Page 27 of Shattered Dreams
But the words won't come. All I can think about is how alive I feel in this moment, how the pain has quietened, just for a time.
I need more. I need to feel anything other than pain.
I answer his question by pulling his mouth back to mine, kissing him with everything I have—all my pain, my rage, my desperation. His response is immediate, a growl rumbling in his chest as his hands grip my hips, pressing me against him so I can feel exactly what I'm doing to him. His dick presses against me, and I panic, wondering what the fuck I’m doing.
“Fuck, Ava…”
But still, our kisses grow more frantic and more demanding. His hands seem to be everywhere at once—in my hair, on my waist, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt to touch bare skin. Every touch burns, sending shockwaves through my body.
When we finally break apart, we're both panting. He rests his forehead against mine, his breath hot on my face.
"We should go inside," he murmurs, his voice barely controlled.
I nod, unable to form words. He takes my hand, and we stumble toward the house, pausing every few steps to press against each other, to kiss, to touch, as if staying apart for more than a moment is physically painful.
And maybe it is. Maybe this connection—raw and desperate and wrong as it might be—is the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
10
AVA
Iwake up warm, disoriented, and not alone.
For one awful second, I forget where I am. I forget what day it is, what version of myself I'm meant to be. I feel the arm draped over my waist, and I snuggle closer to Roman, a smile ghosting my lips.
“Morning, love.”
My eyes spring open as reality hits.
That’s not Roman…
A sickening sensation travels through my body as I remember my husband has cheated on me with a fucking model. And here I am, laying in another man’s arms. Not just any man either?—
Kieron.
I blink against the bright light filtering through the windows. We're curled up together on Scott and Amanda's sofa, tangled under a throw blanket. Fully clothed, thank fuck. My head is on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.
And I remember.
We kissed.
Holy shit.
The frantic way our mouths found each other. The heat, the urgency…how hard he was because of kissingme.
But it didn't go any further. Somehow, we stopped.
The guilt creeps in anyway. It's not about what didn't happen. It's about whatalmostdid. Roman may be comfortable fucking around on me, but my heart still feels like it’s betraying my husband.
I shift slightly, and he tries to hold me close, but I slip away.
"You stayed," he says, squinting in the light.
"I guess I did." I sit up slowly.
His eyes search mine for something I can't name.
Relief? Hope?
