All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,59
always gagging for it? And you wonder why I don’t like you talking to other men.
She jerked away from Flynn’s kiss, her whole body tense. She tried to turn away from him but he caught her shoulders.
“Mel. What’s wrong?”
“Let me go.”
She couldn’t look at him. Was too afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. After a few beats he loosened his grip and she pulled away from him.
“Mel. Talk to me. What just happened?”
She could hear the confusion in his voice. The concern. A part of her understood that he hadn’t been criticizing her, not really. He’d simply been trying to slow things down. And she had been rushing.
She’d been out of control.
But the greater part of her was running for cover, desperate to protect herself. Desperate to pretend she hadn’t exposed herself so completely and left herself so open to his judgment and condemnation.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “This was a mistake.”
“Then it’s the best mistake I’ve ever made. Up until about twenty seconds ago, anyway.”
His words surprised her so much she looked at him. His face was filled with concern, his gaze worried.
“What happened, Mel?”
There was no way she could answer his question, so she simply shook her head.
He sighed. Then he reached for the fly on his jeans. She looked away while he pulled up his fly and rebuttoned the stud, humiliated color burning its way into her cheeks.
He must have thought she was mad—tearing his clothes off one minute, then pushing him away the next. He must have thought she was completely demented. The moment he was decent she turned and led the way to the front door. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him once she’d unlocked the door, so she aimed her gaze at his chin instead.
“I’m sorry. That was… I’m sorry.”
He stood on the threshold, his body tense.
“Mel. I wasn’t criticizing you. In case you couldn’t tell, I was having a damned good time. It was meant to be a joke.”
“I know.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it wasn’t about him, it was all about her—about how screwed up she was—but she didn’t want to start a conversation that she was never going to finish. It was bad enough that she knew how ugly her marriage had become, she didn’t need to share the grim details with this man she’d grown to admire and respect and like so much. She didn’t want to watch his lust turn to pity. She didn’t want him to know how little she’d valued herself.
“Okay. I’ll see you later, Mel.” Frustration was rich in his voice but she didn’t blame him. Why would she? She’d led him on then pushed him away and now she was kicking him out of her house.
Mel shut the door behind him and allowed herself one small moment of weakness as she leaned her forehead against the cool wood. Then she straightened and walked to her bedroom. The sight of her bed made her lip curl. If she wasn’t such a head case, she might have been on that bed with Flynn right now, having what had been shaping up to be some of the best sex of her life.
Angry and embarrassed and deeply sad, she stripped off and walked into the en suite to wash away the day’s labors. She stepped beneath the shower and washed herself with a businesslike thoroughness. It was impossible to ignore the sensitivity of her breasts and the sense of heavy fullness between her legs, however.
She’d wanted Flynn. Very badly.
She closed her eyes as she remembered the thick length of his erection in her hand, reexperiencing the rush of longing and lust and need. If he hadn’t said anything…
But he had, and the bad old stuff had reared its ugly head.
She turned off the water and stepped out. She dried herself briskly, almost roughly, before walking naked into her bedroom. She was crossing to her chest of drawers when she caught sight of her reflection in the free-standing mirror in the corner.
She stilled, then slowly turned to face herself.
She lifted her hands and covered her breasts, pressing them tightly against her body. Once, Owen had told her that her breasts made him believe in the divine—and yet in the final months of their marriage, he’d told her to lose weight, claiming her curves made even expensive clothes look tacky and cheap.
He’d also told her that she had no idea how to dress or act modestly and that if