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When she slid her delicate arms around his waist, her fingers gliding over his bare skin, it was all Sam could do not to turn her and put her on the bed and take every single thing he had been aching for this past year.
He had missed her touch, had missed everything, really. Tara opened her mouth beneath his, not only accepting his kiss but returning it with a need all her own. He knew she was using him as an outlet for her feelings, but he didn’t give a damn. Maybe they were using each other at this moment. And he was going to take what he could and ignore every red flag waving around in his head—and damn all consequences that would follow.
Sam shifted to change the angle of the kiss. There was a hunger inside him that had been reawakened by her simple touch. Her melting against him gave Sam the green light he’d been waiting for.
Now he spun her around until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed. When she tumbled over, he went with her, never removing his lips from hers. She spread her legs so he settled evenly between her thighs. She thrust her hands through his hair, her kiss urgent, her body arching against his.
Sam’s hand went between their bodies as he pulled back slightly. He needed to touch her even more than he already was. He trailed his fingers up her bare leg and kept his eyes on her. Any sign of hesitation and he would stop.
Sam knew if this went too far she would have regrets. And as much as he wanted her, all of her, he would not leave her feeling even more lost on the other side of their intimacy. He had made a vow to himself that everything would be about her and Marley from the moment he became sober and into their future. Whatever the future may be.
He slid his finger beneath the edge of her panties. Her eyes widened as her fingertips dug into his forearms. Her breath came in soft pants...the same pants he’d fantasized about for so long.
As he stroked his fingertips over her sensitive area, Tara’s lids fluttered once again as she bit her lip and arched upward. This was everything he had missed, watching her come undone and knowing he was the one pleasuring her.
The moment he slid his finger into her she cried out, but he covered her lips with his. He couldn’t seem to touch her enough, yet he needed to go slow and he needed to make sure she knew this was all for her. She lifted her hips against his hand and he let her set the rhythm. No matter what she wanted, he was sure as hell going to be the one to give it to her.
Maybe that was too primal, perhaps he had no right, but he was human and this was his wife. His wife. How could he ever let her go? Even though this moment would be fleeting, for the first time in a long time there was a blossom of hope deep within him. But he could not get too hung up on that—he would only end up hurting himself once again. And those selfish thoughts would not keep him on track to make Tara’s life easier.
When Tara’s hips jerked harder, Sam watched her complete and utter control snap as pleasure consumed her. She broke from his lips and squeezed her eyes shut. Sam knew this moment would be forever in his memory bank. There was nothing sexier than his wife when she let passion consume her.
Then her body slowed, the trembling eased.
Sam knew the moment she had slipped into reality. Her eyes flew open, the grip on his arm loosened and her entire body went lax beneath him. Sam eased his hand from between her legs and smoothed her nightgown over her thighs. He had to steel his heart against whatever she decided to say or do from this moment on. He came to his feet but remained at the edge of the bed staring at her.
“Sam.”
“Don’t say anything.” He couldn’t bear to hear the words that would come from her mouth. He already saw regret in her eyes. “I know what this is and what this isn’t. You needed a release and I selfishly ached to give it to you.”
He went to the dresser and pulled out a gray T-shirt then slid it over his head. When he turned to face her, an onslaught of emotions nearly brought him to his knees. There she sat in the middle of the bed, lying on the letters he had written her, each one from his heart. Each one from a moment in his life he’d wanted to reach out to her in person.
When he’d laid her on the bed he’d been so intent on her needs he’d forgotten them. There’d been too much to take in with the sight of her lying there—too much that he was afraid to analyze.
