Inside the elevator, she presses the button for the ninth floor, but doesn’t then hit the button for the seventh. Confusion starts to set in, and I open my mouth to respond, but she steps forward with a determination that makes my mind go blank. Instinct brings my hands to her waist.
Her hands twist in my shirt, pulling me down to her, and then her mouth is on mine, hungry and soft. She stretches higher, one hand in my hair, sliding her tongue over me, licking me like candy. It’s sweet and gentle until she bites my lip with a quiet growl.
When she pulls back, I suck in a breath like I haven’t had oxygen in a week. “Carey?”
She makes a fist in the back of my hair and stares at my mouth.
“Not to interrupt your momentum here,” I say, licking my lips. They taste like her lip gloss. “But what’s happening?”
When Carey turns her eyes up to mine, she looks a little wild. Her gaze is bright, oddly hyperfocused. She’s only a few inches shorter than I am, and I can feel the heat of her breath on my chin. My pulse is going so hard and fast it echoes in my ears.
“I was picking up where we left off last night.”
“And I like that idea. Very much.” I sweep a strand of her hair away from her cheek. “But I don’t want to do this just because you’re upset.”
“That isn’t what this is. This is me doing what I want for once.”
“Oh. So the plan … ?”
“The plan,” she says in a gentle, husky voice, “is we are going to go to your room. I’ll probably have a drink from the minibar.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling down at her. Not that she specifically needs a drink, but I don’t think it would hurt for her to unwind a little. “That sounds like a brilliant idea.”
The elevator doors open and she pulls me with her so we both stumble against a wall. I bend, sliding my mouth over hers again, and she guides one of my hands up her waist, over her ribs, stopping just beneath her breast.
“And then,” she says, and she stares up at me with wide blue-green eyes that seem just south of completely sane at the moment, “you are going to bend me over your bed and fuck me until I forget my name.”
Words fall away. My knees turn rubbery and my mouth immediately dries. I am completely in awe of Demanding Carey, and right now there are few things I want more than exactly what she’s just described.
Finally I manage a simple “I can do that.”
“I think that will help.” She lifts a shaking hand, twists her fingers in my hair again. “I’m working on being more assertive. Does that plan sound good to you, too?”
I bend, dragging my teeth along her jaw. “Yes, it does.”
She drops her hand. “If I tell you that it’s been a solid two years since I’ve had sex, does that sound pathetic?”
“No.”
“It sounds pathetic to me.” She takes a step back and throws her arms out wide and yells at the ceiling. “I’m twenty-six! Good sex should be the foundation of every weekend at my age, but is it?”
“Apparently not?”
She looks back at me and presses a hand to my stomach. “And you have a great body and fucking fantastic teeth.”
I laugh, delighted by this radiant, emphatic woman.
But then a shadow of doubt crosses over her expression. “Am I being too forward?”
Coming slowly back to my senses, I’m aware that her confidence is new. She may be emphatic, but she’s never been given space to be this commanding before. “Absolutely not.” I lean in, kissing her once, and staying close even when I pull away. “You’re the one who left the pool last night, not me.”
This earns me a smile. “I would have totally had sex with you, just so you know. Those stupid kids interrupted us and I freaked out realizing that Melly could have been out on her balcony, too. But right now I don’t care who sees us.”
I kiss a path from her collarbone to her jaw. “Good.”
“So we’re going to do it now.” Her voice vibrates against my lips. “And I think you’re going to blow my mind.” I straighten, and her eyes search mine. “Right, James?”
Compassion for her agitation makes me earnest: “I promise to do my best.”
“One drink,” she says. She slides her hand into mine, but doesn’t move from where she leans against the wall.
“One drink sounds perfect,” I agree. I’m not going to rush her. We could stand in this hallway talking about it for hours if she wants.
“And then you’re going to … ?” Her eyebrows rise to prompt me.
I grin and heat fills my chest when she stares hungrily at my mouth. “Rumor has it I’m going to bend you over the bed.”
“Correct.” Carey smiles, tugs my hand, and leads me down the hall.
EXCERPT FROM New Life, Old Love
Chapter Nine: Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby
Imagine the scene: Melly hands me the outline for this book to look over. As with most things in our life, she’s done the initial legwork and so I know it’s solid. I do a quick scan and give her an immediate “Yep, looks good,” and she hovers for only a second before letting that sassy smile spread over her face.
“Great,” she says. “Glad to hear it.”
Two months later, I’m handed the outline again. Nothing’s changed. Same exact outline. Except this time, I actually take the time to look at it. And this time, I notice that she’s outlined for me to write, among other things, the chapter on s-e-x.
Do I take it as a compliment? Hell yeah. Nothing better than knowing your wife trusts you to handle the important stuff. But is it also intimidating? Another hell yeah. It’s one thing to talk about sex in the confines of our marriage—we’ve been together so long that there are things we know about each other’s bodies that we probably don’t even know about our own. But it’s another thing to get on the computer and try to tell millions of people how and when they should be talking about sex in a relationship.
Look. The first thing I realized with Melly was that if we weren’t prepared to talk about it openly, then we probably shouldn’t be doing it. I realized that because we started together early, before we really had a language for any of that stuff. Before we knew what to do and what we even really liked. We were idiots, shuffling blindly through sexual exploration.
I guess it’s sheer luck that we were able to figure it out together, but that—like any aspect of a good marriage—took a lot of attention, effort, and talking. Lord, in those early days we talked all night about what we wanted, who we were, and what turned us on.
If you think this chapter is going to be a salacious tell-all about my sex life with the beautiful Melissa Tripp, you’ll be disappointed. Go pick up a different book—maybe one with a sexy cowboy on the cover. Another important piece of taking care of a sexual relationship in marriage is to keep it private. My daddy always said, “The only way to keep a secret is to not tell anyone,” so this is me not telling you a single detail about my wife and how damn sexy she is when she wears her hair down, puts on a pair of jeans and boots, and goes outside to ride her beautiful Arabian, Shadow.
Well, I guess that tidbit got away from me, but here’s the other thing: a healthy sexual relationship happens when you find your partner sexy at one day, at one year, at ten years, and when you’re both old as time and slow as honey in the winter. Those things you think are sexy at first might change over time. People aren’t as acrobatic at forty as they are at twenty. These are the facts of life.