Page 53 of After We Fall (After We Fall 2)
“Yeah? How would I do that?” I pinched her nipple hard enough to make her gasp and slid my middle finger along the crack of her ass.
She went still. “Actually, I don’t know. I didn’t get that far.”
“Never mind. You couldn’t dream up anything close to what I’d have done.”
“Tell me,” she begged. “I want to hear it.”
“Nope. I’ll let it come as a surprise.”
A slow, sly grin stretched her lips. “Fair enough.”
I moved fast, flipping her onto her back across the bed and pinning her wrists to the mattress, anchoring her body with my hips. “I don’t always play fair.”
The grin vanished.
But her eyes glittered.
When we were finally sated—no easy feat, Margot had an appetite for sex that nearly matched my own—we collapsed on top of the twisted sheets, her head on my chest, one arm and leg draped over me. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.
“This OK?” she asked. “I don’t know if you’re a cuddler or not.”
“It’s OK.”
“Night,” she murmured sleepily.
“Night.”
She fell asleep in minutes, her breathing deep and rhythmic, her body relaxed. I lay awake for a while, listening to the rain, in awe of her and this night and myself. It hadn’t been an easy decision, coming back here. It hadn’t been easy asking her not to leave tomorrow. It hadn’t been easy climbing into bed with someone other than the woman I’d married.
But everything else…everything else had been so easy. Talking to her. Touching her. Listening to her. Being inside her. Why was that? How was it possible I was this comfortable with someone I’d only met days before, someone so completely different from me? It didn’t seem real.
So let it be a dream, then. Don’t analyze it. Don’t scrutinize it. Don’t look for meaning that isn’t there.
I closed my eyes, content to be with her in a temporary dream world where I wouldn’t be judged—where neither of us would be judged—for what we wanted.
For the first time in years, I fell asleep in the dark.
And slept through the night.
Twenty-Two
Margot
The mattress shifted, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. Blinked. In the pale gray morning light, I saw Jack sitting on the bed, dressed. His hair was a disaster.
I smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey. I have to go.”
“Are your animals missing you?”
He mussed my hair. “Yeah. And I have to get my truck still.”
“Oh, right. What time is it?”
“Just after six.”
The conversation we’d had last night filtered through my wake-up haze. “I need to tell them I’m not leaving today.”
