Page 23 of Midlife Crisis

“I’m not frightened.” But it’s a lie. Hank Paige could break my heart, and I’m scared to death of anything like that happening again.

I lead Hank to the kitchen. This is my comfort spot in the house, a gathering place with a large island and open eating area.

“Got any coffee?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t. I have a coffeemaker, but I don’t think I have any beans.” I cannot stand the smell, and with Paul gone, I moved the maker to the pantry.

“Never mind. It would just keep me up all night.” Hank steps closer to me. “And I can think of other things I’d rather have keep me awake.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. He stands so close to me, my breasts brush against his dress shirt. My arousal piquing, I’m on the verge of ripping off his clothes. He cups my cheeks with his hands and his lips meet mine. Hank’s kisses are meant to get lost in. He kisses slowly but with purpose, not missing any part of my lips before seeking my tongue. There, he takes equal time—spinning, swirling, twirling—and I melt into him.

His hands release my face and grip my hips. He lifts me to perch on the island, and my knees spread, allowing him closer. His fingers touch the lace over my thighs, gathering it up my legs while his mouth continues to undress me of every anxiety. I like him too much, too quickly, but I’m savoring this moment.

My eager fingers reach for his shirt, untucking it with haste. He breaks our kiss to reach behind his neck and shrug the shirt off with one pull over his head. It sticks on his arms, but after a quick tug from me, he’s shirt free. I moan, and my palms cover the landscape of his body. Firm pecs, a smattering of salt-and-pepper chest hair, and solid abs. A trail leads to the treasure bulging in his pants. He cups my cheeks again and kisses me with more pressure, his mouth growing wilder as my hands rove his body—over the flat of his belly, up the hills of his chest, and around his shoulders, until I squeeze his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, I like your hands.” He groans against my mouth. His hands palm my backside.

“I like your body.” I exhale, my voice low as I struggle to speak.

“I’m gonna love your body, little lady,” he says, lifting me. “Bedroom.”

“Upstairs.” Carrying me to the stairway, he sets me down at the base. “This is where we stop. Lead the way if you want to continue.”

Taking his hand in mine, I walk backward up a step or two before turning to lead him the rest of the way.

“Thank fuck,” he mutters. If my smile grew any bigger, it would crack my face.

My room is average with a queen-size bed. I got rid of the king once Paul left. After repainting the room to a light yellow, I added more throw pillows than necessary to the new bedding. Feminine and delicate, this space is meant for the female head of household.

“Like pillows?” He chuckles, reaching for one and tossing it to the opposite side of the bed. He sits on the edge, then reaches for my hips, tugging me back to him. With him sitting, we’re closer in height, especially with my heels off. I lost them downstairs when I sat on the counter.

“Where was I? Oh, right, this dress.” His thick fingers find the zipper at my neck. Spinning me, he unzips the lace material to my waist. Soft kisses pepper up my back, and I shiver, catching the loose material against my front. My body hums with anticipation.

“Time to be wild. Let go,” he murmurs between my shoulder blades, and I realize he means for me to remove the dress. My arms slip to my sides, and his hands slide the delicate material from my body. I’m suddenly self-conscious standing in my room with only waist high underwear and a regular bra.

“I don’t own anything sexy,” I say by way of apology. “It seems impractical when you aren’t having sex.” He spins me to face him.

“You’d be sexy in a dishrag,” he mutters. “Besides, you think I give a fuck about your underwear? I don’t plan on you wearing any for what I have in mind.” His mouth returns to my skin, traveling just above my breasts. The ache between my thighs increases as a hand cups one heavy globe. I groan when he pinches me over the silk.

“Holy tits, lady.” He tugs the cup down and envelops me with an open mouth, sucking on me like a ripe peach. His tongue circles the sharp peak of my nipple, and I cry out when he nips me. “You’re big for a little thing,” he says, before trussing up my other breast and working it in the same manner. My hips rock forward, seeking friction despite the attention up top. Nimble fingers skate around my back and unclasp my bra with one snap. Tugging it forward, he teases me as he watches my breasts fall from the holder. “You’re so pretty, lady.”

I’m clutching his shoulders, my knees weak. Melting before he touches my needy area is a strong possibility. Dragging my palms from his shoulders to his neck, I lower to kiss him again, needing his mouth to assure me we are really doing this. My underwear drifts down my hips, and he taps an ankle for me to step out of them. Our lips don’t unlock, and I nearly split in two from sexual overdrive.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” I mutter as he pulls back, eyes roving my body. He tilts his head, uncertain of my meaning. “You know, hot dog in a hallway and all that.” I snort. Literally. Could I be any more awkward with poor movie quotes and a nasal noise?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His steel eyes blink.

“I don’t think I’ll be all tight and neat down there.” My awkwardness grows with each flap of my lips. I mean, every romance novel has the girls all tight and trim, but that’s hardly me. I’ve had babies.

“What the fuck?” Suddenly, he flips me, and I land flat on my back. Hovering beside me, he trails his fingers between my breasts and down to the hair at the apex of my legs. So close, I think, before he drags back up my middle. “What the hell you talking about, little lady?”

“I’m just not young. I’m probably stretched out, and—”

“Stop talking.” He interrupts, and I clamp my lips shut. Reaching for my hand, he yanks it to cover the bulge in his pants. “Feel this?”

I nod.

“I think he’ll fill you just fine, baby. Relax.” I take a deep breath, and tears prickle my eyes. He’s still partially dressed, and the hand on his excitement lifts for his belt.