“Wait. Wait. Hold on now.” Diane twisted her face, wrenching her mouth from mine and gasping.
I turned my wrist and captured her hand, bringing her palm to the front of my pants so she could feel what she did to me. She shivered.
“I’m tired of waiting,” I growled, bending to taste her neck as we stroked my cock together. “I want you.”
“Whoa—okay, okay, okay. Just—ah!” She made a squeaking sound when my mouth closed over the center of her breast and I tongued her nipple, leaving her capable palm at my fly while I circled her clit with my middle finger.
I wanted to touch her everywhere. I needed to feel her, see her beneath me, spread open wide, taking every inch of my cock. Her hips rocked, searching; her body arched, begging; her hand gripped me, stroking.
But then, she stopped. She froze. She pushed me away. And she rushed to the other side of the room, placing the couch between us as she pulled up the strap of that sexy as sin, flimsy, basically see-through nightie.
Before tonight is over, I’m taking that thing as a souvenir.
“You stay there.” Breathing hard, she held her hands out. “And I’ll, uh, stand here.”
Her eyes darted all over the dimly lit space, never settling. Unable to hold still, she paced back and forth behind the couch, tugging a hand through her hair and twisting her fingers.
I also breathed hard, and I felt like I’d face-planted into a wall of concrete. Reality settled on my shoulders like a plane crash. I’d broken all my promises, and though I couldn’t be sorry about it, I knew I should leave. If I stayed, I’d do everything in my power to seduce her. And the way I was feeling, I didn’t know if I’d be able to leave her in the morning.
So I said, “I should leave.”
“What?” She spun to face me, her eyebrows pulled low. “No! No. Absolutely not. It’s a frozen hellscape out there right now. Just, give me a minute to think.”
“Take your time.” I would leave. I’d wait for the right moment, just as soon as she left to put on more clothes, or when she went to sleep. Then I’d figure out how not to freeze to death in the dark while walking miles to the compound.
“I—I have some thoughts.” She continued to face me, she also continued to twist her fingers. “And there’s some things that need saying between us . . . apparently.”
I swallowed around the residual lust and nodded. Under no circumstances would I touch her again. Touching her made me lose my mind. And break all my promises.
“The simple fact of the matter is, I am not the same woman who showed up at your bar last year. That woman was hurt, but she was also incredibly angry and bitter. I am not her.” Diane stepped closer to the couch, placing her hands on the back of it.
“Okay.” I nodded again, her words helping a great deal to sober my thoughts. She didn’t want a repeat, she didn’t want me. This news was not surprising, even if it did hit me right in the gut.
“For one”—she lifted her chin proudly—“I have more respect for myself. I know better what I want.”
“Fine. Message received.”
Her frown returned, more severe than before. “What? Wait—no. How can you receive a message when I’m not finished sending it? Please let me just get all this out. Okay?”
“Sure.”
The least I could do after grabbing her like a maniac was listen. And maybe I needed these words too. Maybe I needed to hear the rejection so I’d get it through my thick skull that she was not mine to think about, to worry over, to protect. Then I’d leave her alone for good.
“My point is, I’ve had a long-term relationship and it was a disappointment in every way it possibly could be. And maybe I’m old fashioned, maybe I’m naïve when it comes to matters of the heart, but I can’t help who I am.”
I set my hands on my hips and heaved a silent sigh. “Just say it, Diane.”
Her fingers seemed to dig into the back of the couch. “I want someone to court me.”
And there it was.
I continued staring at her, counting the seconds as they ticked by. Why she couldn’t just say, I don’t want you, you’re not good enough for me, I had no idea. Did she think I needed to be let down gently?
Well, now. That would be a first.
“I want dinners and flowers,” she went on. “And picnics and romantic gestures. I don’t want to constantly be making excuses for someone, for their lack of ability or skill or generosity.”
“Diane. You don’t need to say anything else.”
“I don’t?” Her featured brightened and she approached the arm of the couch; my eyes snagged on her stiff nipples, barely concealed by the thin layer of silk. “You understand what I mean?”
“Yes.” I tore my eyes away, no point in torturing myself. “You mean you don’t want me.”
“What?” she snapped, her head tilting to the side like she needed to inspect me from a different angle. “No! No, you irritating man. Did I say that? That’s not at all what I’m saying!”
I glanced over her head toward the room’s exit, impatient to get going. I didn’t belong here. “Then what do you mean?”
“I mean I want you.”
My eyes cut back to hers and as I waited for the but, for the rejection—because there was always a but followed by a rejection—and I ignored the tightness seizing my chest and what it might mean.
When she kept on looking at me, as though expecting a reaction, I prompted, “But?”
“But nothing.” She placed her hands on her hips, her tone salty, impatient.
“There’s always a but,” I said stupidly.
“Fine. Yes. Okay. There is a ‘but.’” Her eyes moved like she might roll them, but stopped when they reached the ceiling. “I want you. But . . . only if you want me the same way.”
I stared at her. It’s all I could do because I was so damn confused.
Meanwhile, she peaked at me, nibbling her bottom lip, looking sinfully gorgeous in her little nightie that showcased every delectable curve.
“Do you . . . want me?” The uncertainty in her voice, the vulnerability, hit low in my stomach.
“What?” I choked out, because was hers a real question? How could she not know how much I wanted her? Hadn’t I just kissed the hell out of her? Hadn’t her breast just filled my palm? Hadn’t I just literally said the words, I want you?
Her tongue flicked out to lick her lips and she stepped fully around the couch, her eyes huge. “I’ve been in a lonely, one-sided romance before. I don’t want that. I want something deep, something meaningful for both people involved. I’m not saying we have to get married. Lord knows, I’ve had enough of marriage to last a lifetime. I don’t think I’ll ever get married again. What I’m talking about is something real, authentic, passionate, but also—above all else—loving. Because what I’ve never had, what I’ve never known, is that.”
“I . . . don’t understand.” Did I hit my head? Am I really here?
Diane took a deep breath and then said loudly, “I want a relationship,” like the words were a painful confession and the only way she could speak them out loud was by near shouting them.