Page 68 of Tempt
He was gorgeous and protective and kind. He might not wear his heart on his sleeve, but I’d felt it beating hard against mine. He cared enough about the son he’d never known about to come here and try to make amends. He made me laugh. He made me feel good about myself. He gave me the kinds of orgasms I’d only read about.
He knocked again. Louder this time.
Turning the TV off, I closed my eyes. Inhaled and exhaled. If I answered the door, would I have the strength to turn him away?
I’d have to find it somewhere.
Rising from the couch, I realized with dismay that I was not looking my best. I wore no makeup, my hair had not been washed today, and I had on plaid flannel pants and a T-shirt so old that its original color was lost to memory. But whatever—maybe it was better this way.
My cats, who’d cautiously wandered into the hallway to see what the excitement was, looked at me expectantly. “I’m telling him to leave,” I whispered, grasping the door handle. “Now go away.”
They scurried back into the kitchen, and I took one more deep breath before pulling the door open.
There he stood. Tall and bearded and brooding and hot as fuck. My resolve weakened, but I stood firm. Allowed no hint of a welcoming smile.
“I wasn’t going to come,” he said.
I lifted my chin. “I didn’t want you to.”
The standoff lasted ten full seconds.
He lunged for me at the same moment I reached for him. I stumbled backward as his body slammed into mine, vaguely hearing the door bang shut behind him. We tore at clothing, our breath coming hard and fast, our kiss becoming more like a battle with lips and tongues and teeth as weapons. We tumbled to my living room floor, groping, gasping, growling, grinding. We were naked inside a minute. My back on the Moroccan wool rug. His chest above me. My nails clawing at his back. His cock driving into me with the force of a freight train.
We were loud and rough and quick—it seemed no time at all had gone by, no chance to stop and think, no opportunity to slow down and reconsider our decision before we were crying out with the release—our bodies refusing to be denied.
Afterward, Zach braced himself above me. “I want you to know, that wasn’t the plan.”
Irritated, I pushed at his chest. “Let me up.”
Surprised by my anger, he disengaged from my body. I scrambled to my feet, threw my T-shirt on, and hurried into the small downstairs half-bath, where I cleaned up and studied my face in the mirror. Matted hair, flushed face, puffy lips. I scowled at myself. I wasn’t even sure why I was so mad, but I was. I splashed some cold water on my face, patted it dry, and brought the towel out with me.
When I came out, Zach had already gotten dressed and stood in the dark living room like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Ignoring him, I knelt down on the rug and felt around for a mess. I didn’t feel any wetness, but I scrubbed at the spot anyway. Hard. Like I was trying to erase what we’d done.
Zach let it go on for a moment, watching silently. “You’re going to put a hole in that rug.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Talk to me.” He walked over and took me by the elbow, bringing me to my feet. “You’re angry.”
“You said you couldn’t see me tonight. You said you couldn’t come here.”
“Millie,” he said quietly, his eyes burning into mine. “If I could stay away from you, don’t you think that I would?”
My breath caught. “I shouldn’t have let you in.”
“Don’t be mad at yourself—this is my fault.”
“I’m mad at both of us, Zach! What are we doing?” I tossed a hand in the air.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
“We keep saying this has to stop, and then we don’t stop. What is our problem?”
“We like each other?” The fact that it came out as a question nearly made me smile.
“But we’re not animals,” I argued. “We have instincts, but we also have morals.”
“Actually, some animals do have morals.”
