Page 48 of Living on the Edge

She screams my name as she crashes over the edge, wriggling and writhing, trying to stay upright as I fuck us both into another world.

And then it’s over.

Slowly, I release her hips and she slides back onto the mattress. I collapse next to her because I’m pretty boneless and out of breath.

“Holy shit,” she mumbles.

I want to say something about how good she is, how beautiful, how responsive… but that’s dangerous territory. And I don’t have the time or inclination for dangerous. Especially not with her.

Now that I’ve scratched this particular itch, I’m acutely aware of how dangerous it would be to spend any more time with her than necessary. She’s the type of woman who absolutely will make me stupid.

Even though I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms and whisper how wonderful she is, I force myself to sit up.

“That was nice,” I say as dismissively as possible.

I note the surprise that flickers in her eyes, and then the hurt that follows.

Yup.

Time for me to bail.

God fucking dammit.

I drag myself off the bed and reach for my jeans. I yank them on, followed by my shirt, and then slide my feet back into my sneakers.

She doesn’t say a word as she watches me get dressed.

I take a final pull from the champagne bottle and then glance over at her.

She looks beautifully vulnerable lying there on the bed, but I can’t indulge in something so intimate.

It was just sex.

I told her that.

She said it was fine.

And now that we’ve done it, I need to get out of here.

“I hope I put in the appropriate amount of effort,” I say casually.

Her eyes narrow, like she’s mad.

Good.

Anger is a safer emotion than the other crap I’m feeling.

“I don’t like you,” she says, almost like she’s talking to herself.

“Maybe not. But you liked what we just did.”

God, I really am an ass.

I put my hand on the doorknob and pause, but I don’t dare look back.

Because if I do there’s a good chance I’m going to run right back to her, get into bed, and stay the night.

Maybe longer.

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