Page 82 of Sin

I close my eyes.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Don’t what?”

“Say my name like you’re still giving me a choice.”

Her breath shakes. I open my eyes to find she’s closer now. I don’t know which of us moved. Maybe both.

“This is wrong,” she says.

“Yes.”

“You’re married.”

“Yes.”

“We said we wouldn’t do it again.”

“I know.”

“Then stop me.”

The words land between us and I stare at her.

“Laurel.”

“Stop me,” she says again, taking one step closer. “Tell me no. Tell me to go take a shower and get in bed and put the pillows between us. Tell me we’re going back to Chicago tomorrow and this ends here.”

I should. God help me, I should. Instead, I let go of the door handle.

Her eyes drop to my hand. My chest tightens. I look down too and slide my ring off before I can pretend I’m better than this.

Laurel’s face changes. Pain and heat and something like grief.

“Don’t do that for me,” she whispers.

“I’m not.”

I walk to the nightstand and set it down. The sound is small. Metal against wood.

A second betrayal.

“I’m doing it because I can’t touch you with it on.”

Her lips part. Then she crosses the room and kisses me. I catch her face in both hands and kiss her back like the whole day has been a fuse and she finally struck the match. Her shoes come off. My jacket follows. Her fingers tear at my tie, and I let her pull it loose, let her drag it from my neck and toss it somewhere behind us.

“Laurel,” I breathe against her mouth.

“No.” She pushes at my shirt. “You don’t get to say no now.”

“I wasn’t saying no.”

Her hands still. Our eyes meet. The last of the restraint disappears from her face.

“Good.”

She kisses me again, and this time there is no slow build. No careful question wrapped around every touch. We already know the answer. We already crossed the line. Now we are running back to it like sinners who learned exactly how good damnation tastes.