Page 181 of Accidental Husband
"So you've—"
"I stopped for a few months. I tried, Griff, I did. But it was too much. After a week, I felt like everything was spilling out of me. I didn't have anywhere to go. I'd convinced Jackson it didn't matter. I'd promised you I wouldn't. I… maybe you would have listened when I said I wanted to, but after the way you looked at me… I couldn't tell you."
His fingers skim my chin. "I'm sorry."
"You don't—"
"I know. But I am. I… It means the fucking world to me, that you're telling me this."
My stomach flutters. "But… I lied. I broke my promise."
"I know."
"Aren't you—"
"You gonna ask if I'm mad again?"
"Yeah."
"Stop asking about shit that doesn't matter."
"It does—"
"It doesn't." He drags his fingertips down my neck. "I'm not asking to berate you."
My inhale is shallow.
"Or guilt you."
My exhale is shaky.
"I'm asking because I'm terrified of something happening to you."
"I'm—"
"Don't say you're careful. That's only gonna scare me more."
"You don't get to take this," I say.
"I know."
"You don't get to make it about you being scared or worried or hurt."
"I don't want to." He draws a line over my shoulder, down my arm, all the way to the tip of my index finger. "But I'm not gonna let you shoulder this alone, baby."
"I…"
"I know you can handle it. You've been handling it for the last five years."
"I…"
"I'm not gonna let you do that anymore. If I'm overstepping, you can tell me to go fuck myself," he says.
"And you will."
He chuckles. "Yeah. It will be fucking painful not touching you while I do it, but I'll come like that"—he snaps his fingers—"with you watching."
My laugh breaks up the tension in my chest. "How can you still go back to sex?"
