Page 53 of The Seven Month Itch
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do back then.”
She pushes me away when I try to hold her. “You hurt me.” More tears stream down her cheeks, and it takes everything in me not to touch her.
I drop my head in shame. “Work was the only way I could cope.” My hands slide up her arms. I press my lips against her cheek and whisper, “If I could go back and change things, I would. You mean the world to me, baby.”
The room weighs heavy with silence. She wipes her eyes and lets out a ragged breath. “I don’t know if I have the strength to go back.”
Don’t do this. “What does that mean? I loveyou, Justice. I never stopped loving you, and I willneverstop loving you!”
I stare into her eyes in search of an answer. This can’t be the end. Itcan’tbe. Behind the hurt in her gaze is a hunger she tries to mask. Her face is hard, determined to push me away. But her body betrays her.
A flush creeps up the smooth column of her neck, up her jaw, working overtime to swallow down the sharp breaths lifting her chest. Honey-soft breasts strain against the fabric of her dress. I want to trail a finger down her cleavage and tease her nipples with my tongue and fingers.
The thought of losing her for good moves me to action. My body presses against hers, and I take her mouth.
Chapter 24
Justice
It’s happening. Oh, dear God. It’s happening.
My skin heats in a slow burn, and my nipples tighten against the built-in cups of my dress. The friction of the fabric would be almost too much if it weren’t for the man in front of me, igniting my body with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Everything in me yearns for Terrence, but my mind taps me on the shoulder with replays from our highlight reel as a reminder of why I left.
I pull hands that freed countless orgasms from my face and gaze up at him with heavy eyelids. How did we go from last night to this?
Terrence is breathing like he tried to outrun a car. The way he looks at me leaves zero room to question how much he wants me. Every inch of his desire presses against my stomach.
This is not the time to think with your head. Your coochie needs a tune-up, and he’s the mechanic who knows what to do under your hood.
He devours my mouth again and says in a breathless whisper, “Don’t think, baby. I need my wife.” His lips curl around my tongue and suck.
My thighs clench together at the sensation flooding my center and the husky voice that calls for hiswife. My arousal soaks through my panties. I want him.
Terrence presses his delicious weight into me, sending our bodies against the door with a thud. He pins me with a hand pressed into the curve of my hip. The other trails up my thigh to wrap my leg around him. I dig into his shoulder for balance and gasp at the glide of his fingers along my seam.
“Someone is ready for me.” His mouth explores the side of my neck and sucks on the pulse point. It’s a fight to keep my legs from giving out. I hiss at the steady thrum of rising pressure. I want to let go and get lost in him.
So I do.
I plunge my hands into his hair and let out a feral moan, all thoughts and logic be damned. Tonight, I need him—all of him. My hands claw at Terrence with only a need he can satisfy. Scattered buttons patter to the floor like raindrops when I rip open his shirt.
Our kiss becomes frantic. He picks me up and presses me back against the door. My dress now rests above my waist, exposing my red lace thong I grind into his belt. The friction of the metal buckle quickens my breath and floods my sex with pleasure.
“There’s my naughty girl,” he says in a groan between kisses.
We move from the foyer and into the hall, our tongues intertwined and our bodies aching with need. We’re doing it. Us andit. The flutters in my stomach morph into uncontrollable trembles. I’m not ready. One, it’s too soon. There are also too many questions that need answers.
“Wait, wait!” I’m out of breath but muster up enough strength to press my hands into his bedroom doorframe. Seven months’worth of emotions pummel into me, lifting my lust-filled haze for a dose of reality. I can’t tell up from down, much less remember how to breathe.
Is it possible to have a panic attack before sex?
“I-I don’t know if I can do this.”
Terrence examines my face. His voice is soft when he answers. “What’s wrong?” With the switch of a grip, wraps his hand around the back of my neck and waits for me to reveal whatever is freaking me out. I stare at him and try to say everything with my eyes. There’s so much I want to tell him, but I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. It surprises us both.
“I promised myself I would be celibate.” Is there a way to teleport through hardwood?
He’s biting his lip when I look up to meet his eyes. Did he just laugh in my face?
