Page 102 of The Home Grown
“C’mon, it’s okay. I’m glad you came here.” He pauses. “I’ve got you.”
I swallow down a sob.
“You can stay here,” he says. “You’re my wife, remember? What’s mine is yours and all that.” His tone is jovial, like he’s trying to make this shitty situation a little less so, but his words spark something in me.
I dab my eyes dry and focus in on him, his eyes meeting mine with a shine ofsomethingin the dim light of the room.
But there’s something not-so-funny about this. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me. Like this isn’t just a joke anymore.
“Mike?” I say, pressing a hand to his cheek.
“Yeah?”
It’s probably the pent-up emotion I’ve been harbouring all day—that, and the fact I haven’t had sex in a very long time, but I’m looking at his lips and I want him to kiss me again.
I can feel the space between us closing, but he doesn’t make a move. He’s just looking at me with lust-filled eyes and longing.
This feels different. Charged. A pull I can’t ignore.
He leans in, his lips brushing mine, and it’s like a fire has ignited in my stomach. He pulls me in, relaxing around me. Then his hand is cupping my cheek, his coarse fingers making me shiver—it feelsgood.Like I want more. Like I want his hands to roam, to see if they feel likethateverywhere.
I shouldn’t … I really shouldn’t. Shouldn’t I?
Maybe I’m overthinking this. But then I completely surprise myself; I lean back onto the sofa and pull him down on top of me.
Chapter Twenty-One
ELLIE
He loses his shirt first.I tug at the hem, encouraging it over his head, and his hat comes off with it, both tumbling to the floor with an air of unimportance. Then our lips meet again. A deep kiss that works its way to every single cell in my body; I feel like a coiled spring, desperate to unravel.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he says, pulling his lips from mine.
I nod. “Yes.”
Yes. This is exactly what I want. It’s like this is exactly what I’ve always wanted.
“Are you?—”
I knit my hands around his neck and pull him back down, hot and heavy breaths mingling as we kiss. I loosen my grip, moving my hands down the plain of his back, feeling his muscles—solid and tight—under my fingers.
“Mike—”
“I’ll be right back.”
Then he’s gone. Leaving me cold and confused. Almost desperate, even. I sit up and peer around, only to see himemerging from a door a moment later, a fleece blanket slung over his arm.
“Are you sure, Kitch? I mean?—”
He swallows, watching my fingers dance over the buttons of my blouse and then he’s on top of me again, roaming hands and lips before he kisses me again. Slow and deliberate, sending a warmth all the way from my lips to my pussy.
God, this is infuriating.
“Mike—” I breathe, practically into his mouth.
“Hmm?”
“Mike, please…”
