the stretching, followed by his incredible fullness was a shock.
He paused only for a rough, “You okay?”
I didn’t answer, just grabbed the facial hair I hadn’t known and pulled his mouth back to mine. I was hungry. I was angry. Too much lately was beyond my control, but here, now, I was taking what I wanted. He might be larger and anatomically able to lift me against the wood with each thrust, but I was the one managing hands and mouths.
I came too quickly, still wanting more as he pinned my body to the door to allow for his own throbbing release. He was barely done when he bodily lifted me and half-walked, half-ran down a hallway, past dark rooms I couldn’t identify to one that had a bed. In the next instant, with sheets against my back, he came down on top and was inside again.
The joining was easier this time but no less startling. I had forgotten what it felt like to be totally possessed, and we both were that, in every sense of the word. I couldn’t touch or taste enough. We fought each other, rolling and shifting, and all the while he pounded into me with a fury I shared.
My release this time was no less fierce. I cried out again, a sound that erupted from some primal place deep inside. His own cry was more guttural but totally familiar. We had always been vocal, Edward and I.
Awareness of what we had just done must have hit him at the same time it hit me, because we fell apart. I assumed his breathing was as heavy as mine, though both were muted by the drum of the rain. Staring at the ceiling, I saw nothing. I turned my head on the pillow. He was looking up, too, but, feeling my gaze, turned to meet it in the dark.
For a few seconds I was bewildered, wondering where I was and how I had come to be here. This was no dream. But it was unreal. I was wide awake and, with each passing second, aware of the fact that the eyes that held mine belonged to my ex-husband, and that little had changed, on this score at least. Despite the hell that had torn us apart, the attraction remained.
That fact infuriated me, but still, yet again, I avoided confrontation. Thinking only that coming here had been a mistake, I rolled away and stumbled up.
“Don’t leave,” he said, half-rising.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I murmured and searched the dark floor for what few of my clothes might be there. Seeing none, I grabbed at the sheet that was bunched at the foot of the bed and held it to my breasts. Leave, my gut cried. Don’t talk. But I was too curious not to ask what I most needed to know.
“Why did you come here?”
He reached for the lamp.
“Don’t.”
He withdrew his hand.
“Why, Edward?” I asked again.
He was on an elbow, in a limbo between sitting and lying. “I needed a change.”
I struggled to process that and remain calm. There were many ways he would know where I lived, not the least being through our divorce lawyer. “But why would you want to be anywhere near me?”
“Owning the Inn was too good an opportunity to pass up.”
“Edward,” I said, impatient. “You’re a venture capitalist. You don’t own things. You raise money for people who do own things.”
“I quit my job. This is what I do now.”
“Inn keeping?” It defied belief. “Everyone here said it was a group.”
“It is. I’m the managing partner. So I’ll be living here.”
“In my town? Why, Edward? There are inns all over the country!”
“Not like this one.”
“I. Live. Here.”
“I know that.”
“And still you came? To punish me? Torture me?”
“No.”
I wanted to throw the kind of tantrum I had in my dreams, but it would have demanded an energy I just didn’t have. Instead, levelly, I said, “This isn’t fair, Edward. I was here first. You need to leave.” I backed away when he reached for my hand and, dropping the sheet, left the room.
My GPS tragedy notwithstanding, I had a good sense of direction. Returning to the kitchen, I fished through the clothes strewn about in the dark. No bra? No problem. No panties? No problem. I pulled on my sweater and was stepping into jeans when Edward appeared. He wore boxer shorts, which I saw because he did turn on the light. It wasn’t a big light, just a small one over the stove, but