Page 50 of I Almost Do

Then he gathers both of my wrists in one of his hands and pushes them over my head, holding me against the door like some sort of pirate's captive. His free hand trails down the front of my body. Then he reaches into my panties and slides a single finger through the seam of my wet sex.

My abdominal muscles clench, and I close my eyes at the sheer wonder. At the unfamiliar beauty of the contact. "James…."

"Yes, sweetheart. That's it. You're so slippery down here. So hot and slick."

I writhe against him, pushing. Trying to make him move. His fingers work me with small, tight circles against my clit, winding me tighter and tighter into a coiled spring.

When he moves down, away from my clit, I could cry at the loss. At the way my body hovers at that edge with no way back and no way over.

James presses a finger inside, and it's an entirely new sensation. Fullness thatneedsfriction. He fucks me with his finger, and I'm still in that place, sprung tight, needing more. More.

I realize I'm chanting the word out loud.

James gives me another finger and mutters, "I am going to hell for this."

I open my eyes to look at his face because his words are registering, and I don't like them. He's my husband. He's not going to hell for loving my body.

His fingers keep working my pussy, but he also rubs my clit in those tight circles again.

The pressure is perfect. The friction is perfect. But more than all of that, it's James. It's James who's giving me this.

I've long forgotten why this started. I've long forgotten anything but how much I love this man. I'm right there. Ready to jump from the cliff, not even caring if I'll land in cool water or on jagged rock.

I follow his tormented gaze down to where his eyes are trained—on the outline of his own hand, moving under the wet black silk of my thong. Every motion is set in bas-relief as he watches his own fingers fuck me, his thumb swirling against me.

His fingers hook inside, pressing against something that makes my knees give way. Only James's body pressed against me and that hand working my pussy keep me from crumbling to the floor.

I cry out in a sort of keening wail because I don't know how not to, and his eyes jerk up to meet mine. The second they do, the tension inside me snaps.

Pleasure courses through me, so acute it's just this side of pain. His fingers don't stop, and my eyes widen in a brief burst of panic because the orgasm isn't stopping either. It's too much. I'm electrified. Existing as an aura that hovers just outside of this body. I don't know if it's ever going to stop. His eyes are the only thing keeping me on this planet as I shudder and shake in his hands.

"Good girl," he says. "Shhhh. Oh, my sweet girl….”

His hands are on my face, wiping away tears. I don’t know why I’m crying, because I’m not sad at all. My heart is just spilling out of me like a shaken bottle of champagne. I try to will myself to stop because James isn’t going to understand that these tears are a release valve for feelings other than pain or misery.

He carries me into the living room and sits on the sofa with me cradled on his lap, my arms wrapped around his neck.

I’m not cold, but I shiver anyway. He reaches for the cashmere throw blanket on the arm of the sofa and wraps it around the two of us.

He holds me in the dark, naked torso to naked torso, as he strokes my hair and my back. And he speaks quietly, lips pressed into my hair. He tells me how sweet I am. How good. He calls me his angel and promises to protect me and take care of me.

I grow sleepy and sated, and when my body is fully relaxed, he says, “That was a mistake.”

19

Say You Love Me

Clarissa

If I had a single speck of pride, I’d let go of his neck and slide off his lap. Then I’d sit beside him on the sofa, and we’d have a cool, calm, collected conversation in which I would—nicely—tell him to get his head out of his ass.

But I don’t have a single speck of pride when it comes to James. So I don’t let go. I hold on tighter. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, exhausted frustration in the sound. “I never should have put my hands on you like that.”

“I wanted you to touch me. You didn’t hurt me.”

“We weren’t ready for this step.”

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