then rests his hand at my waist again. “Right now, focus on recovery. I don’t want you getting up because you think you have to keep me company. Just sleep. Have your breakfast. I’ll come back when I’m finished.”
I look at him, trying to find an answer that won’t turn his kindness into another disagreement. He knows I’ve been sleeping badly. From where he’s sitting, he’s giving me permission to rest, taking away an obligation I don’t need.
Except I liked having reasons to get up. I liked being expected somewhere, having an opinion he needed before he made a decision.
Max brushes my hair off my shoulder, letting it fall down my back. I almost ask what time he expects to be finished, but I can already imagine him looking toward the clock again, calculating. I don’t want him to give me an hour he’ll struggle to keep.
“Right…” I tuck my feet beneath me and settle farther onto the bed, hoping the movement will make me look more comfortable than I feel. “I’ll see you afterward.”
His hand slows against my arm.
“Come here.” He draws me toward him, his arm closing around my shoulders, and I let myself settle against his chest. “You’ve had your mother picking at you all evening. No wonder.”
My mouth opens against his shirt, but I don’t correct him again. I’ve already told him I wasn’t talking about her. I don’t have the energy to work out how much of this belongs to her and how much will still be here after she leaves.
For now, his arms are around me. I shift until my cheek rests comfortably against him and let my hands unfold between us. He kisses my hair, then rubs slowly down my back, and I breathe more deeply than I have since dinner.
This helps. I wish it helped enough.
I can hear his heartbeat beneath my cheek and feel the warmth of his palm through my dress.
“Don’t disappear on me, okay?” His fingers slip beneath my chin, lifting my face until I’m looking at him. “I’ve only just got you upstairs.”
“I’m here.” I rest my hand against his chest, feeling his breath move beneath it.
“Mhm, I know.” His mouth curves, tentative enough that I understand he’s trying to coax me back. “I’d like you to look pleased about it.”
I try to smile for him. It comes more easily when he leans closer, his gaze dropping to my mouth, and I feel the familiar stir of wanting him before I’ve decided whether I’m ready to stop being hurt.
“There’s my princess.” His thumb brushes the corner of my lips. “The woman who beat an undefeated champion on a borrowed horse and rode away without telling him her name.”
“You were very sure of yourself. Someone has to humble you every once in a while.” I let my fingers move to the open edge of his collar.
Remembering him that morning still brings back the urge to wipe the confidence off his face, followed almost immediately by the pleasure of discovering how much I liked his attention.
“Well, I wanted to impress you.” His hand slides to the back of my neck, warm beneath my hair. “And you made it unnecessarily difficult.”
“You survived.” I straighten a fold in his collar, though I’m certain I put it there myself.
“Barely.” He leans close enough that his nose brushes mine. “Then you stood in your mother’s sitting room pretending you’d never seen me before. I spent the whole visit wondering what it would take to get you alone.”
The memory draws a real smile from me. I’d tried so hard to avoid looking at him, only to find his eyes waiting whenever I gave in. My mother had been delighted by how quietly I sat through the visit. She’d mistaken my determination not to rise to his teasing for manners, and I’d let her.
“You were a terrible guest.” I smooth my hand over his shoulder, lingering there. “I kept wondering what you were going to say.”
“And you kept looking at me.” He catches my hand and brings it against his chest, holding it beneath his. “You’re doing it now.”
I am. I’m looking at the mouth I’ve wanted since long before I admitted I liked him, at the small crease beside his eyes that deepens when I make him laugh.
He’s so close that I can feel his breath against my lips, and I want him to kiss me badly enough to resent the part of me still waiting to be understood.
His lips touch mine softly. I close my eyes and let my hand settle against his neck, feeling the slight roughness beneath my fingers. He kisses me again, lingering this time, and the relief is almost embarrassing.
For these few seconds, I don’t have to wonder whether I’ve asked for too much.
He’s drawing me closer of his own accord, his hand spread against my back. I don’t know whether he means the kiss as reassurance or simply wants to kiss his wife. I want both badly enough that I stop trying to tell the difference.
When he begins to pull away, my fingers tighten on his collar before I can stop them. He pauses at once, remaining close.
“Elle?” His thumb moves over my cheek, and I open my eyes to find him watching me, waiting to see what I need.
The question brings a sting to my throat. I could try again now. I could ask him to listen while I stumble through the parts I haven’t managed to say. He might understand this time, or he might hold me just as gently while telling me why I don’t need to worry.
But I’m tired of hearing how reasonable it all is and still feeling hurt.
“Kiss me again…” I draw him closer, letting him feel the invitation in my hand because this, at least, I know how to ask for.
His fingers tighten at my waist. When his mouth returns to mine, I meet him without hesitation, pressing closer until there’s no space left between us. The ache hasn’t gone, but I can hold on to him now, and for tonight I let that be enough.
But I don’t want soft. I don’t want careful.
I want my husband, the one who used to make me late for everything, who used to look at me as if I was someone worth chasing.
I catch the front of his shirt and pull him harder against me.
He smiles against my mouth, and I kiss the smile before he can say anything pleased with himself.
For once he isn’t watching for a sign that I’m hurt, or tired, or about to need something he doesn’t know how to give me. He’s here because he wants to be, and I can feel myself beginning to trust that. God, I want to trust it.
“Wait…” I pull back just enough to speak, my hands still twisted in his shirt. “I need to know this isn’t just because I’m upset.”
“It’s not.” He brushes my hair out of the way so he can see my face. “Elle, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I walked into dinner and saw you give your mother that look. The one that says you’re going to be perfectly polite while thinking extremely impolite things.”
“I was thinking very impolite things.” I straighten the collar I’ve just crumpled, trying to look more dignified than I feel. “Mostly about how long dinner was going to take.”
“See, that’s what I mean.” He catches my hand and presses his lips to my palm. “That. The way you think. The way you say exactly what you’re thinking and dare anyone to argue. Do you know how rare that is?”
“Rare enough to make up for calling you an amateur?” I tilt my head, enjoying the way his smile falters at the reminder. Apparently there are wounds even a champion can’t recover from.
“Nothing makes up for that.” But he’s smiling, and when he kisses me again, it feels like coming home. “And I dare you to call me an amateur once I’m done with you tonight.”
He reaches past me to switch off the lamp. I catch his hand before he can draw away.
“Leave it,” I say against his mouth. “I want to see you.”
There is a shift in his face. Hunger, finally unhidden. His hand slides from my cheek into my hair and closes, not enough to hurt, enough to tilt my head the way he wants it.
“Then look at me,” he says, low. “Don’t close your eyes. Don’t hide. If you want me, you take all of me. Not the careful version.”
“Yes.” It comes out too fast, too honest. “Please.”
Max kisses me as if he’s been waiting all night to ruin me. Open-mouthed, deep, his tongue sliding against mine until I make a sound I don’t recognize.
His other hand finds the small of my back and pulls, grinding me against the hard line of him through his trousers. I gasp into his mouth. He swallows it and does it again, slower, making me feel every inch of what he’s been holding back.
“What would your mother say if she knew how you were looking at me right now, huh, princess?” His mouth curves as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “After all that effort teaching you to behave.”
“She’d blame you.” Heat rises into my face, but I keep my hand steady. “For once, she’d have a point.”