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Saul sits in the chair beside me, close enough that we could fall back into our irrepressible lust if we wanted to.
But what if Fiona wakes up?
This is such a mess.
We sit in silence for a time, simply watching the night, the stars insanely bright this far away from the city, a whole pantheon of them twinkling down.
“Why weren’t you married to Fiona’s mom?” I ask when my cocoa has become cool enough to sip.
I can sense the tension running through him, as though we are two halves of the same soul, split right down the middle. I can’t help but think of his words, his claim-me declaration, and I want it. The desire burning like a birthing star, ready to blaze for countless eons.
I want it.
Even if I know I shouldn’t.
“Because if it wasn’t for Fiona, being with her would’ve been a mistake,” he growls. “We never loved each other. Fiona was an accident—not a mistake, a beautiful accident. And after that, I tried to do the right thing. I tried to make it work. But she was a wild spirit …”
“You make her sound so adventurous,” I murmur, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
He reaches across and takes my hand, the contact immediately reigniting the racetrack closeness. I shiver and suddenly the porch is twice as warm, sultriness infusing every inch of me.
“No,” he says. “Not like that. Wild in the sense that she drank too much, partied too much. She wasn’t interested in domestic life. She wasn’t interested in being a mother or having a family. The day she left to join that hippy commune, whatever the fuck you want to call it—the day she left, and it’s shameful of me to say this …”
“What, Saul?” I urge.
He sighs and looks me straight in the eye with such intensity. “The day she left was one of the happiest of my life,” he whispers. “Because it meant I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I always wondered if there might be a woman out there who could make me feel what you make me feel, Sadie. I didn’t really believe it, though. But now, I do. Now I know. I haven’t been with a woman since Sadie’s mother.”
“What?” I gasp, the shock like a punch to the gut. “Seriously? But didn’t you guys break up when Fiona was like three?”
“Yes,” he says, looking at me steadily.
“So you’ve been abstinent for almost two decades?”
“Yes,” he says again, with that same unflinching steadiness.
“But why?”
His smirk makes my insides do funny things, my womb going tight as though gathering energy. My grip tightens on his, our hands linked on as though if we hold on tightly enough, we never have to let go.
“Because I was waiting for you, Sparkplug,” he growls.
“But … Jeez, Saul, do you have any idea how incredibly freaking hot you are?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think a man should think of himself in those terms,” he says. “All these pretty boys in your generation, spending hours and hours studying their physiques in the mirror at the gym, buying fucking hair product and all that shit … No, Sadie, I don’t think of myself as hot.”
“Fine,” I allow, a flaring of agreement sparking within me. He’s so different from the douches my age. “But you have to admit that you could’ve had any number of insanely attractive women over the years.”
“I could have, yes, but the only insanely attractive woman I’m aware of is sitting right here.”
I glance back at the house, at the darkened hallway. Even if I know Fiona is deep in a drunken slumber – and even if I know first-hand that waking her from that is borderline impossible – anxiety stills webs its way through me.
“I’ve been waiting,” he goes on, “for a woman I know I want, I need, that I have to claim. I was willing to wait for the rest of my life and never find her. I was willing to die alone rather than be in another fake relationship, another mistake. But now I don’t have to. Now I’ve found you.”
I have to bite down to stop from screaming, his movements are so savage as he drags me into his lap.
I wriggle against him, glancing back at the house again even as my center tightens and tingles and my body screams at me to ride him right here. Tear off my pajama bottoms and his pants and get a proper look at his massive length this time, his manhood that was half unveiled before the alarm cut through our intimacy.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper, as he brings his face close to mine, our breath whispering over each other as illicitly as my voice sounds.
“I know,” he growls. “But you’re impossible to resist.”
Our lips come together like planets colliding, the force enough to make me squeal through our kiss. Our mouths open and our tongues dance, a dance that somehow feels familiar and yet achingly new each time.
