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“Yeah, sure, that would be nice.”
As I watch her saunter toward me, there is a taste of hesitation in her eyes and I swallow thickly. When she reaches me, I smell her natural scent, the smell of fabric softener, sheets, and Sunday afternoon naps—home. Expecting her to climb behind my large frame, she surprises me by climbing into my lap.
Shifting back, both to accommodate her and partially by shock, I peer up at her while she gazes down at me. There is a glint in her honey eyes and a subtle smirk tugging at the side of her mouth. My mouth is in a drought. I don’t know what to say when her hands trace up my arms, kneading the skin covered in ink, up my biceps, and then around my neck.
My eyes drift closed, opening slowly when she hits the peaks of my traps. Hesitantly, I move my shaky hands from beside me and place them on her ass, needing a place to hold on to. I praise the gods when she doesn’t move me.
“How was work?”
“It was all right. How was Prince?”
Her smiles widens at the mention, her dimples deepening. “He was a hungry boy today. He latched and just kept eating. He’s going to outgrow me.” She giggles, the noise throaty and low.
“You need to be careful picking him up, Mama. He’s gonna break you.”
She shrugs, scraping her nails across the skin of my neck. “I’ll be fine.”
I stay silent, waiting for her to ask another question. I want her to be the one to instigate the conversation. When she doesn’t speak, she focuses on working out the kinks in my stiff neck, and I groan when Lana hits one spot with enough pressure to release the ache.
“Right there,” I moan, my hands flexing instinctively on her ass.
“You need to see a massage therapist. You work out too much not to get the kinks worked out, Kings.”
Keeping my head back and my eyes closed, I groan again when she hits another hard nodule. “I don’t want any other woman touching me but my queen.”
Lana halts her movements, gaining my attention. I look at her and see a little smile form and her dimples reappear, this time, a smatter of blush colors the skin. Lana has always stolen my fucking breath, looking so beautiful and innocent, like an angel—an angel cloaked in light I want to bathe in.
?
??What?”
“Nothing. That was just...really sweet,” She admits, scooting up, her legs parting farther as she accommodates my hips. Her warmth envelops me, from her soft skin to the heat between her legs. Holy shit, she’s turned on right now.
“We may not be a hundred percent, but you’re the only person I want.” My confession is partly fueled by my guilt for knowing Hilary wrote me and sent me that racy picture.
Tilting her head, she evaluates me, reading my mind and nitpicking every word I’m saying.
And I lose it. “Please touch me, Queen. Please,” I beg, laying myself open like a book.
“Is that what you want, for me to touch you?” she questions, crossing her arms in front of her and bringing them to the edge of her nightie, where she removes it in one swift motion. She lays bare to me, completely naked, flawless even in her imperfections. There are marks on her belly from our son, white, faint lines. Her scarred chest is still gorgeous to me.
“Lana, it’s not what I want; it’s what I fucking need. I’m dying, baby. Just give me an inch.”
He wants me. Kingston is begging for exactly what we both want. The only difference is he is willing to admit it, while I continue to find reasons in my head to not give in to temptation.
We’ve been so distant since Princeton was born, becoming ghosts in our own home. Passing in the hall without a word, lying in bed without a touch, and being within talking distance, but never expressing how we feel. That is, unless we’re bickering or snipping at one another.
This is my fault. I can own up to that and claim it for what it is. I’m lost, not sure who I am anymore. If I’m not constantly acting as mother, then that’s when I seem to be sucked into the black hole. That’s where I lose my footing.
Kingston is still the love of my life, but as of late, I feel we’re becoming more and more like a regret, or worse, we’re resenting each other. I resent him for not understanding my reservations, and he resents me for selfishly taking away some of his time with our son. Standing back, though, I can see my treatment toward Kingston is far worse than anything he has ever done.
“Take me then. Have me.” I submit my body, admitting defeat. I don’t want to fight tonight. I don’t even know if I want to completely be myself. Tonight, I feel like pretending I’m a lost soul, walking the night and searching for the feeling of something worth making me forget. I don’t want to be Lana tonight. I want to be unknown.
“You sure?” he questions, his rough, large hands roaming up the curve of my spine, awakening the butterflies. There is something in the way he looks at me, imploring for reassurance if I want this for him or for us both. I want to feel his touch, the rawness that can both make me feel alive but enslave me all at once.
“Yes.” Conceding, I nod, mimicking the travel of his hands on me, his on my back, mine roaming his powerfully built chest, sculpted into a masterpiece. My libido overtakes my judgment, pushing out the last of my hesitation and replacing it with need.
He takes over. Leaning in, his lips latch to my neck, biting and sucking while my eyes roll closed. The sudden sensation of lust washes over me, prickling from the top of my head all the way to the tips of my toes. Being mentally and emotionally unavailable may be something I have mastered, but one thing is for sure: when Kingston fucks, he does it right.
