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Her hands stroked over his shoulders and down, bringing her breasts in the soft fabric against his chest. So good. He’d missed this. Missed her.
Sliding his hands up her sides, he broached the satin smooth flesh under the sweater and t-shirt. It was hot and a faint hint of moisture lay under the jut of her breasts. He’d wanted to explore her for weeks, to see what changes motherhood brought to her body. He stroked a thumb across the silky texture of her bra and she pulled away, yanking the top layers over her head.
For a moment she hesitated, looking down at his face, as if waiting for his reaction. The soft cups moulded her shape, her nipples pushing against the thin casing.Beautiful. He brought up both hands to lightly squeeze the tips and she shuddered, bringing her mouth back down on his with a moan.
He hardly remembered them moving to the bed, shedding clothes and bath sheet on the way. It was like their last time together, kissing and fondling for what seemed like an eternity, bodies melding together, hot and sweaty, the friction driving them both higher.
Her flesh appeared a rich honey against the pallor of his own sun-starved skin, her arms and legs tanned like her face. Her touch was the kiss of hot summer days, the brush of a spring breeze. Inside him a torrent of sensation blew away the chill of winter. It probably sounded crazy but it made sense in his head. Only she could be everything, all things.
He ventured to touch the curls at the juncture of her thighs and she arched into him, her mouth greedy on his, her hips pushing against the movement of his fingers as he delved deep, his thumb focused on the wet slickness at her centre.
A shudder racked her small frame and she squeaked out a protest, bucking against his hand. His heart beat hard against his chest and he knew what she’d expect next. His mind shifted and squirmed as he thought about condoms. His mother brought over all his stuff from his old room when he arrived, but he suspected a box of condoms last opened nearly thirteen years ago wouldn’t be safe. He hadn’t been expecting … been prepared …
‘Morgan, please.’
She was reaching for him, her hand exploring his stomach and lower and a cold sliver of dread trickled down his spine, chilling the warmth from his body. Stripping away the blood from his vitals.
Not now, please not now.
His hands dropped away and he rolled over, dropping his feet to the ground and turning his back to her.
‘Morgan?’
The bed shifted and she was sitting beside him, huddling into a pillow.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was all he could bring himself to say. He shouldn’t have tried, knowing failure was inevitable. Humiliating.
She looked confused, her eyes naked and unfocused without her glasses. With a wiggle that took her further away, she reached for where she’d discarded them on the bedside table.
‘Did I do something wrong?’
She sounded young, so like the Becca of his memories it made his heart hurt. With her glasses on again, she scanned his body.
He reached for the towel lying in a bundle of Becca’s clothes on the floor but it was too late. Her indrawn breath said everything.
‘Oh …’
‘It’s not your problem, Becca.’
She was scrabbling on the floor for her clothes. ‘It is. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know. You should have told me you weren’t into it and I wouldn’t have …’
She stood in front of him, clutching the clothes against her chest.
Tears welled silently, magnified by the glasses and then shrinking again as they tracked down beside her nose.
His chest, his throat choked his voice.
With a muffled sob she spun around and her rapid steps echoed down the hallway, heading for the bathroom.
He let the towel drop and buried his face in his hands. She wouldn’t be back. It was pointless him thinking of following her. There was nothing he could do or say to make it better. He’d been a fool to think a momentary surge of desire wouldn’t be followed by the betrayal of his body. That because he wanted Becca so much, the emotional connection would somehow make things happen.
He was a grown man, but all he wanted to do was cry for the loss and the humiliation. His and, worst of all, Becca’s. He’d hurt her again. She didn’t deserve more pain.
He sucked in a stinging breath. He’d destroyed everything. If he’d stopped her before the kiss, nothing would have happened. After that disaster, she wouldn’t want to face him.
All his plans, his hopes for some kind of family life, even at a distance were threatened.
Not threatened. Demolished. He couldn’t stay and watch her turn to someone else. If he’d had something to offer her maybe it could be mended. But if nothing else, today proved he couldn’t be a partner to anyone.
