Page 59 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“I don’t enjoy it.”
My thumb pauses and I feel my hope fall flat as I say, “You don’t enjoy it?”
He wets his lips. “What I meant to say was, I shouldn’t enjoy it.”
“Oh.” I feel a smile tug on my lips. “Just like I shouldn’t enjoy your hand on my thigh?”
“Yeah,” he says, letting out a heavy breath. He then takes my hand, removes it from his chest, and places it next to me, but he doesn’t let go right away, instead his thumb rubs over the sensitive part of my wrist. “I’m sorry, Sloane.”
“Sorry for what?” I ask, butterflies erupting in my stomach with every pass of his thumb.
“Sorry for not being the type of partner you want in this.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I just, I just wish that you would open up a little.”
“I can’t,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Because I just can’t.”
Then he releases my hand and turns away from me, scooting to his side of the bed and shutting down immediately.
Internally, I’m screaming no because I felt like I had him, he was rightthere with me, in the moment, but then he just snapped out of it, and that is infuriating.
So infuriating.
Chapter Ten
HUDSON
I stare at my computer in front of me, but my eyes blur, my brain fuzzy. Nothing makes sense. I can read email after email, but it doesn’t stick because all I can think about is the last few nights and how close I was to giving in to the temptation that is my wife.
How easy would it have been to slide my hand under her shirt, to glide her underwear down her legs, and then just fucking feast.
It would have been so simple, and I know she would let me. She would have let me do whatever I wanted, and that’s the problem. I have that knowledge in my head—I have the knowledge that she wants me.
She fucking wants me.
And if I didn’t have one ounce of willpower, I would have taken advantage. I wouldn’t have stopped; I would have kept going, taking and taking and taking, until there was nothing left for her to give. And then in the morning, she’d regret it.
Hell, I’d regret it.
I would feel guilty and like I used her, even though I know that’s not the case.
But now, as I attempt to get work done, it’s all I can think about.
And it’s fucking painful.
Knock. Knock.
I look up at the door where Sloane is standing, looking gorgeous with her hair curled and floating over her shoulders. A shade of pink lipstickstains her plump lips, and a thick coat of mascara highlights her very innocent eyes.
This morning, she was nonchalant, charming, cool as a goddamn cucumber, acting as if nothing happened last night. She jabbered on about what fruit she likes best, strawberries and pineapples, and how she thinks they’re the ultimate fruit pairing. I just listened because I really had nothing to say. I did ask Corinne to grab some fresh pineapple and strawberries at the store for me, you know, just to have them on hand.
For no other reason than just to have them.
Not because I want to make my wife happy.
