I stand in my kitchen with both hands gripping the counter, hard as steel, breathing like I just ran ten miles uphill carrying a body.
I may die.
Not from lack of sex.
From restraint.
Terrible way to go.
The hallway is quiet. Amelia murmurs something to August. He answers in a sleepy mumble. Bed creaks. Then her voice, softer, soothing him back down.
I close my eyes.
Her mouth is still on mine.
Her body is still on my hands.
Again, she said.
I’m in trouble so deep I should start charging rent.
A few minutes later, she comes back to the kitchen doorway.
Her lips are swollen.
Her hair is a mess.
Her eyes find me and stop.
I have never seen a woman look so embarrassed and so hungry at the same time.
“He’s asleep,” she whispers.
I nod because words seem risky.
She touches her mouth with two fingers like she can’t help it.
That nearly ends me all over again.
“You okay?” I ask.
She gives me a look.
A small one.
Almost amused.
Almost shy.
“Are you?”
“No.”
A laugh escapes her before she covers it. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s the only thing keeping me from chewing through drywall.”
Her eyes drop.