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But then came the guilt. Shame. The self-hatred and promises made that I was never going to do it again.
Yet here I was, not exactly fighting him when he yanked me back into the bed.
“I have to go home to change then pick the kids up from school,” I said, voice breathy as Kace moved his hand downward with frustrating slowness.
“You don’t need to change clothes,” he murmured, his mouth running along my neck. “I have it on good authority that you look hot as fuck in those clothes.”
I sucked in an uneven breath as Kace trailed his hand across instead of downward, brushing over the small scar from my C-section.
“Those are sex clothes,” I argued, though my voice was weak with submission. “I can’t wear sex clothes to pick up my children.”
His hand paused, and I clenched my teeth in frustration. “Sex clothes?” he repeated. “I distinctly remember ripping those clothes off you before I fucked you.”
My body shivered at the memory. I distinctly remembered that too.
“Yes, but they are sex clothes by association,” I explained. “Plus, I smell of sex. I have sex hair. I have friends who are also going to be picking up their children from school who are like fucking hawks at spotting sex hair. I don’t need to answer questions about that. So I need to go.”
Although I was supposed to be sounding firm and strong, I barely convinced myself.
Kace’s hand moved again. It snaked down. All the way down. His fingers moved expertly, maddeningly coaxing an orgasm from me within minutes.
Then they stopped.
I let out a mewl of protest, hating the sound, hating myself for making it.
“You need to go,” he reminded me, pushing me gently up to my feet.
I stood on shaky knees, watching him move his fingers up to his mouth, tasting me while maintaining eye contact.
My eyes didn’t move from him, reveling in him tasting me like that.
The corner of his mouth turned up in amusement, his eyes still dark with desire.
“Don’t you gotta go, sweetheart?” he asked blandly, not hiding the fact he was checking out my naked body.
I narrowed my eyes at him, a small tickle of irritation helpful in stopping me from forgetting about everything and jumping right back into bed with Kace.
“Yes, I do have to go,” I snapped, snatching my panties, shoving them on, then going for my bra. “And this is the last time we’re doing this,” I added while putting on my jeans.
Kace moved so he was sitting up in bed, not bothering to use a sheet to cover himself. He was proud of his body. His nakedness. As he should’ve been. His body was nothing short of perfection. Which would’ve intimidated the fuck out of me if he hadn’t constantly showed me how much he worshipped my non-perfect, birthed two children and rapidly approaching forty body.
“Sure thing, babe,” he said easily, watching me dress.
He wasn’t bothered by me trying to break off... whatever the fuck this was. Not since I said this almost every time. Then, usually less than a few days later, I’d make a fool of myself by ending up naked with Kace again.
“I mean it this time,” I declared, pulling my shirt over my head. “This... this isn’t good. I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Kace no longer looked amused. He moved from the bed to stand in front of me, hands firm on my hips. “Lizzie, fuck it hurts to see you like this. Every damn time. Every damn moment I’m not inside you.” There was frustration in his voice. Fury.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about watching you doubt everything you do. Like you’re failing some impossible test you’ve set for yourself. Like somehow you can only live with yourself if you’re constantly in pain. Constantly punishing yourself for every single decision you make. Everything you want. I’ve been keepin’ my mouth shut because I know this is something you gotta work through. Even though it’s fuckin’ torture. But I can’t anymore. So I’m not going to let you say this shit out loud. I can’t control what you think. Maybe, in time, I’ll be able to help change that. Maybe not. But however long I’m fuckin’ you, however long I’m in your life, secret or not, it’s my mission to make you stop punishing yourself for any second of happiness or pleasure.”
His words hit true.
Not just the words but the feeling behind him.
He had feelings. For me. Which was a problem. A big fucking problem. He was too young. This was too soon. He was in the club.
And worse than that, I was getting feelings for him too.
Which was why I walked out of the room without saying another word, without looking him in the eye.I went through the motions of the afternoon. Picked up the kids. Took them out for ice cream which we ate on the beach.
