Page 92 of The Perfect Mistake

Her eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s been a long time for me, sweetheart.”

She stiffens in my arms, but her hand continues to drag through my hair. There’s hesitancy in her voice. “Has it been since…?”

I sigh. “No. I’ve had… encounters since.”

“Oh. Many?”

“Two,” I say. This isn’t the conversation I thought we’d have.

It’s not one I want to have, either, and it’s not a topic I’m proud of. But she just rakes her nails deliciously against my scalp, and there’s only curiosity on her face.

“Tell me about them,” she says.

“The first was a one-night stand at a conference, and the second was a woman I knew from high school. She was back in town for a week.” I shake my head. They had been misguided attempts at a connection, a release of sexual need, and a test of the waters. To see if moving on was possible. “You can’t honestly care about this.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Of course I do. Was it hard?”

I know what she’s asking. But it’s not what I want to answer, because the guilt drawer is still locked, so I tug her closer instead. “Yes, very,” I say. “Abstinence definitely makes some things grow harder.”

But it had only taken the edge off a need I kept under lock for years, tempered and satisfied in the usual solo way.

Somehow Isabel had found the key, and now all I can think about is having her.

She rolls her eyes. “So you’re a deprived man, is that what you’re saying?”

“Incredibly.” I kiss her again and grip her ass in my hands, encouraging her to keep grinding against me. “I’ve never needed anyone this much.”

Her nimble fingers undo the top button of my shirt, and then another, so she can slip her hand inside. Her touch spreads warmth through me. I tip her head back, kissing her neck, when a sour thought strikes me.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“When did you have sex last.”

“I think it was last night.”

I chuckle against her collarbone. “Smart-ass. Come on, tell me.”

“A… year ago. Maybe a bit more.”

Despite it all, the answer pleases me on a deep level. If it had only been three months ago, there might still be someone in the picture. Another dancer, an old friend, someone sending her messages at night. I’m not sure I would have been able to handle the jealousy then. I’m already certain she’s destined for someone her own age, but I don’t want to know a thing about that man.

She reaches between our bodies and slides her hand over the hard length she’s grinding down on. I hiss out a breath at the tight grip. The fabric of my pants is rough, and the friction only makes me harden more.

“Morning, day, and night,” I tell her. “You don’t know how crazy you’ve driven me.”

She’s breathing hard against my ear, and her hand strokes me over the fabric. “Really?”

“I’ve jerked off more since you moved in than in the last few years.”

“Where?”

I lean my head against the couch and watch her lust-filled eyes. I could watch her forever when she’s like this. Fully in her body, and flushed with a fever she can’t slake alone.

“The shower every morning. The bed every night.”

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