Page 84 of Love What's Left
I ease inside slowly, in case she’s nervous. The feel of her around me is so fucking good my brain buzzes with pleasure, my body straining for more, need a drumbeat pulse inside me.
“Oh. Oh God.” She slaps the pool deck with her free hand.
Concerned, I retreat and rub her lower back. “Was that you tapping out?”
“No. Don’t stop. Please.”
I push back into her. Slowly, at first, then faster and harder. Her body fits mine like a glove, tight and sweet and achingly familiar. I don’t let my mind wander to thoughts of anything except the physical. Redirect every memory that forces itself into my head.
I work her over, focusing on nothing but getting both of us off. The same way I’ve done with so many partners in my past. Ones whose names and faces I can’t recall because I didn’t want to know or, usually, because I was too drunk to care.
I tip my head back and look at the cobalt-blue sail above us—not at her—and hold back until she comes one more time, squeezing me as her entire body shakes with release.
My wife is the only woman I’ve ever come inside without a condom. It was one of the few things I was vigilant about. I never wanted to bring a child into this world with a random hookup who was probably as fucked up as I was. If I come inside Sydney now, it’ll feel important, a confession of feelings she doesn’t want from me.
Pull out.She won’t care either way. For my own sanity, I have to stop laying every piece of my soul at the feet of a woman who’ll trample it all over again.
But I can’t.
I look down at the curve of her cheek and the rope of dark hair falling over her shoulder. I’m hers, even if she’s never been truly mine.
My abdomen and chest meet her warm wet back. I wrap myself around her, and I give in to my release, holding on as pleasure tears me apart in a nearly painful spasm. I clamp my mouth shut and love her in silence.
Eventually, our breathing calms, our heartbeats slow, and the moment ends. She shifts beneath me, and I separate from her. Sweet, sated eyes watch me through lowered lashes as I drag my wet briefs up.
I give her a cocky pat on the ass. Then, I vault out of the pool with a splash, lift her by the waist to stand, and hand her a towel. I share my water bottle with her, because hydration after sex is important, and she beams at me like I’m her hero. I smile back.
Then I excuse myself.
Then I go to the guest room bathroom.
Then I take the longest, hottest shower of my life, lean against the tile wall, slide to the floor, and lose my shit where no one will ever know.
30
Sydney
Afull moon glimmers silver light into our bedroom through the uncovered window.
I thought after the mind-blowing sex we had in the pool this morning, things would be different between me and Gabriel. Closer. We crossed a line that should have had important consequences.
But whileIfeel fundamentally different on the inside, Gabriel performs the exact same bedroom routine as every other night.
He bends over me where I lie against my pillows, kisses my forehead, and murmurs, “Sweet dreams.” Then he walks around the bed and settles in to sleep beside me, leaving the usual ocean of distance between us.
I shouldn’t feel hurt by it—I’mnot—but my heart weighs a hundred pounds.
Gabriel rolls one way, then the other, before landing on his stomach and punching his pillow into place, then, finally, falling silent beside me.
Fear freezes the words “I love you” on my tongue. I tried to say them in the pool. I would have meant them, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. There are things Icansay with my whole heart, though.
I clear my throat. “The old me constantly waited for you to go back to being the man I met, but I don’t remember you then. I only know you now, and you’re strong and selfless and kind. You got sober, and you stay that way, even in the face of unimaginable stress and pressure.”
For a moment, he does nothing at all. Then, he rolls to face me. Shadows turn his familiar features into something harsher, leaving my imagination to fill in the details. His green eyes have bleached to silver-limned pools of moonlight.
“I’m sure I told you before, but I don’t remember. So, I’m saying it now. This version of me. I am so proud of you,” I say.
His moonlit eyes disappear into darkness, then he turns his face away with a huff that could be a laugh or an expression of annoyance. I guess it’s not something he wants to talk about or remember. Maybe he thinks I’m making it about me. It’s not as though he needs my or anyone else’s approval.
