Page 57 of Promise

“I’m not thinking,” she whispers, her voice almost hollow only seconds before her mouth crashes against mine.

The shock is hard. Her mouth tight. But after my brain catches up to what’s happening, which is my wife is trying to kiss me, I run my tongue along the seam of her lips.

And suddenly, I feel like that guy on the screen, frantic for more of Trin. Desperate to pull her closer.

I grip her ass and drag her forward, feeling her settle over where I’m hard. Letting where she’s soft know what she does to me.

She moans into my mouth as we move together in a way as familiar as my name, and yet everything about this kiss feels different.

Charged.

I know this woman. My wife. I recognize her kiss, and yet I don’t. There’s something almost electric between us.

We kiss like we did all those years ago, and yet, with all the years between us.

I slip my hand up her back and dig my fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head. She moves to my jaw, and I shift to her neck, taking a bite right where I wanted to earlier.

She groans as my teeth gently sink into that soft pressure point right below the surface. Her body melts against mine. Her center hot over where I’m hard. Her breasts brushing my chest.

Screw the actors on a television. This is so much more.

Because my wife is kissing me again. She’s letting me kiss her.

I tug at her hair and bring her mouth back to mine, needing more of her, needing confirmation this is really happening. I’m not dreaming.

She’s in my lap. Her lips on mine. Her hands on my shoulders. And⁠—

A sharp squawk comes through the baby monitor on Trinity’s phone.

Abruptly, she pulls back, glancing over her shoulder at the device on the table near my feet. Slowly, she turns back to me. Eyes dazed. Lips swollen. Neck slightly red from where I bit her.

Shaky fingers cover her lips, and I feel her retreating before she actually does.

“Trin?” Panic lands in my chest.

She scrambles off my lap, struggling to stand on her feet. Her legs actually buckle, and I reach for her. But she holds out a trembling hand. The other comes to her lips again.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

It should have. It definitely should have. We need to get back to who we were. Two kids in their twenties, insatiable for each other. A newly married couple who couldn’t have sex often enough.

But that isn’t who we are anymore, is it?

Those twenty-somethings turned to thirty-year-olds struggling to have a baby and build a home.

Then forty hit, and I had a bit of a crisis moment.

But dammit, I want my wife back.

Unfortunately, she is already swiping up her phone and racing for the staircase.

Scrubbing both hands over my face, I fall back on the couch and glance up at the screen.

The episode has ended, leaving me in suspense.

Does the hero ever really get a second chance with the girl of his dreams?

I suppose if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be much of a plot.