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“I’m going to find Danny,” I say, marching off toward the gym, pumped up on determination to get some answers. I fling the door open, making it crash into the plaster behind it. “Oh,” I say, surprised to find him wide awake in the middle of some bench presses.
He rests the bar in the holder, using his stomach muscles to sit up, every one of them glistening and rippling as he rises to sit. My mind turns to mush.
Sex. On. Legs.
Then I remember why I’m here. I just don’t know which grievance to begin with. “James is making Pearl take Fury to town.”
He grabs a towel and wipes his brow, one eyebrow arched. “Morning, baby,” he says quietly. “Sleep well?”
What a stupid question. Neither of us are sleeping well at the moment. We’re lucky if we sleep at all. I smile sweetly. “Morning, dear. Now answer my question.”
Danny rises from his ass, giving me his full physique in all its sweaty glory. His black shorts hang low on his hips. His thigh muscles swell. I’m close to dribbling.
Never gets old.
He’s a fine specimen.
And currently horny as hell. And I’m unable to sate his needs.
I rip my longing eyes away from his beautiful body and find his face. Dripping. His icy eyes are narrowed to slits. His scar deep. I know my husband better than I know my name. I’m about to encounter The Brit. “Change your tone.” he says, his voice low. Quiet. But not lacking any threat. Doesn’t mean I’ll heed the warning.
“No,” I say over a sarcastic laugh. “What’s going on?”
He approaches me, slowly, intimidatingly, and I can’t deny it, it both turns me on and fills me with dread. Pressing his body to mine, he reaches for my hair, takes a fistful, and pulls my head back so he can look down at me. “It’s not even nine a.m., Rose. I didn’t sleep, I’ve not even had a fucking coffee this morning, and I’m still reeling after your bombshell at the meeting. I suggest you be wise and think very carefully about how you approach me today.”
“What are you going to do?” I say, snapping my head hard so he yanks my hair. “Slap me? Fuck me brutally?”
His lip quirks, fire fighting through the ice in his eyes. Burning. I’m with him. My mind is capable. Can withstand anything he throws at me. My body, however, is delicate. I could cry. “Maybe both,” he whispers hoarsely, brushing his lips across mine gently. My insides explode. I’m done for. My mind scrambles, my grievances are forgotten, and pleasure takes over the discomfort. I grab his neck and haul him onto my mouth, and he’s ravenous. Starving. The baby monitor tumbles to the floor and my hand goes straight for his shorts. I gasp into his mouth. Iron. Huge.
I’m walked back into the door and pushed up against the wood, his tongue exploring deeply, his growls animalistic, his kiss wild.
Desperate.
He pushes into my body a little too much.
“Fuck,” I gasp, throwing my head back. Pain sails through my boobs. It’s suddenly all I can focus on, not the desire, the pleasure, or the need.
Danny rips his mouth from my neck, gasping, and searches me out. “What is it?” His hand cups me between my legs.
And I feel nothing.
Just pain.
And then he frowns, looking down at my chest. “Oh fuck,” he breathes. “You’re leaking.”
And I burst into tears.
“Oh, baby,” he says, sighing, taking my dropped chin and lifting my face to his. “Don’t cry. It doesn’t suit you.” He places a small, soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, so obviously concentrating on ensuring his torso doesn’t touch mine. “Come on. Stop it.”
But I can’t. My fists ball on his chest, and I hide there, sobbing my heart out, wondering where this emotion has come from. I miss our intimacy. I miss raw, carnal sex with my husband. I miss him kissing me like he’s going to eat me. I want it all, but my damn body won’t let me take it. The spa, the beach club, they’re great additions to my life, but Danny’s and my physical connection is the essence of us. And its absence is beginning to scream at me. How much longer will it take for my body to adapt? For my boobs to settle? For my internal muscles to stop hurting? And how long can Danny wait? What if he gets tempted elsewhere? What if he needs to release the pressure? What if he gives himself to another woman? My thoughts increase my emotions, my sobs racking my body.
And he holds me, hugs me as best he can without causing pain. “I love you, Rose,” he whispers, forcing me out of his chest, looking into my eyes as he wipes the tears away. “I love you harder than I can hate, and you know how hard I can hate.”
I laugh over a sob, sniffling. “What if you get tired?—”
His finger meets my lips, silencing me. “When I’m tired of us, I’ll be dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
