“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You’re in my lap and I…” Fuck. My eyes close and my heart thunders. “I want you.”
“You do?”
I would laugh at that question if there were anything humorous about it. She doesn’t know because I haven’t told her, and I haven’t told her because she wasn’t ready to know. Maybe I wasn’t ready to push it, afraid of where it would take us, and the fact that I felt wrong about it because she was Nash’s for so longand I didn’t feel as though I deserved any piece of her because of that. But now, I can’t think about anything else but her and what we could be. What this incredible friendship could grow into.
I don’t know what to do about Europe, but if I’m lucky enough to get to a place where I have to figure something out, I will then. I don’t know what that could possibly be, but hopefully something.
“Braelyn, you don’t know how much.” My lips glide gently along the slope of her neck, and her breath hitches.
“But…” Her voice wavers with fear and uncertainty.
“I know.” She doesn’t have to say anything. I can read her thoughts clearly. “You’re the most important person in the world to me, so if you tell me no, I get it and it’s okay because you’re worth more to me than that.”
“But you…”
“Yes. More than anything.” I want to tell her. I want to say the words and bare my soul, but I can’t. They won’t come out.Not yet. It’s too soon. She’s not ready for that. Not yet.
She doesn’t say anything. Just continues to glue up my hand, and when she’s done, her tone is clinical. “You don’t need a bandage. The Dermabond is a waterproof seal. Just keep it clean and dry, and pat it gently with a towel after the shower or washing your hands. No creams or anything on it. It should peel off in five to ten days, but no sooner. Keep a watch for signs of infection, including increased redness, pain, warmth to touch, or drainage from the wound.”
“Okay.”
She removes her gloves with a snap and wraps everything up in the sterile drape before she climbs off my lap to throw it all away. I stare down at my fixed hand, unable to move, my heart in my feet.
A hand on my shoulder pushing me back startles me, and I lock eyes with Braelyn as she climbs onto my lap again, this time facing me. Her arms sling around my shoulders, and sheshifts until we’re practically nose to nose. Instinctively, my hands find her hips, and I hold her steady.
“Don’t let this become the worst decision we’ve ever made.”
With that, her hands meet the back of my head, and she brings my mouth to hers so she can kiss me. The effect is instant. There is no hesitation.
I tilt my head and kiss her back, fueled by years of pent-up hunger and need. I groan into her, already losing my mind. I don’t know how to hold back. I can’t go slow.
My good hand is in her hair, and my bad one slides to her lower back. I urge her forward until we’re flush, her legs spread on either side of mine, tucked against the arms of the chair. There isn’t enough room on here, and I can’t get her as close as I need her.
Things ping-pong through my mind. Things like hard limits and safe words. Things like NDAs. Things that are typically brokered and discussed like the business transactions they’ve been. This isn’t that. She’ll never be that. I married her, and that makes her my wife even if she doesn’t think of herself that way.
But I’m not focusing on any of that. Instead, I’m leaping into this blind and with abandon, not caring about anything other than the feel of her lips on mine. The way she tastes and the sounds she makes.
I breathe hard against her mouth, dizzy in my frenzy while trying to mentally talk myself into chilling the fuck out. It feels impossible. I’m eager and excited and nervous in a way I’ve never been with anyone before.
Braelyn whimpers against me as I bite her lip and suck it between my lips, only to switch up the angle and devour her mouth in an entirely new way, taking her in a new direction. Something I plan to do tirelessly.
But this chair sucks.
My good hand scoops her ass, and I stand, taking her withme, only to immediately drop her onto the table she was just using to glue my hand. She makes a small, surprised sound that dies and turns into a moan as she wraps her legs around my waist and feels my straining erection.
This isn’t a gentle brush against her. This is hard and right against her pussy. This is no fucking around and no going back territory. All the times I’ve thought about her and gotten myself off to this very thing have paled in comparison. She is delicious and perfect, and her mouth was made to only kiss mine.
I know it now, and I’m going to fucking prove it to her.
My hands tear at her shirt, yanking down the collar, only to rip it over her head. She’s still in her bikini top with her golden skin flashing against the pink cups. I shove one down and duck against her breast, nuzzling and biting and sucking her, utterly mindless.
“Roman,” she rasps, pulling on my hair, followed by my shirt when she realizes I don’t have a lot of hair for her to pull on. At least not at the back of my head.
Without breaking my kiss on her nipple, I reach back and pull my shirt over my head. It gets tossed somewhere, and then I’m back on her chest, cupping and squeezing and holy shit, her tits are so fucking pretty. I have to see all of them.
“Take this off,” I demand harshly. “I want to see you.” My voice has the low, deep timbre I use when I expect to be obeyed, and with it, I almost assume she’ll balk. But she surprises me yet again. Angling up, she reaches awkwardly behind her back and unhooks the clasp, making the cups fall away. My mouth is back on hers, and I’m lost.
I kiss her and kiss her, my hands in her hair, on her tits, on her waist. My cock grinds against her, digging and searching, hating my shorts and her shorts for keeping me from being inside of her.