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We were on the floor.
I couldn’t quite remember how we’d moved from the bathroom to here, but there were blankets tangled around us, yanked off the bed I wouldn’t allow us to use. As if that would’ve made any difference.
“I meant what I said before,” I panted, only starting to get my breath back. I still kind of felt like I was floating five inches above the bed. Id’ forgotten what sex could do. What good sex could do.
No, great sex.
Which we’d just had.
Three times.
Every single one of my muscles were no longer functional. I was pretty sure I’d never be able to move them or use them again.
And I was totally okay with that. Who needed muscles after sex like that?
“That you believe pizza should only have one topping?” he teased, rubbing my back then moving down to cup my ass.
I winced ever so slightly at the pain that came with that touch. A delightful pain. Kace had helped me discover that I was into pain now. Rough, borderline angry sex. I was more than into it. I fucking loved it. Wanted bruises and marks. Wanted anything but love and tenderness.
“Believe me, I can tell you’re very serious about pizza,” he murmured.
“No, I meant about the relationship thing,” I said, voice raspy. “I’m not ready. Not in any kind of way. Nor are my kids ready for a man in their life whose connected to their mother. Or anyone knowing about this.” I waved my hand up and down our naked bodies.
“So you want this to be a one-time thing?” he asked, voice even and not letting me go.
My entire body reacted at the mere thought. It was an unexpectedly dramatic response. I shouldn’t have felt such a deep-seated surge of panic about that. Shouldn’t feel this attached to this man and all the pain and pleasure he gave me. The escape he’d given me.
“No!” I exclaimed, louder than I should’ve, a lot of that deep-seated panic saturating my voice.
He moved me so my eyes were glued to his. There was too much amusement there. “So you need this to be secret sex?”
I didn’t like the way he said that at all. That he was teasing me about this. “I’m saying that I do not want anyone to know about this, especially anyone in the club.” My tone was cold.
Something moved on his face now, the twinkle in his eye receding. “Babe, know that you don’t know much about me. But know that I’m not the kind of fuckin’ man to take you to bed without knowing this ship is bein’ steered by you. I’m following your lead. I want your pussy because it’s sweet. Your body because it’s hot and hungry and makes my dick sing. Straight up like spending time with you ’cause you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known. You’ve got no real proof that I’m a good guy. But I’m telling you right now, it’s an insult to even suggest I’d go back to the club and talk about this. Disrespect you in that way. That’s not the kind of man I am. No matter what happens with this, you call the shots. Not gonna push you for more ‘cause I know that you gave me everything you could just now. And I’m more than fucking happy with that.”
I was taken aback by all of that. The passion in which he spoke. It hit me in different places throughout my body. Not just between my legs.
It was too intense. He was too intense.
“Okay,” I said, moving. His hands tightened around my body for a second, as if he was considering not letting me move from his grasp, but then he slackened and let me go.
Despite what we’d just done, three times, I was uncomfortable with my nakedness. There was something more intimate about moving around our bedroom—my bedroom, everything that was ours was now only mine—not wearing a thing.
I’d had two children. My body hadn’t ‘bounced back’ without effort. I was young when I had Jack. That had been easier. I’d had more energy. Exercised. Ate well, and then didn’t have time to eat because I was too busy using all my energy on another human. Lily came when I was older. Bouncing back from her birth took longer. I’d been self-conscious about the fact that it took me longer to return to how I’d looked before, or at least as close as was humanly possible, after having two humans. Pregnancy, birth, motherhood… all that altered a woman’s body in unchangeable ways.
Or only in ways that could only be changed with a scalpel.
Not that I judged any mother who went that route. I’d been tempted, looking at myself in the mirror, seeing the evidence of my children like a roadmap of everything we’d gone through. I wouldn’t give them up for anything. They were my world. Sometimes, though, selfish vanity whispered.
