It really was as if no time had passed. This was the man I had married, the person I’d wanted to be with for the rest of my life. So, when he kissed me harder and tugged on my hair, I pulled on his shirt. He shifted so he could help me strip his torso, and then my hands were on his bare flesh, the heat of him searing my palms.
“When did you get so big?” I asked against his lips and felt him smile.
“I have a joke for that,” he whispered, then issued a deep chuckle that rumbled through me.
“You have so much muscle now. You weren’t scrawny before, but…wow.”
“I was a boy before, Myra. Now, I’m a man. Is that fact going to be too much for you?”
“I don’t want to think. Don’t ask me questions.”
“Is this going to be another mistake?” he asked.
“If it is, it’s one I want to make.” I knew those words were probably a lie. This was idiotic. It wasn’t what I’d come here for. It would probably only make things worse. But I kissed him, and when he lifted me off my feet, I wrapped my legs around his waist, needing more.
“Just once,” I whispered.
“Once.”
He shoved my back against the wall, my skirt riding up to my hips. I arched into him, needing him, kissing him, forgetting the rest of the world.
This was the man I had loved, and it was everything. If we could pretend, then we could walk away… This could be goodbye. I kept rationalizing all of this to myself, but it made no sense. It didn’t need to. I pulled at his pants, and he undid his belt buckle and pushed his jeans down to his knees. He slid his hands between my thighs, and I moaned, his fingers spearing me.
“Already wet for me, baby.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, so you’re feisty now?”
“I was always this way.” I bit his lip, and he’d growled, capturing my lips again as he moved those two fingers. I arched, my body shaking as his thumb pressed against my clit, his fingers curling to rub the tangle of nerves inside me.
He pumped in and out, his hands working hard enough to make me shake. I reached between us, trying to touch him, but it was too much. I came on his hand, his name a rasp on my lips as my legs shook. And then his fingers slid out, and I could finally grasp him. He was hard and thick, bigger than I remembered.
“You didn’t grow here, did you?”
He laughed. “No, still the same size. Damn, you’re so fucking beautiful, Myra. I always loved your curves, but I swear to God, I could lick you up.”
“Not now. I can’t wait, Nathan.” I didn’t say the word later. Didn’t say “next time.” Because this could be the only time. I needed to languish in this mistake and not think about the future. And so, I gripped him and positioned him at my entrance. He met my gaze before slamming home. I gasped, both of us freezing at the riot of sensations. Nate was warm and so wide that I had to stretch to accommodate him.
And yet, this felt familiar. As if we had done it a thousand times before with no time in between. I could barely catch my breath before he pulled out of me and then pressed back in.
I met him thrust for thrust, my lips on his, my skirt moving farther up my body as he cupped my ass and spread me. He pounded me against the wall, and I scraped my fingernails down his back, leaving gouges. I couldn’t help it. I needed him.
When I came again, I bit his shoulder, and he threw back his head and shouted my name, filling me as he came, as well.
In the aftermath, the coolness of the air-conditioned room chilled my body, and my sweat-slick skin grew clammy. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t do anything. Instead, I froze against the wall, my body still holding onto him, his cock still hard inside me, and I tried to take a deep breath.
“Myra,” he whispered.
“I need to clean up,” I said, my voice wavering.
“Shit. Myra.”
“If you say you’re sorry, I’ll slap you. Please, pull out of me. I need to clean up.”
So he did, oh so carefully. My panties were shoved to the side—we hadn’t even stripped each other entirely. I was still wearing my bra, for God’s sake.
This was the heat and the temptation that had gotten us into trouble before. And here we were, making another mistake. All because I hadn’t wanted to speak, hadn’t wanted to think. And I’d thought this action might be worth the consequences.
I was not the cool and calculated Myra that I showed to the world. I was now the temptress and the sin that had gotten me into trouble before. I didn’t want to hate myself, but I couldn’t help but despise the gravity of my mistakes.
Nate was back in an instant as I fixed my skirt, and he helped me clean up. Still, I stood there, looking at him with his pants undone, his body sweaty. I knew there was evidence of what we had done on his back, my fingernails having left marks. But I couldn’t even look at him.
“I’m clean. You’re the only person I’ve ever not used a condom with.”
I hadn’t even thought about it. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d never had sex with someone without a condom before—other than Nathan. And at that point, we were married.
I cleared my throat. “I’m clean, as well. I can show you the reports.”
“Same.”
“I need to go.”
“Myra.”
I shook my head, not meeting his gaze. “No. I need to go. I just…this can’t happen again.”
“Myra—”
“Goodbye, Nathan.”
I picked up my bag, and I ran.
And once again, he let me.
Chapter 11
Nate
I’d given her twelve hours, and I thought that was enough time. I knew from Macon that Myra wasn’t taking care of Joshua this morning, so I figured she should be home. If not, I would track her down, and we would talk. Because if we didn’t, I was afraid my head might fall right off my shoulders.
How the hell had we gone from trying to understand what had happened in our past to having sex in my fucking living room? It made no goddamn sense. Yes, I was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean I’d needed to bang her right there.
It was a mistake, a lack of judgment on both our parts. And we had to talk about it.
But, Jesus Christ, despite that, I wanted to do it again. And that was the problem—one of many. Being with Myra again was like a thousand moments in time wrapped up in a necessary breath. I hadn’t thought to be with her again. I had never allowed myself to believe that it would ever happen. It couldn’t. I’d hated her at one point. But I had been wrong. I hadn’t known the truth. And I knew that I couldn’t hate her. Ever.
I could only hate myself. But now we had slept together, and I didn’t know what to do about it. We needed to talk. Again. But I knew how well that had gone before.
I had told my family members to talk to their significant others when things got insane, that communication always had to be the most important thing. So, I would live up to what I told others, even if it felt like I was raking myself over hot coals. And I had yet to figure out exactly how to grovel the way I should.
I stood on Myra’s porch, not knowing if she was home for sure because her car could be in the garage. I knocked on the door and let out a breath, not knowing what to say, and hoping to hell that she was home, while also praying she wasn’t. This could be Schrodinger’s house. If no one ever came to the door, perhaps she was hiding from me, or not here at all.