A contrast from the confident Vegas woman he’d met a few weeks ago. But somehow just as appealing.
“So, um.” She fingered the hem of her long shirt, as if afraid or embarrassed to look at him. “How was your trip?”
Was she really going to just stand there and make small talk?
“Good. Long, and proved to be pointless. But can’t complain I guess.”
She nodded, glancing around like she was looking for inspiration. “Your deployment was canceled, then? Madison was telling me about how sometimes things like that happen. Though she hadn’t heard of it happening so soon before you guys left. But that it wasn’t out of the question. I guess that’s weird to me since nothing in my job would ever be so last-minute. I mean, you get problems all the time and you have to think on your feet in the restaurant business, but then that’s true of any… job… I guess…” She lost steam and took a deep breath. And he lost it.
Grabbing her shoulders, he whirled her around until her back hit the wall behind him. A picture rattled on the wall, her hip bumped the entry table, and keys clattered to the floor. He didn’t care about that. He cared about her eyes.
Wide, a little shocked, a little wild. But no fear.
He bent his head and did what he’d been dreaming about doing. What had been playing on a God-awful loop in his mind since the day they left Vegas. He kissed her. A testing brush first, but when she didn’t haul back and slap him, he tried another. Her lips rose to meet his, and he was lost at holding back. Her hands came up to pull him closer, and she widened her stance to cradle him. Her message was clear.
Take it, it’s yours.
And he did.
Teeth clashed as they each moved in desperate strokes to get deeper. He let his fingers tangle in her hair, vaguely remembering the weight of it in his hands before. He definitely remembered the soft skin of her jawline, how her pulse jumped as his tongue flicked over it. There was no forgetting how responsive she was when he ran a hand under the sheer top she wore to cup her breast over the layering tank beneath. How her body arched into his touch. How she moved under him like they were a carefully choreographed duo on the dance floor.
“Tim,” she gasped. “Tim, hold on, we need to talk.”
“Talk,” he muttered into her shoulder. No talking. Why did she always want to talk when they were in these positions?
“Yeah. Talk.” She gasped when his teeth scraped along her collarbone. “About our marriage.”
A kick to the crotch wouldn’t have slowed him down as fast as those three simple words. He let go and took a big step back, breathing heavily. Fuck. How did he forget that? The marriage mix-up. He was trying to find the best way to end this painlessly, and instead he practically attacked her against a wall. Damn.
“Yeah.” He screwed his eyes shut and pressed into his eyelids with his thumbs, willing his erection away. The cammies had room, but not that much. “Yeah, marriage. Sorry.” He opened his eyes and saw a still-flushed, still-mussed Skye leaning against the table with one hand. The image wasn’t doing anything to cool his head, so he turned away and walked toward the living room. “Let’s talk in here.” She followed without a word.
He got to the room and saw glasses of lemonade. Perfect. He picked one up and took a big gulp, hoping the tangy sweetness would clear out the cotton that seemed to be lining his throat. Just when he wondered whether he should sit on the couch with Skye or not, or what she expected, she did him the favor of choosing the armchair, crossing one leg over the other. He sat on the couch, catty-corner to her spot. Close enough to touch, but he didn’t dare.
He waited for her to talk, but instead she sat with her hands in her lap, staring at them like they held the answer to world hunger. Finally he cleared his throat and decided to give it a shot.
“I need to apologize for being such a dick that night.”
The
“So, um.” She fingered the hem of her long shirt, as if afraid or embarrassed to look at him. “How was your trip?”
Was she really going to just stand there and make small talk?
“Good. Long, and proved to be pointless. But can’t complain I guess.”
She nodded, glancing around like she was looking for inspiration. “Your deployment was canceled, then? Madison was telling me about how sometimes things like that happen. Though she hadn’t heard of it happening so soon before you guys left. But that it wasn’t out of the question. I guess that’s weird to me since nothing in my job would ever be so last-minute. I mean, you get problems all the time and you have to think on your feet in the restaurant business, but then that’s true of any… job… I guess…” She lost steam and took a deep breath. And he lost it.
Grabbing her shoulders, he whirled her around until her back hit the wall behind him. A picture rattled on the wall, her hip bumped the entry table, and keys clattered to the floor. He didn’t care about that. He cared about her eyes.
Wide, a little shocked, a little wild. But no fear.
He bent his head and did what he’d been dreaming about doing. What had been playing on a God-awful loop in his mind since the day they left Vegas. He kissed her. A testing brush first, but when she didn’t haul back and slap him, he tried another. Her lips rose to meet his, and he was lost at holding back. Her hands came up to pull him closer, and she widened her stance to cradle him. Her message was clear.
Take it, it’s yours.
And he did.
Teeth clashed as they each moved in desperate strokes to get deeper. He let his fingers tangle in her hair, vaguely remembering the weight of it in his hands before. He definitely remembered the soft skin of her jawline, how her pulse jumped as his tongue flicked over it. There was no forgetting how responsive she was when he ran a hand under the sheer top she wore to cup her breast over the layering tank beneath. How her body arched into his touch. How she moved under him like they were a carefully choreographed duo on the dance floor.
“Tim,” she gasped. “Tim, hold on, we need to talk.”
“Talk,” he muttered into her shoulder. No talking. Why did she always want to talk when they were in these positions?
“Yeah. Talk.” She gasped when his teeth scraped along her collarbone. “About our marriage.”
A kick to the crotch wouldn’t have slowed him down as fast as those three simple words. He let go and took a big step back, breathing heavily. Fuck. How did he forget that? The marriage mix-up. He was trying to find the best way to end this painlessly, and instead he practically attacked her against a wall. Damn.
“Yeah.” He screwed his eyes shut and pressed into his eyelids with his thumbs, willing his erection away. The cammies had room, but not that much. “Yeah, marriage. Sorry.” He opened his eyes and saw a still-flushed, still-mussed Skye leaning against the table with one hand. The image wasn’t doing anything to cool his head, so he turned away and walked toward the living room. “Let’s talk in here.” She followed without a word.
He got to the room and saw glasses of lemonade. Perfect. He picked one up and took a big gulp, hoping the tangy sweetness would clear out the cotton that seemed to be lining his throat. Just when he wondered whether he should sit on the couch with Skye or not, or what she expected, she did him the favor of choosing the armchair, crossing one leg over the other. He sat on the couch, catty-corner to her spot. Close enough to touch, but he didn’t dare.
He waited for her to talk, but instead she sat with her hands in her lap, staring at them like they held the answer to world hunger. Finally he cleared his throat and decided to give it a shot.
“I need to apologize for being such a dick that night.”
The
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