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I slow my movements, not ready for this to end yet. Scarlett swears. I’ll have marks on my back tomorrow.
“Please, Crew.Please.”
Shebegsme before she starts to convulse again, and I don’t have a prayer of making this last any longer. The throaty pleas set me off. A tsunami of pleasure hits, rolling through my body in a powerful wave. Heat erupts in a white-hot fire that shoots through me and erases everything else. Thoughts, fears, worries? All gone.
There’s just me and the woman making me come harder than I ever have before.
The aftermath of sex is usually predictable. I’m used to clinginess and questions. With Scarlett, I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.
So when I pull out and toss the condom and the first thing she says is, “You’re good in bed,” I laugh.
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
Close to a compliment. “I can go…”
She shifts so her head is on a pillow. A slight breeze shifts the air as she drags the sheets over her naked body. “If you want.”
It’s not whatIwant, and I know the word choice was deliberate. So I lie down beside her.
I stare up at the ceiling, trying to reconcile how it’s possible for something to surpass every expectation and to also fall short.
In the darkness, there’s no metric for time passing. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours later, Scarlett’s breathing hasn’t evened.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Her leg jerks, hitting mine. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Nope.” I pop the P, just to extend the one word I have to offer.
“It was…different than I was expecting.”
I tense. Debate responding. Grind my molars. “Your surgeon makes you come three times?” I sound jealous—sound like I care—and I hate that I do. I should be relieved she’s not clingy. That I’ll never need to feel guilty for taking other women up on their offers. Instead, I’m marinating in a disgusting mixture of rage and annoyance.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
She’s silent. For so long, I wonder if she’s managed to fall asleep.
“Don’t hate me,” Scarlett whispers.
“I don’t.”
She sighs, and it’s the saddest sound I’ve ever heard. “You will.”
Then she rolls over, so all I can see is her back.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
SCARLETT
I’m not this girl.
I don’t get giddy or nervous or change my dress three times. I look down on women who are willing to change anything and everything about themselves for a man. If it’s not something you’re willing to do for yourself, why would you do it for someone else?
Rather than pathetic, I feel lighter and looser than I ever have. Fizzy, like a bottle of champagne that’s been shaken but not yet popped. Feelings—excited feelings—bubble to the surface. I’ve always had opportunity at my fingertips, and yet this is what spins my insides into a frenzy: spending time with the guy I married for a lot of logical reasons and even more illogical ones.
