Her legs tighten around me, desperate. I pause just long enough to grab my wallet, tearing open the foil with my teeth. She watches me, eyes dark, chest heaving. The second it’s on, she pulls me back down. I push into her in one slow, relentless thrust, every inch stealing my breath.
“Warren…” My name breaks out of her, half-plea, half-curse.
I thrust again, harder, her body arching to meet mine. Her fingers sink into my skin, her thighs clamping tighter as the rhythm builds. I bury my face in her neck, swallowing her moan, biting back my own.
And even as I lose myself in her heat, the thought slams through me: this can’t last. We can’t keep stealing weekends, hiding in borrowed rooms while the world waits outside. Every thrust pulls me closer to her, but closer to the edge of the lie we’re living.
I drive harder, chasing the sound of her whimpers, needing her to drown out the voice in my head that says we’re only buying time.
I can bury myself in her, but I can’t bury the truth. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give her all of me.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Janie
I close my eyes and inhale the cool Saturday morning air.
The coffee mug warms my palms as I settle into the comfy chair on my back porch, stretching my legs on the coffee table. For once, the house behind me is silent. There are no cartoon theme songs, no soccer balls thumping against walls, no requests for snacks or juice boxes.
Peace and quiet, I think to myself, savoring the reality like the first sip of coffee. "What a concept."
My phone sits on the small table beside me. I stare at it for a long moment before picking it up and tapping Gemma's contact. The guilt already prickles. It's been over a week since we really talked. We've played a little phone tag and texted, but so much has happened since we talked.
"Happy Saturday," Gemma answers on the third ring. "We finally catch each other."
"Sorry. It's been a crazy week."
"Are we talking crazy busy? Or, crazy horizontal?"
I laugh despite myself. "All of the above. Work is insane, and after work, we're with Warren pretty much every day."
"Mmm hmm," she hums, and I can picture her arched eyebrow through the phone. "You just dropped that in like it's no big deal."
"It’s not?—"
"Janie." Her warning tone makes me grin and wince at the same time.
"Fine, maybe it is. The boys drove down to Fort Lauderdale this morning to see the Inter Miami pro soccer game. Warren got tickets from a client. So I have the day to myself."
"The boys," Gemma repeats, no judgment but plenty of observation packed into those two words.
I curl my legs beneath me, watching a cardinal hop along the fence. "Yeah. It's still surreal saying it like that. Last weekend, we took Beckett to the Christmas tree village in some small town just over the line in Georgia, and it was… God, Gem, it was magical. He was over the moon with all the lights and fake snow. And Warren and I could almost act like a couple in public."
"Couple how?"
"Like we weren’t worried about who might see us, or if we laughed too much for someone to notice. We just got to be together, and I don’t know how else to say it. It felt like we were a family."
"Sounds almost normal," she says dryly. "Like how two people who like each other might behave. Too bad you had to go to another state to do it."
Her sarcasm isn’t lost on me, but I keep going. "It was…" My voice catches on the last word. "I absolutely live to see Beckett so happy. He keeps asking when we can all go back."
"So, have you guys told your family?"
I bite my lip. "We had a close call. Blake came by early one morning when Warren’s truck was here. I made upsomething about Warren dropping off paperwork, but Blake saw his boots, and I know he’s not an idiot."
"Boots?"
"Big muddy work boots. Not exactly subtle."