Page 62 of I Almost Do

I'm still a little groggy, my limbs still warm and loose and relaxed from sleep. My body is pure honey sliding off a hot spoon as James moves against me.

I lift my upper leg and rest it on the outside of his. I don't know what I'm doing. It's instinct to give him better access. But when I do it, suddenly his cock is making contact with my clit on every push forward.

We're still covered. Still dressed. I desperately wish we weren't.

"We shouldn't be doing this," James says gruffly, his words skimming past the shell of my ear on warm breath that raises goose bumps on my skin.

I don't say a word to that. I just freeze, barely breathing, heart sinking.

But James doesn't pull away. He stays there, wrapped around me, almost clutching me against him, while his erection presses hot and heavy between my thighs.

I can't stay still. Without thought or will, I move against him once more, seeking friction.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. We can do this much. Just this much.”

24

Falling Like the Stars

Itwouldtakeanact of God to pull me away from Clarissa right now.

When I woke up and realized what I'd done, I tried to stop. To regain control and common sense.

But she wants this. She's as needy and frustrated as I am. I can hear her panting little breaths and feel her damp heat even through our clothing.

If we were home in New York… well, we wouldn't have slept in the same bed for starters. And when things get too hot and heavy there, I go to my room. She goes to hers. And we take care of ourselves.

But if I get up right now and go to the bathroom to jack off in the shower—and she stays in here to give herself some relief—does it really hurt anything if we both just stay here?

If I don't touch her, if we just take care of ourselves, then I'm not actually doing anything to her. It's the same thing she'd do if I weren't in the room.

So I pull my hand from under her tank top. And if I give it a gentle squeeze and brush my thumb across her nipple as I do it… these things happen.

She whimpers at the loss, but I reach for her hand. "There's something we could try," I say.

She looks at me, brows furrowed in confusion.

"We could take care of ourselves, together," I say.

Determination chases the doubtful expression from her face, and she nods.

She rolls to her back to look up at me.

When we were plastered against each other, it felt like a natural progression. But now, that moment of introspection and discussion has changed the tone. Turned this moment from some spur-of-the-moment sexual exploration into a conscious choice. It's a decision we've made. And it feels heavy and significant: a deliberate step onto that slippery slope instead of an accidental slide.

This will change things for us. There won't be any going back from it.

Clarissa is lying against her pillow.Everything on this bed is white. Fluffy pillows. Down comforter. Crisp cotton sheets.

I draw the comforter away from her body, and now she's lying exposed on those pristine sheets, wearing her little white cotton panties and white tank top. I know I'm being stupid, but she looks like a real-life angel. Those auburn curls are spread out in a wild halo, and her gorgeous whiskey and moss-green eyes glitter in the weak early morning light.

I have a flash of memory. Our wedding night. Clarissa spread out on the bed in that sparkling white gown, offering herself to me.

She's nervous now, where she wasn't before. I can see that in the way her hands clench and unclench the bedding. I can see it in the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat, where I want to lick her.

But like me, she's more excited than nervous. Her nipples are hard little peaks under her tank. The divot at the base of her throat contracts tight with every breath, and her hips move in a subtle rhythm.

I tip my chin and hold her eyes. "You're sure?"

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