Page 153 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
“But it wasn’t just to protect you, baby. It’s because you deserve a man to fight for you, to take on the world for you, to make it clear to every asshole out there that the love we have is the most important thing in my universe and I will never—fucking never—be so much of a coward as to walk away from it again.”
He’s reached the bed now and gently slips my phone from my hand, ending the call and tossing it on the nightstand.
“I was scared,” he whispers. “Of all I feel, and all the ways it can go wrong, and…I was a fucking idiot.”
My breath catches. “I was scared too,” I tell him. “And I didn’t fight either. I just kept thinking…you’re you and I’m me and maybe that’s why we couldn’t work out…” The rest of my words die in my throat at the furious look on his face.
He leans over me, his hot green eyes holding mine, and he cups my jaw in his hands. “You’re not special because you love me, Red. You’re special because you’re you.”
“I—”
“You’re the strongest, smartest, most resilient woman I’ve ever known”—his mouth kicks up—“and I think you know how big that is because I know a lot of smart, strong women.”
Luna.
Kailey.
Harper.
Bri.
Me.
I close my eyes against the rush of emotions, so many, so fast it’s like regaining feeling in a limb, painful and tingling and overwhelming as the relief and love and fear and hope all battle to take over.
Before I can give voice to any of them, he rasps, “Please don’t leave.”
“I—”
It’s rough and desperate and steals my breath—or maybe that’s his kiss as his mouth drops to mine and he takes advantage of my parted lips to slip his tongue inside.
As I sink into his touch I have a fleeting thought?—
Maybe the bright, brilliant love I’ve given my heroines…is something I can have too.
Then I’m not thinking about how miserable the last week has been or how this is likely a really vivid dream or maybe that I’ve gone insane and slipped into a fantasy because how can he possibly be here? Instead, I’m thinking about how good it feels for his big body to be pressing mine back into the mattress and how the hot, slick darts of his tongue set me aflame.
Need burns through me, lips to between my legs, fires in each and every one of my nerves.
It’s desperate, trying to suck every bit of sensation out of me—like Gray is trying to turn me into a ball of feeling, of yearning, of craving.
But I was already there even before his mouth hit mine.
And when he levers up, yanks the blankets aside, and freezes, my craving hits a breaking point.
If this is a fantasy, I want to be the one in charge.
I shove at his chest and he rolls to the side, sprawling on the mattress as I clamber on top of him. I don’t take a moment to enjoy the view, just bend and fuse our mouths together.
His hands grip my hips, holding me tightly against him, and it’s natural to rock, to ride the hard ridge of his erection.
But there are too many layers between us.
Groaning, I tear my lips from his, reaching for his shirt, yanking it out of his slacks.
A few buttons rip off, hit the floor with little plinks, but I’m too busy working at the button of his pants, struggling with the zipper. I shove at the waistband of his pants and he helps me, lifting his hips, dragging them down.
Along with his underwear.
