Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
What was I going to say? What could I offer her?
She deserved more than I could promise. She had a different dream for the future. Her roots were planted here, and she wanted to stay and see them grow. My heart ached for her—I didn’t see how she could hang on to this place—and I was fucking furious that Bob Oliver might get his win after all. And those anguished sobs . . . I wanted nothing more than to bust through this door and put my arms around her. Comfort her. Take care of her.
But what could I do? Make a promise I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep? Risk hurting her down the road? I believed in playing fair—I prided myself on it. She’d told me from the very beginning what she wanted, and it wasn’t what I wanted.
Stillness wasn’t my thing.
And I’d once promised her I’d never tell anyone I loved her and then leave.
Lowering my hand, I backed away from the bathroom door.
When she came out of the bathroom, I went in. We slipped past each other without saying a word. By the time I entered the bedroom, the lights were out, and I could barely make out the shape of her beneath the covers.
Chest tight, I undressed down to my boxer briefs in the darkness and crawled between the sheets. Lying on my back without touching her, I stared at the ceiling. She was on her side facing away from me.
“Lexi?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Is this okay?”
“Is what okay?”
“Me sleeping in here. Would you prefer I went out to the couch?”
“It’s fine. You can stay in here.”
It wasn’t long before I heard a sniffle. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard as I heard her trying to weep silently. Did she want me to touch her? Should I keep my hands to myself? What were the rules in this strange in-between space?
Finally, I couldn’t stand it. I rolled toward her and put my arm over her waist.
She rolled toward me and came into my arms as if by magnetic force. Pressed close, she cried quietly into my chest while I stroked her hair and her back. “I’m sorry,” she said between pitiful little sobs that put my heart in a vise. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this to you. It’s not fair.”
“I don’t mind. And I understand. I just . . . wish I could make it better.”
“I wish you could too.”
A couple minutes went by, and her tears stopped. Her breathing evened out. I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep when she spoke again. “What should I do about the renovation? Halt the progress and sell? Pay back the loan?”
I swallowed hard. “Probably. That’s the most practical solution.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Gran.”
“When you’re ready, I’ll deal with Jennifer Bates and the investors.”
“Thank you.” Her fingers brushed back and forth on my chest. “We made a good team for a while, didn’t we?”
“We sure did.”
She pressed her lips to my collarbone. “I’m not sorry.”
“Me neither.” My cock was thickening, heat surging through me. Would I be a total dick for touching her the way I wanted to?
“Guess we need to get divorced now.”
“Probably.”
Unbelievably, her hand started to wander down my body, over my hip, until her fingers edged inside my briefs. She wrapped around my erection. “I know this is wrong,” she whispered, slipping my flesh through her fist. “But I want to feel like your wife one last time.”
“Who says it’s wrong?” My breath quickened.
I tried not to think about the phrase one last time as I pulled off her T-shirt. As she tugged my briefs down my legs. As I feasted on her breasts. As she moved her mouth up and down my cock. As I groaned with agonized desire.
As I buried my tongue in her pussy. As I heard her sigh with rapture. As I settled my weight between her thighs. As I slowly eased inside her, inch by torturous inch, taking my time, savoring every second. As I watched her lips fall open and murmur my name. As I began to move in tandem with the lift of her hips, our bodies undulating like waves on the sea. As I thrust as deeply as I possibly could, until she cried out with pain or pleasure or both. As I fought the urge to plunge harder and faster, because then it would be over, and I wanted this to last.
But it couldn’t. The heat and the friction and the scent of her skin and the desperate need to pour myself inside her and feel her body grasping mine like it would never let go overwhelmed me.
She cried out repeatedly—yes, yes, yes—her hands gripping my ass, pulling me in tight as she thrust up beneath me. I let go, losing myself inside her.
One last time.