Page 26 of Merlot Marriage

Eventually, Ophie pulls back, taking a step away from me with a soft sigh. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips a little swollen. Beautiful.

Her eyes flutter open until she’s looking at me. Strands of her hair are sticking up all over, and there’s a giant wet patch on the front of her shirt mingling with the other bits of coffee and cream from work.

A beat later, we both burst out laughing.

“I…I should shower,” Ophie stammers, still giggling. “And you should probably put pants on.”

“Pants?” The command hits me like a bucket of cold water. Christ almighty, what are we doing? “Right. Yes. Pants would be good.” I trip over my own feet getting past her, heat crawling up the back of my neck. As I’m clearing the doorway, there’s a tug on the towel in my hand.

“I need that.”

I whirl to face Ophie as she pulls hard on the other end, snatching it from my grasp.

The last thing I see before the door closes is her laughing face.

I skedaddle my naked ass to my bedroom, my cock standing at attention and bobbing through the air. The gym shorts I hastily pull on don’t do much to contain it, but since I’m never leaving the safety of this room again, I suppose that doesn’t matter.

For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with me?

The sound of the shower kicking on doesn’t help, because now I’m imagining Ophie in there, soap running down her body. With a groan, I throw myself face-first on the bed, squishing my wayward dick beneath me. The ruffled throw pillows Maggie left behind serve as perfect covers for my head so I can’t hear the shower.

The two of us have spent our whole friendship keeping a careful distance between us, even though I can’t resist kissing her head because,damn, does she smell good. And in less than twelve hours, we’ve crossed the fine line keeping our relationship contained not once, not twice, but multiple times. The line is so blurred it might as well be an invitation, but fuck me if I can figure out what it’s an invitation for.

Are we just blowing off steam? Giving in to curiosity? Or does she want more? Do I want more?

God, I want more.

“Can I come in?”

Rolling onto my back reveals Ophie standing in my doorway, as if my confused thoughts summoned her. Now she’s the one wrapped in a towel, her hair piled on her head in a messy bun. Her face is clean and fresh, but stray drops of water linger on her shoulders and chest.

I can’t tear my eyes away from a lone drop snaking its way down her collarbone and between her breasts.

“Philip?”

I kip up, landing on my feet. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask as I cross the room, drawn toward her like a moth to a flame.

“Is it a bad idea?” There she goes, biting her bottom lip again, peeking up at me through her lashes.

I stop in front of her, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t know if I can say no to her. I’veneverbeen able to say no to Ophie—not really, anyway. But this version of my best friend feels a little like a stranger, and I can’t tell if that makes this better or worse.

She reaches out and starts tracing circles on my stomach, her touch featherlight but completely new and utterly engrossing. My wife, who until five minutes ago I could have sworn I knew inside out, is proving there are still sides to her I’ve never dared to learn about.

I let her continue for the space of a few deep breaths before I catch her hand with mine. “Ophie, what are you doing?”

She twists her hand and threads her fingers through mine. “Would you believe me if I said I was trying to be brave?” She lifts her chin to stare at me with a stubborn expression I’ve seen a thousand times, daring me to deny her. As if I could.

“Brave? Or reckless?”

“Both?” She takes a half step closer, our hands trapped between us.

My thumb grazes the edge of her towel. The temptation to flick it open flares through me, but I tamp it down. The need to taste her again, to discover the last few secrets she’s kept from me—what she tastes like and how she sounds when she comes—burns in me, but I grit my teeth and force myself to take a step backward.

“Are you sure you won’t regret this?” Each time I take a step back to give myself space to think, Ophie follows.

“I’ll regret not doing this.”

The back of my knees hits the edge of my bed, and I sit down with a surprisedthump. Mrs. Full of Surprises moves closer,stepping between my knees. Her bare legs are still damp, her skin warm and smooth against mine.

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