Page 75 of My Only

By the way she pulled me down, pressing her lips to mine, moaning at the taste of herself on my tongue, I knew my wife didn’t care about the time either.

“I’m sorry,” I groaned against her lips, my hand searching for hers, interlocking our fingers. I slid deeper, listening to her whimper in time with my thrusts. “Forgive me, baby.” Another slow stroke, deeper this time. “Forgive me, aight?”

Ayla moaned, nodding, gripping and releasing me between her thighs, her body stilling as pleasure stole through her.

Our wedding song played on repeat, wrapping around us like a promise.

Our bodies moved together. Lips tangled. More words whispered between kisses.

But then, something shifted.

Subtle. Tiny enough it could’ve been missed. But I felt it.

She moaned my name like always, held onto me like always, but when I locked eyes with her, there it was. A distance that hadn’t been there before that night.

She was forgiving me.

But she wasn’t forgetting.

I’d never canceled on her for anything. But things were different now. Since construction on the project started over the summer, everything had changed—no matter how much I wanted to deny it.

Deep down, I knew what Ayla and I were doing wasn’t enough to fix the shift happening between us.

But for tonight, though… it would have to be.

So I loved on my wife that night, hoping, praying, that this would be one of the few times I’d ever have to tell her I’m sorry.

CHAPTER 9

THEN – LATE SUMMER 2022… ONE NIGHT LATER

Ayla

“After you, Mrs. Franklin,” Hassani said, holding the restaurant door open for me.

I shot him a sidelong glance, and he chuckled, pressing a warm hand to my lower back as I stepped inside.

“Ayla, Hassani,” the hostess, Miranda, greeted the moment she saw us. “Good evening, and welcome back!”

“Thank you, Miranda,” I said, flashing her a bright smile. “Is our favorite table ready?”

“You know it is.” Miranda winked at me. “And if it wasn’t, you know I’d make sure it was.”

I giggled. “My girl.”

She laughed. “You two follow me.”

“Thanks, Miranda,” Hassani added, his hands settling at my waist as he gently guided me forward to follow our hostess.

Tonight wasn’t just any dinner. It was a makeup dinner. The night before, he’d missed my work mixer, something he had never done before. And while I’d forgiven him, I was still feeling some type of way about it.

“Here you are,” Miranda said, placing our menus on the table. “Your server will be with you in a moment. I hope you two enjoy, as always.”

“I’m sure we will,” I replied, settling into my seat. “Thank you, Miranda.”

“Yeah, thanks, Miranda,” Hassani echoed, following suit.

“Always my pleasure.” She gave us a knowing smile before walking away.

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