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She did, with a small stumble against him, and that telltale struggle to stay on her feet along with the fine trembling of her limbs did something to his insides that he c
ouldn't explain. His hands grabbed her hips and pulled her body against him, banding one arm around her waist and pushing the dangling bra from her slender shoulders with the other.
When he had her completely, irresistibly nude, he held her tightly in his arms and breathed in the scent that he'd so quickly become addicted to. He raised her chin and her eyes lifted and tangled with his, almost decimating him where he stood. Her eyes were so beautiful, so amazing, he could look into them forever.
"You're so incredibly beautiful." As he spoke, he sank down on the edge of the bed and brought her between his spread thighs, holding her at her hips, absorbing her soft weight as she leaned into him. Her hands landed on his shoulders and he experienced an emotion that swirled through his guts that told him he would always want to hold her up. Physically, emotionally, in any way she ever needed . . . the way he needed to do it and the way he wanted her to hold him up and be there for him when he needed it.
He laid her on her back in the middle of the bed, tore his clothes off, and within seconds, he was pushing between her thighs. "I need to be inside of you. I need that like I need to breathe."
When he felt her hands land on his shoulders, he lifted her legs around his waist, and not wasting a second, he plunged inside of her.
Relief, sharp and intense, slammed through his head and slid down his spine. The pleasure was there, but it was a secondary emotion. He reached down and kissed her lips, and began taking slow, even strokes inside her body. Her hips lifted to his, and very soon, they were moving together, bringing each other the emotional relief they needed.
He lifted his hands and wrapped them around her face, and stared down into her eyes. "I love you, Jessica."
Her eyes flared and filled with tears as they clung to his.
He took another stroke and the rightness of it all spread through him. "I love you so much. I'm so, so sorry for what I put you through."
Her fingers gripped his shoulders, and her lips parted. "I love you, too."
Joy, strong and sure, wrapped around him in a silken cocoon of euphoria. He lowered his mouth to hers and made slow, sweet love to her.
****
As they lay in bed, entwined together, Connor cleared his throat and knew he had to explain. He wanted to explain. He took a deep breath and began slowly. "I fucked up with you. From the very beginning and for damn sure this past week." He lifted his hand from her chin and brushed her hair away from her face, pushing it off her cheek, exposing the fragile shell of her ear. "I promise it'll never happen again. I've been lying to myself since the first time I got you in this bedroom, and probably even before then. I want to start all over with you. If you'll give me that." Connor was drowning in the eyes that clung to his but he managed to keep speaking, to say the things he needed to say to her. "We started out in a way that no couple ever should. But it happened and truthfully, I'm only thankful that we met at all. But now we need to fix things, make them as they should be. I know you've wanted to do that, and I . . . I'm the one who screwed things up." He swallowed as he found it difficult to go on, but her fingers gently pressed into him, asking him for more and he continued, "To make you understand, I need to tell you about my wife, okay?"
Her hand lifted to his cheek and the physical connection she wanted with him calmed his soul. "Okay," she said simply.
"Valerie and I were married right out of college. Right after I finished my undergrad. We'd dated for a while, and we finished our bachelor's at the same time."
As he sucked in a breath, Jessica asked, "She was at UTD, as well?"
He could hear something in her voice, and he was glad the truth wouldn't upset her, even a little bit. "No. She was at North Texas. We met through mutual friends, and began making the commute to see each other." Connor could see the hint of relief in her eyes, and he knew that UTD would be their Alma Mater, only theirs. Even if he had no control over the past, he was glad of that truth. What had once bothered him . . . Jessica attending UTD, now only pleased him.
"Val got a really good job in Dallas right away, and I was starting on my Masters. I'd already developed one application that was taking off, and between marketing that, and going to school, I was pretty damn busy. I slipped into the relationship because it was easy and convenient, and I stayed in it for the same reason. At first, Valerie was independent and had a life of her own in addition to what we shared, and I thought it was the perfect relationship. When she kept pushing for marriage, I caved. She loved me, and I thought at the time that I loved her." Connor felt as much as heard the gasp that Jessica let out, and his arms tightened around her.
"The marriage was almost one-sided from the start. But it was convenient for me, and for the first couple of years, it was fine. I was busy, she was busy, and we didn't see each other enough for things to matter. But then I finished my MBA, and started working my ass off trying to launch my company. It went well for me, and when the money started rolling in, she wanted a house. Not just any house, and not the one I live in now."
Jessica inhaled and asked a question. "You haven't lived there long?"
"I moved right after she died. I had to sell the house we lived in . . . I couldn't breathe in that house. She wanted a fucking mansion . . . not literally, but almost. I didn't see the need for it, I wanted to pour the money back into the business, but I had to buy it for her to shut her up. And then she wanted to quit her job and 'take care of me', which she did. She quit her job, and then she began smothering me so much I damn near couldn't take it. Very quickly, she had no life of her own, no friends, and I was her world. Her only world. Maybe I should have liked it, but I didn't. I hated it. And then she came home one day with the first tattoo. A heart, and my initials, on her hip. And within a few years, she'd decorated herself with a 'Connor' theme. My name, the date of our first meeting, first kiss, wedding anniversary, and bullshit like that. I was in denial about our marriage from there on out. I knew, deep inside, that it wasn't going to work. But she loved me so damn much, and I felt so damn guilty for thinking about divorcing her that I put it on the back burner and concentrated on my business. But it was there, in my heart, every day. And it was there, also, on the day she died. And so was the relief. Relief. Can you believe that? How fucked up is that? I've been so damned ashamed of that feeling of relief I had, that it's almost crippled me. I can't explain how guilty I felt, and Jesus Christ, when I met you. .. "
Connor felt Jessica's muscles seize up and the breath stall in her lungs, but she remained quiet and he continued on. "I wanted you like living hell from the first moment I saw you. When you walked inside that restaurant . . . Jesus. I knew it was you, I recognized you from your picture. But you looked . . . even better in person. You looked good in the picture, but what it didn't show was . . . your sexiness."
He reached down to kiss her because he had to taste her before he went on. She clung to his lips and he could feel her heart pounding in time with his. "I've never met a woman more sexy than you. There isn't one. You got it, baby. And you don't even seem to fucking know it. And I love that. I remember being completely poleaxed when you walked up to the table. I remember needing to be polite . . . to stand up . . . but I couldn't."
"You stood up, Connor," Jessica said with a softness in her eyes that he couldn't describe.
"I did? Shit. I had it bad, baby, from the very first moment. Even from when I saw your picture. But after talking to you, I knew you weren't suited for what I had in mind. Not at all. You were too young, too innocent, too . . . fresh. I tried to talk myself out of it, I tried that one time to get up and leave, remember?"
"Yes."
"Dear God, thank God you stopped me. But it was a hard road, the guilt. It started almost as soon as I saw you, and it kept getting worse. The more I wanted you, the more guilty I felt. And then when . . . " He inhaled deeply. " . . . you told me that you loved me, I almost lost it completely. I wanted that so badly. You'll never know . . . what kind of shit I was feeling. I kept thinking, 'I'm alive, and Val is dead, and I wanted
her gone, and all I want is Jessica'. And then my phone rang. It was like an omen, you know? It wasn't really, but that's what I talked myself into thinking. I needed an excuse to run from you, run from the guilt, and I took it. That's why I kept telling you that I wasn't going to sleep with her, because there was no fucking way in hell. But I was ashamed of the way I was feeling, and you were the last person I could admit it to." Connor stopped speaking and tried to see what she was thinking, but he couldn't tell. "And even now, I'm waiting for you to tell me that I'm a despicable human being, that I don't deserve to have your love, and that I probably don't even deserve to be alive."
Jessica couldn't believe what Connor was saying to her, but she believed him, absolutely. She could feel his heart racing like crazy, and she needed to calm him down, to soothe him. "It's okay." She ran her fingers down his cheek and up through his hair in a soft caress. "Don't worry. You're a good, decent person, not despicable in any way. You didn't want her dead, Connor. You just didn't want to be married to her anymore. I've taken Psyche classes, you know. You're feeling survivor's guilt, and every bit of it is normal. On top of that, I think it's fairly normal, when you want out of a relationship so desperately, to have thoughts of the other person dying. It happens all the time. It's not that you really wanted her dead, you just didn't want to be the one to have to hurt her so badly. We studied the phenomenon in Psyche class. You've got to let this go. You didn't really want her dead, did you?"
"God, no, of course not."
"Well, then, you need to forgive yourself and start living again. You're right. You're alive and she's not. You've mourned her and your lost relationship in your own way. You deserve every bit of happiness coming to you."
"You think?"
"Yes, and if you can't get over the guilt, you need to go see someone about it."
"I feel better just confessing all this shit to you."
"I feel better knowing why you acted the way you did."
"Do you forgive me?"
"Knowing the truth, there's nothing to forgive, but if it makes you feel better, yes, I do."
