I’d worn the dress specifically to do this to him. How could I have fooled myself for even a second that I was doing anything else?
I watched his downturned face watch my upturned body. He was biting his lower lip, which made his dimples stand out starkly.
His thick eyelashes cast deep shadows on his passion-slackened face, just the tiniest hint of his eyes visible to mine.
But it was enough.
I loved to see that look in his eyes, even if it did drag me back in time six years, to when I’d believed that love could conquer everything.
He tongued a nipple, and I bore down on him, tilting my h*ps until his zipper was digging directly into my clit. It heightened the ache to the point of pain, but I couldn’t stop doing it.
“Say it,” he mouthed against my skin, no actual sound coming out.
“Yes,” I panted. I would have said almost anything just then to get the relief he promised. “I feel it. I need it. Now, Tristan.”
He exhaled heavily against my skin, which made my entire body shudder in anticipation. It knew what was coming.
Rapture, ecstasy, a few brief moments of forgetting everything in the world but what this beautiful man could do to my body, to my very soul.
He reached between us, still sucking at my skin. His fingers brushed against me as he went for his zipper, and I rubbed against his knuckles, moaning as I hit just the right spot.
He cursed, fumbling to free himself. He had to peel his mouth away from my skin and look at his hands before he finally pulled his stiff length out and up, shoving my panties aside so he could push straight into my entrance.
I shifted my h*ps until he was sliding into me slowly. I was wet, but he was substantial, and it took some work to get him inside of me at this angle.
Even when he’d worked himself all the way into me, he didn’t rush it, taking his time, pausing while I moaned and throbbed on top of him.
He gripped my h*ps and began to move, lifting me high, until just the tip of him stayed inside, then jack knifed his h*ps up, thrusting deep again.
So many sexy things still came out of his mouth as he had me. He wasn’t a ranter, not like me, except for during the act. As he took me, he never could keep a word in. Praises, curses, endearments, more cussing, more compliments. I soaked it up. Basked in it.
I was too undone or too outclassed to do much but hold on. This was not a good position for me, with my bad knee, but you wouldn’t know it just then. Just then, he was taking the brunt of the weight, and I couldn’t have cared less about the discomfort that left in the mix.
My body was there, oh God yes, it was, but I was not in it. I floated weightless somewhere, just a few feet above, as my helpless body got rocked.
He propelled himself in and out of me, his hands and h*ps working in sync to f**k me, not fast, not slow, but hard and deep.
His hands on my h*ps guided me until, at some point, they weren’t so much leading the rhythm as they were simply holding me together, bringing floating me back into my heavy, throbbing body right as it detonated, and rapturous waves of absolute pleasure lapped over me, into me, soaking every pore of my body.
I lay limp against him and let my body and mind come back together.
It wasn’t a peaceful union.
Tristan and I were having some kind of a fling. With all of my determined denial, even I couldn’t call it anything else. I was letting it play out, barely resisting anymore. What else could I do? I would let him play with my heart, handle it like a toy, and when we were done, I’d hope that all we left this time were bruises. I didn’t let myself hope for even one moment that it could ever be more. This was more than friendship, sure, but it was temporary.
Even if he was too blind to see it, I couldn’t see anything else.
My limp was more pronounced when we finally rose from the couch and I began to move about, straightening up, keeping busy.
Tristan noticed right away. “Fuck, Danika, did I hurt your knee?”
I waved him off. “It’s just stiff. Stop fussing. Seriously.”
He was impossible, as ever. He literally picked me up and carried me back to the leather sofa, rubbing at my knee like it was the cure.
“I think I’m going to have another surgery on it,” I said quietly while he worked at it. Saying the thought aloud was the first time I’d acknowledged that I was even considering it.
He paused, then continued the rubbing. “Well, that sounds encouraging. They can still do something? To improve it?”
“Bev has been bugging me to try some new thing they’re doing. It’s going to suck. Physical therapy will take over my life again. But yeah, it sounds like they can do something. I’m sure it won’t be a huge difference, but better than this.”
He couldn’t seem to look directly at me. “I’m glad you’re considering it. I promise to help with the physical therapy. I’ll go with you, make it less boring.”
That made me so uncomfortable that I had to stand up and move away from him. “That’s a nice offer, but it’s really not something I want company for.”
“I’ll change your mind about that, sweetheart. You’ll see.”
It was a struggle not to snap at him. I had to compose myself before I could say very calmly, “Stop it, Tristan. I give an inch, and you just keep taking. This isn’t what you’re pretending it is. You’re not my boyfriend, and it’s not your job to—“
“You’re right, I’m your husband.”
He’d done it. He’d gone and flipped the psycho switch in my brain again. Just a few words, and I was reeling, my reason leaving me. Enter hair-pulling rage. “What did you say? Are you deranged? We got divorced, years ago!”
“That wasn’t my choice then, and it isn’t now. You’re absolutely right that I’m not your boyfriend. This is not some trial period in a relationship, where I’m not abso-fucking-lutely clear on how I feel. I know what I want.”
That did it.
I was done. I walked into the bathroom, bolting myself in. I didn’t trust myself to continue with that conversation.
I straightened my clothing and my hair, wiping the bits of mascara from under my eyes. I waited a very long time, calming myself, before I came back out.