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The washcloth dropped from his hand to the tile floor with a splat as he shifted closer, his hand moving between her legs again. Knowing she was likely overly sensitive from before, he stroked gently over her clit.
Celia gasped, her arms unfolding to clutch at his arm.
He felt the shudder rush through her at his next stroke. “Celia, your body was made for loving.”
Her head fell back against the tile wall of the shower as he continued his gentle teasing. “But, before…” She trailed off as she bit her lip again. The tension within her was tightening.
He caught her against him as her legs gave out, making his finger drag over her clit even more delicately. “Only focus on the now. I’m going to make you forget everything you thought about sex before.”
Her gaze fell to his hard penis pressed against her thigh. “You mean…” She gasped again, clenching her hands around his arm as a shudder ran through her.
“Do you not want to again?” he asked.
Her eyes locked on his. “No, I do.” Then her focus fractured as she orgasmed in his arms.
He brought her to it again with his fingers inside of her the second time, wanting to cry when he sank into her warmth after. Her legs wrapped around his back, and he worried the wall behind her was too hard, but he couldn’t keep his hips from pumping into her. They came together, with his seed filling her. It was reckless of him, even if she was on the pill. Birth control wasn’t perfect, but he hadn’t been able to pull out. And he didn’t own any condoms. He hadn’t needed them with his wife, and hadn’t had sex with anyone since.
He cleaned her afterward, keeping his ministrations short due to her sensitivity. Her eyelids had begun to droop.
He was the one to towel her dry. He carried her to her bed, as he had done nearly a week ago. The action had felt so different then. He tucked them both into the guest bedroom, spooning her from behind.
His lips pressed a kiss against her neck. “Sleep,” he told her, watching her eyes drift shut.
Even he slept for a while. He’d forgotten how sex could do that to him.
He woke with a jerk, swallowing his wife’s name. Celia continued to sleep on, so he hadn’t disturbed her, thank God.
Trenton eased away enough to sit up, dragging his hands down his face. He hadn’t dreamed of Emily’s last moments in such a long time. She’d been so frightened, and he’d been so helpless.
He slid out of the bed, glancing back at Celia to make certain she still slept. The sheet had slipped down, revealing her bare shoulder and most of a breast. She looked so delicate lying there, and his chest ached to watch her. He turned away.
Padding naked down the hall and to his own bedroom, he slipped new boxers on. A picture of Emily and him on their last vacation together, in the Smoky Mountains, sat on top of his dresser. Staring at it had him reaching for more clothes, and he pulled on his running outfit. Celia continued to sleep as he locked the front door behind him.
Running had always been his escape from thoughts, but even it didn’t work this time. Instead, Emily’s barely there voice sounded in his ears, begging him not to forget her. No matter how hard he pushed, he couldn’t drown the memory out.
He wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly why his subconscious was taunting him. Celia had felt perfect to him. Whether cuddled around her, pressed against her, or sliding deep inside of her, he’d felt a peace that he’d promised himself he’d never feel. He couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep his promise to Emily.
As he eased inside of the house, he listened to the continued silence. He wasn’t surprised, not after how Celia’s body had responded to him. Guilt slammed into him. Sure, he’d given her pleasure, but that didn’t take away the fact that he’d taken advantage of her weak moment.
He was as big of a jerk as that scumbag ex-fiancé.
Trenton slipped into the bathroom, showering again. He moved through the steps quickly, unable to block out the memory of her pressed into the wall as he buried himself within her. The living room and the bathroom. He’d screwed himself royally.
He put on the clothes from earlier in the day, tossing the pre-cum-stained boxers in the laundry with his running clothes.
The kitchen seemed safe enough. He hadn’t yet lifted her onto the counter and feasted on her, though his body hummed at the idea. The wedding picture on the fridge helped to ease his tension.
That was when he noticed the bag of groceries still sitting on the counter. Crossing to it, he began taking out what Celia had bought. There was nothing that would spoil too quickly. It appeared to be the fixings for a great salad, and his stomach rumbled to remind him of the calories he’d burned. He began rinsing off the vegetables, some of his frustration with himself easing as he slid into his normal Sunday routine of cutting up things healthy to eat.
He hadn’t always eaten that way. It had all come from the reading he’d done once Emily came down with her illness. A healthy diet wasn’t proven to work, but many sites talked about it possibly extending a patient’s life. Of course, none of it had helped. She’d died within six months, despite the prognosis the doctors had given her.
“Trenton?”
He turned to see Celia. She hadn’t come out wrapped in that sheet as he’d half feared. Trenton hadn’t been able to predict how he’d react to that. Instead, she wore her typical jeans and a shirt, though her hair still looked like she’d been to bed. The memory of her head tossing against the couch as she’d come hard against his fingers had his hand tightening around the knife.
“You must be starving,” he said as he turned back to the counter. The same counter he’d just daydreamed about hoisting her onto so that he could screw her again. He put down the knife when he almost stabbed himself.
“I bought all of that stuff to make something for you.” She’d come up behind him to look over his shoulder. Her breasts pushed against his arm, reminding him of how tight they were. “You’re stealing my thunder. How about I finish up?”
