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She moved above him, fluidly, gracefully, taking everything from him as he willingly gave it. Then she leaned forward, her expression confused, scared, and deep in the same thrall he was.
With a hand on her back to steady her, he levered up, cradling her until she was on her back and he on his knees. He cupped the back of her calf, lifting her leg and sinking deep into the mysterious places the position opened up inside her.
That’s when he saw the kaleidoscope of colors in her eyes that matched the sensations flowing through him. He angled his hips, pressing hard but slow, pulling tantalizingly out, then shoving in deep and twisting. Her mouth opened in a soundless gasp as the root of him pressed against her clit. He rocked into it, her eyes dilating.
“More,” she whispered, and the word unlocked everything in him.
It was no longer just an act between their sexes, but a melding and aspirating of every pore on their bodies. She stripped his shirt off and pushed up to cling to him, their bodies in constant motion, yet every inch pressed against each other.
He wanted to absorb her, not just make love to her. To forge something of himself onto her and her to him—something to remember for the days when they were no longer together.
“Fuck,” she cried out, and he felt every muscle in her body tighten, as if they’d wrung that word out of her.
But then all thought was gone and he was crashing to the shore on waves of feeling. He released her leg, keeping her close as he sank as deeply into her as he could. She didn’t fight him, just pulled him tighter. That was new for her, wanting to be close after sex. She didn’t like their sticky, sweaty skin against each other.
But you didn’t just have sex, a voice teased him. It was a lot more than that.
He leaned toward the edge of the bed and grabbed a handful of the cover, pulling it over them. Still, she stayed against him, and he realized her shallow breathing had the slightest tremor in it.
“We’re going to be glued together by morning,” he murmured into her hair.
“I don’t care,” she replied.
CHAPTER20
Hartley woke up. For a long minute she thought she’d merely dozed off, but then the blue glow in the room helped her realize she’d slept through the night.
She carefully lifted her head away from Monty’s shoulder, taking in the smattering of dark blue lumps that had to be furniture.
The air in the room was cold, biting against her cheek and neck. She was glad the coverlet was quilted. It had held their heat in, making a warm cocoon under the covers. Monty’s body had always been a furnace, usually making their bed too hot and too sweaty.
Not this morning, though. This morning, the warmth under the blanket was just perfect, and that set off alarm bells. Monty’s breathing was deep and rhythmic, his chest rising and falling in a steady cadence under her arm. She fit perfectly into the side of his body, every inch of skin pressed against the other, his arm around her. She didn’t even mind the stickiness where her thigh lay across his crotch. That was a new concept.
They’d given in to mindless passion the previous night, which she wrote off as a culmination of the pent-up tension between them. Well, maybe pent-up tension on his part. It was pent-up something else for her.
She poked at that thought as she lay there, her muscles tensing. Looking at the silhouette of his face in the dim dawn, something tugged at her. She wanted to touch his cheek, to bury her face in his neck. To kiss him awake, but not to have sex. Just to be held and showered in his affection.
What in the actual fuck?
She lay there, trying to keep her breathing as measured as his so she didn’t wake him, but it was hard. It had to be the sadness of realizing they were divorcing, didn’t it? That contrary wish that things could have been like this when they were together instead of a constant battle of wills. She remembered her words last night.Two lovers saying goodbye.
That word,goodbye. It made her want to cry. She wasn’t ready for goodbye. They were just finding an equilibrium. A connection.
No.Shewas finding a connection. He wasn’t.
At the wordconnection, a realization crept over her. This wasn’t transitioning to a deeper friendship. And it wasn’t just the fiery passion that had always ignited between them.
She loved Monty.
Holy fucking Christ. She bunched the covers against her mouth, staring at his profile in horror. She didn’t just love him; she wasinlove with him—the exact feeling she’d mocked other people for having. The reason she hated rom coms. The reason she’d distanced herself from her sorority sisters who’d all found love.
She was in love with her ex-husband.
The depth of it shocked her. Their usual interactions went one of two ways: a primal urgency to possess the other’s body, or the rage-filled need to tear the other a new asshole. All those moments, heady and intense, had been fun and exciting and just what their relationship was. But what she felt now was different.
Hr feelings were rounder and fuller and without a hint of angsty energy. This wasn’t about her needs or her desires anymore. This was about Monty, about wanting to see him happy. She was even fucking worried about waking him up! The thought terrified her, as if she was naked in a room of strangers ready to ridicule her.
She knew Monty. He was not the kind to wear his heart on his sleeve. And while their night together had been filled with raw intimacy, these fragile, new feelings had to be one-sided. The thought of him realizing things were different for her, and seeing his cold indifference—or worse, pity—mortified her.
