Page 111 of Whiskey Throttle
“It is,” she cuts me off, changes sides to face me. Her hand on my cheek. “It’s the only time. Because if you touch me when I’m composed again, I’ll pretend I don’t need it. I’ll pretend I’m fine. That I don’t ache for it.”
I go still, every muscle taut. Wanting her. Knowing it’s a shitty move if I allow it to happen.
“I just don’t want to be alone.”
“You’re not.”
Her eyes well up again. Shimmering in the low light, but she doesn’t blink them away. She holds my gaze. Testing whether I’ll flinch. Whether I’ll run now that I’ve seen it all. The grief, the guilt, and the ugly fallout of a life lived too long in silence.
Leaving is the last thing I want to do, even if I’m unsure about what we are to each other. I lean in, brush my lips to her cheekbone, and collect her tears with my mouth. I kiss the salt. The sorrow. Her strength. Her hand slides into my hair and holds me there.
“Make me forget.”
Her voice breaks. Lip tucking into her teeth. Not sexy, more unsure.
“Babs.”
Everything about this feels wrong. Feels off, even if I want it more than anything. I want to lose myself in her. Rewind these silent days, text messages, and voicemails. Go back to the Hamptons. Our fortress by the sea, where nothing and no one could reach us.
“I’m not sure.”
Her hand moves out of my hair, slips down to the side of my neck, and rests there.
“I am.”
I want to believe her. My cock and balls want to be in her. But she left me hanging. My necklace is gone from her neck. Replaced with those damn pearls of her ex-husband. Another thing I thought she had moved on from.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I whisper, searching her dark eyes as if they hold the answers. Her stare is long. Her lip releases from her teeth in an exaggerated sigh. “If I hadn’t come today, if I hadn’t been here because Dom asked and I thought he needed me. . . I mean, I was worried. About you and me and whatever is happening. Which I thought was nothing.”
Being tangled up with her on her bed is testing my resolve. My cock is half hard with my hand full of her body. My mind is cloudy and numb after everything that has happened.
“Why didn’t you call me back? Not even a text, Barbara.”
I do the only thing responsible and untangle myself from her. Moving to the edge of the bed, to clutch the covers. Turning my back to her helps me focus as I stare at her soft rug.
“Don’t you see? I couldn’t fix us without fixing him and me.”
The bed dips behind me. The palm of her hand on my shoulder blade. Her cheek leans into my arm.
“I tried. I went over there on Sunday. Met his girlfriend. Tried to talk it out, but it was a disaster. I kept trying, but he wouldn’t take my calls either.”
Another sigh ripples out of her. Hot against my shirt. A revelation I didn’t know. While I was reaching for her, she was reaching for him. Logically, I understand. But everything else in me hates it. Wanting to be reached as equally, if not more than I am reaching out to her.
“I don’t know what happened to bring him and you here today.”
She pauses, her hand rubbing soothing circles over my tight muscles.
“And now?” I probe her, still waiting for her to reach for me.
Not physically like she suggested a second ago, but emotionally. Truly wanting me after all those embarrassing and practically begging messages I left her.
“And now, things are different. The last conversation we had in the observatory was my worst fear, about my son finding out. That already happened. One obstacle cleared.”
I glance down at her. She’s right and wrong. We have so much more mileage between us.
“And?”
She’s so wound up in her emotions and not used to sharing that it’s back to pulling teeth.
