Page 60 of Embers in Our Past

It’s beena week since the accident, and the sexual tension is at a record high. Each time I walk into a room, I feel Abby’s eyes on me before I look for her.

Her family came out the minute they heard about the accident and stayed in a nearby hotel until we got the all-clear from the doctor that she and the baby were going to be okay. They left this morning, and I’ve been out on a run since the sun came up. I don’t know what to do about these feelings that are coursing through me.

Each time I’m near Abby, all I want to do is claim her. I want to run my hands through her hair, demand she take me back, and call her mine again. But I know that the minute I show that side of me, she’ll retreat, and we’ll be further back than where we are now.

I have to play this right. She keeps saying she doesn’t want to go back to the person she saw herself becoming when she left me at the end of our marriage. I get it. She wasn’t whole anymore. She felt lost and buried from the individual she once was. I don’t think she understands that as much as she felt like she was no longer herself, she was still the person I loved, just further from the surface.

When I look at Abby, I see every bit of her more clearly and fall in love with her even more than I thought possible. Now that she’s pregnant, it’s hard not to love her, knowing we’ll have this little part of us to add to the world. And now that we are together in the same house again? I get to fall in love with her all over again, with the person she is slowly rediscovering within herself and who she is becoming in that process. She will never be the same Abby I met in that cafe all those years ago; she has been through too much life since then and is becoming so much more than that. A person who has been through trauma and is learning to rise from the ashes.

The sweat is cascading down my chest and my back, my shirt long forgotten. I reach the building and click the button to the elevator, catching the eye of Veronica, Apartment 8A. She doesn’t hide her attraction each time she watches me pass, and today, she rushes to catch the elevator with me. I cringe as I try to stand in the farthest corner possible, away from her advances.

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat there, officer,” she drawls with her southern accent.

“Um, I’m a firefighter, not a cop,” I say dryly, my gaze watching the numbers moving up the floors. I honestly feel completely uncomfortable by her advances. She knows I’m not interested.

“You could pat me down any day,” she says, a little breathy when she says it.

I keep my gaze forward, my jaw ticking in irritation. This chick does not take the hint. She’s seen me with Abby, and even if I’m not affectionate, she doesn’t know the extent of our relationship.

I’m about to say something when the door opens onto our floor, and Abby’s in the hallway when I arrive. She looks over her shoulder and sees me coming out of the elevator. Her eyes catch sight of Veronica, and I see her smile falter, but she plasters a fake one on all the same. I want to laugh because I know she tries to hide her distaste for Veronica, but she won’t admit she’s jealous.

“Oh, hi, Abby. Good to see you. You’re a lucky girl having this one all to yourself.” Veronica giggles. Does this girl not have a filter?

I walk out into the hall and can feel the tension radiating off Abby’s shoulders. She balls her hands into fists, and I can’t help the smile that creeps over my face. If I was looking for confirmation that she’s not over me, I got it in this one little interaction. The elevator doors close, and I see her watching it even after Veronica is gone.

“She wants me to claw her eyes out,” Abby seethes.

“Careful, wildcat. You’re acting a bit jealous over your ex-husband. We don’t want that now, do we?” I say, looking at her expanding bump in her tank and the short shorts. I grab my bottom lip with my teeth and think about how much I want to touch her.

“I’m not jealous. Don’t be ridiculous, Clay! I just can't stand when women throw themselves at men who aren't showing them any interest.” She juts her chin in the direction of the now-closed elevator where Veronica was just flirting with me.

I move toward Abby, causing her to step back until her back hits the wall behind her. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to keep fighting this tension. I can make you feel better, you know.”

Her breathing picks up, and I see her pupils dilate. I know she’s turned on, and her eyes trail down my torso to my basketball shorts. It’s hard to miss my growing erection.

“I think the only person looking to find a release is you, Clay,” she says with a coy smile.

“I think with the way you’re nearly salivating for me, you wouldn’t mind me feasting on that pussy of yours and calling my name.” I move my face closer to the crook of her neck.

She makes room for me to nuzzle that space of her neck, and the minute I bring my lips onto her skin, she moans, making me want to lick her all over. It’s like a fuse goes off, and her nipples pebble at the contact.

We’re in the hallway, and I don’t want to risk one of her neighbors coming out, so I pick her up, my sweat not bothering her in the slightest, and take her inside.

I kick the door closed, walk us to the kitchen, and set her down on the kitchen table. She brings her knees wide, panting as she stares at me, her eyes big as saucers. I stand in between her knees, pushing her head back and staring into her eyes, looking for the permission I need to kiss her.

“What are we doing?” she whispers, apprehension in her tone.

“I don’t know, but I will admit, it feels right, whatever it is.”

She brings her hands along my sides, sliding them up my ribs, and if the sweat bothers her, she doesn’t show it. The press of her fingers along my skin feels like she’s igniting a match. The pads of her fingers move a few more inches, then she changes angles, and it’s her nails that move along my back and shoulders. Without another word, I pull her hair back and claim her lips.

She opens for me, and we both moan. It’s like coming home. We’re feral for one another. She uses her feet to push my shorts and boxers off of me. I’m not gentle with her top, tearing the flimsy tank and ripping it off her, grateful she went without a bra this morning. I toss the cotton fabric aside. It’s like we’re desperate for one another, much like we were that night when we reunited all those months ago.

I trail my hands down her neck, moving along her collarbone, then grabbing her breasts. I pinch her nipples, and her reaction spurs me on.

“Yes, don’t stop.” She pushes her chest out, resting her arms at her sides, and rolls her hips, looking for some friction to rub her clit against.

My shorts are still pooled at my ankles, so I chuck them off, along with my running shoes and socks. I still have Abby in her tiny shorts and panties, but I may as well have a little fun with her because watching her beg is half the fun.

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