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David slides into bed. His body touches mine. There’s no avoiding that, not in a bed this small.
I feel him against me. His leg is firmly pressed against mine. His shoulder is along mine.
I can hear his breathing.
I can feel him. I feel him, like I can feel the air. It’s almost imperceptible, except, of course it’s not. Of course, it’s something I feel and need and am accustomed to, all the time. I feel him in the office. I feel him at my apartment, all the way across town from him. I’ve been feeling him in this cabin, no matter how much we try to distract ourselves.
I feel him now like someone feels themselves in the eye of the storm. The air is so tight and palpable. It’s like the molecules themselves are reminding me of their liveliness.
David is beside me, and he is so far out of reach, I could weep.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
Giving in to the emotion bubbling right under the service of me? Oh, god. I’d never recover. Certainly not in time to have a romantic day, even with the kids around.
“Laura?” David murmurs.
My name sounds softer in his mouth. Like he’s tender with it. In the darkness, with the snow falling outside the window and the fireplace still crackling outside of this room loud enough to be heard, if not felt, my name soundsprecious.
My eyes sting. “What?” I manage. It doesn’t sound as harsh as I’d like, but it’s something.
David’s breathing catches before steadying. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if I want to know what it means.
“I can feel you thinking.”
“No, you can’t.” I dismiss. Sure, I was just thinking about how I can feel his presence, but he can’tfeelme thinking. Whatever.
“Laura?” He turns to me, propping himself up on one arm.
I try—I do, I try—to not look at him. Of course, I fail, miserably, and we’re face to face—literally, nearly nose to nose.
Whatever I was going to say goes flying out of my head.
I think it must fly right out of David’s, too, because his wide eyes darken, the pupils swell, and his lips part. I watch, holding myself back, but David is…
Irresistible.
There’s stubble on his cheek that he hasn’t shaved, damn near a real beard now. It’s peppered brown and gray. It makes him look softer. Like if I touched him, maybe he’d let me.
He looks like the kind of guy who definitely wouldn’t flee to France and ghost a woman. That’s the kind of guy that I find myself unable to turn away from, apparently.
“What’s one more time?” I mutter.
His already round eyes widen further, and then his lips twitch up. “I… Are you sure?”
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I warn.
David’s face falls a little, but then his eyes flicker down my body—lingering, and, Jesus, I candefinitelyfeel that—and he nods.
“Kiss me, then,” I taunt. I try to sound confident and teasing. Really, I just… I don’t want to be the one who gives in.
David lets me win. He presses his mouth to mine, and the spark of bright, bright, bright pleasure erupts all over my body. I am immediately lost in it.
I find myself clambering on top of him, our mouths still connected.
David grabs me by the back of the thighs, bringing me up to meet him. The pinch of his hands on me feels like fire, like the small spark of pain is actually a burst of pleasure.
