“How could you walk away?” he demands. He returns to kissing me before I can answer. Our lips fight. Our tongues wrestle. And then our wills settle. The kisses calm, and our breathing becomes more exaggerated. Finally, his forehead rests against mine. His hands still cup my face while my fingers remain tangled in his hair. I’m afraid to let him go.
“That fucking letter,” he whispers to me. We both close our eyes as we breathe each other in. I don’t have to ask him what I said. I know what I wrote. I was honest with him. I had nothing left to lose. I figured I’d already lost them both, so I told him what I had to say.
He lifts his head, his eyes searching mine. “Why did you leave without talking to me?”
“We agreed not to say goodbye, but it felt like we had.”
“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he whispers. His hands slip from my jaw, then slide down to my neck and over my shoulders.
“What are you saying?” I whisper.
“In fairy tales, the prince either chases the princess or lets her leave. I shouldn’t have let you go.” Our eyes lock, and he blurs before me.
“We have so much to discuss.” My voice clogs with emotion.
“Yes, we do,” he says before he leans toward me and kisses me again. Tender. Tantalizing. Too brief.
“But we could always talk later,” I suggest, the words quiet and desperate.
“Definitely,” he groans. Suddenly, my shirt is untucked from my skirt, and his hands slip upward to cup my breasts. My nipples peak under the soft fabric of my bra. He removes one hand and unbuttons the buttons of my blouse, exposing me to him. Then he lowers his head as he tugs down my bra to take one aching globe into his mouth.
“God, I’ve missed you.”
The admission thrills me. His sentiment mirrors my feelings. I don’t know how I’m going to live without him.
His fingers fumble at the back of my skirt and tug at the zipper while my hands unbutton the dress shirt he wears. He doesn’t look like a small-town repairman. His dress pants and pressed shirt make him look like a casual businessman, but I’m too distracted to compliment his attire. We remove each other’s shirts. He slides my bra down my arms and drops it to the floor. I unbuckle his belt at the same time.
He walks me to my couch, lips still attached until he sits, and watches as I slide my skirt down my hips.
“You’re so perfect, Emily.” He leans forward, cups a breast again, and sucks at the achy globe while his other hand pinches my nipple. I groan, and his fingers trace over my stomach until they reach the edge of my underwear. His fingertips slip under the elastic, and his hands slowly drag the silky fabric down my legs until it hits my ankles, and I step out of them. I’m fully naked, and he sits back to stare at me.
“Don’t ever leave without saying goodbye.” His words are like a strike, and my chest heaves. He shifts his pants down his hips, releasing his thick length. The intensity of his blue eyes washes over me, and his hands come to my hips to guide me to straddle him. “It’s going to be quick, sweetheart, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
With his tip positioned at my entrance, I wait only a blink before lowering myself over him, sheathing him inside me. We both groan, and I feel complete for the first time in five days.
“I’m sorry I left without seeing you one more time,” I tell him, rocking over him, sighing in pleasure at the fullness within me.
“You can’t . . . you can’t do that to me.” His voice cracks again, and he tugs me to him, his face against my breasts, pausing our movement. My arms wrap around his head, and I hold him tightly to my chest as I will him to hear the words my heart speaks to him.
Ask me to stay, it thumps.
He leans away, latches his mouth onto my breast once again then pulls back with a sharp tug. The snap makes me yelp, and it’s like someone has fired a starting gun. We’re off—racing, rocking, and thrusting. Hips crash as he slams into me, and I sink down on top of him. We slip and slide, both of us breathing heavily, until he begs,