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“Want to talk about it?”
I tip my hips against his, letting him feel my reaction to being this close. Sex would be an easy escape from all the shit in my head, but it’s not the answer. Neither is using what he’s so willing to offer me without hesitation. So I quickly take a half-step back and put distance between us. “No, not really.”
Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me down the hall toward his bedroom, nervous energy spreading through my belly with each step. There’s a low light burning from the lamp on his nightstand, the bedcovers tossed aside. The indentation of his body is outlined on the sheets, a divot on his pillow where he’d just laid his head.
He urges me to sit, then kneels at my feet, reaching to unlace my shoes. Once they’re removed, he rises, cupping my face with his palm. “Come lay down with me.”
He doesn’t ask me to remove my clothes and I don’t offer to. It would be very easy to lose ourselves in one another, but right now I need more than that. I need his warmth, his assurance, his gentle understanding. I need the affection he’s willing to give me, and the time I need to decide if I’m ready to take things further. I need him….this man who I’ve grown to depend on so very much.
We lie down in the center of the bed, curled up facing one another. I can still see the concern in his eyes, the worry he’s afraid to verbalize, and I’ve never been more grateful for his presence than in this moment.
“Thank you,” I whisper. I hope he doesn’t ask me what for. I fear the list is never-ending.
“Close your eyes and get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
He pulls me in tighter as my eyes drift closed, the stress and strain of the day fading away. This man has given me more consideration and care in a few months than my so-called wife has given me in years. I’m grateful. So grateful. For him. For this. For…everything.
