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"Say it again."
My wife stays motionless in my arms, though she lifts her gaze to mine, surprise evident in her eyes.
"Please," I say, my voice hushed but rife with emotions I refuse to examine, and I lash her tighter against my body with both arms. "Please say it again."
"Rory." She almost whispers my name, like a hushed prayer.
I bury my face against her neck and fist my hands in her shirt, then loosen them again, repeating the motion over and over while I brush delicate kisses over her skin. I shouldn't want her to say my name, not in a moment like this, but every time she speaks the word, warmth tingles over my skin.
Emery peels herself away from my body and places her hands on my shoulders. "You said I shouldn't speak your name when we're getting sexy together."
"Changed my mind."
"But why?"
My first impulse is to growl at her. But I promised her honesty, and for once, I want to speak the truth. With one fingertip, I chart the lines of the tendons in her hand. "When you say my name, I…like it."
She looks up at me through her lashes. "Does this mean the prohibition on me speaking your name during intimate moments is lifted?"
"Aye."
"Hallelujah." She plants a firm kiss on my lips. "It's super hard to make sure I don't accidentally say your name in the throes of passion."
I turn her hand over to trace the lines on her palm with my finger. "You were right, though. It is time for bed. In our separate rooms."
Her posture wilts, her expression too.
These are the rules, though. I push my chair back, set my wife on her feet, and stand up. "Good night, Emery."
I kiss her cheek and leave the dining room.
But all night, I toss and turn while remembering that moment, when our lips met and something changed. It doesn't matter what I might feel. I can't let her into my soul because, if I do, the disaster that's sure to follow will destroy us both.
