but two. His hand slid over to cup her other breast, squeezing softly, possessing. And before he knew what was happening, his other hand had followed the first, until both her breasts were captive to him.
Becca’s nipples hardened in his palms, tight buds poking at him. She liked him to run his fingers lightly over the center of that hardness.
So he did. Just briefly. For a moment. No more.
Teasing the tips of her breasts made her writhe.
That silky white triangle was like a flag, blazoning, capturing his attention, bringing his gaze back to it over and over again.
But he wasn’t going to do any more than look at it. No matter how badly he wanted to rip those panties off his wife’s body, no matter how eagerly she invited him, how badly she wanted him, he wasn’t going to do it.
He just wasn’t.
But he could play with her breasts. He was already there, anyway. She felt so good, so right, naked beneath his palms. Kind of like coming home. And she, pushing her nipples more firmly into his palms, was enjoying herself, too.
They always talked while they were making love. From that very first night, when she’d been nervous and he, so awkwardly rushed and needy, had been trying to take his time with her, they’d made love verbally, as well as physically.
But tonight, neither one of them said a word. They weren’t making love.
As Becca started to quiet in his arms, her lower body not quieting at all as it issued the familiar invitation, Will teased her nipples again. She wanted him to. She was telling him she wanted him to.
So he did.
He was in actual pain, strained to the point of near agony, but he wasn’t going to give in to it. He lay back, propped against the pillows, taking Becca with him. And was very careful not to move his lower body—or to let hers touch it, either.
A man could only stand so much.
Tilting her head, Becca gazed up at him, her blue eyes languorous with a passion he’d missed more than he’d realized. She licked her open lips, and he lowered his mouth to cover them. They’d looked so incomplete, so needy.
She was hot and moist and tasted just like he’d known she would. Like Becca. God, he’d missed that taste.
He’d just kiss her. That would be the compromise. Nothing more.
“Mmm,” he groaned. Hearing his own voice surprised him. They weren’t speaking. Weren’t making love.
Little sounds were coming from Becca’s throat. Hungry, wanton sounds. Sounds he’d never heard before.
Will kissed her harder, covering her mouth completely, insatiably, mating his tongue with hers.
The guttural sounds from her throat were driving him mad. Making him do things he’d never done before, or at least not in the same way.
Stop! his mind yelled at her as he pulled her down beneath him, riding her wildly through their clothes, his penis down between her legs. She was making him insane.
The friction of his frantic movements rode his boxers down. He continued moving against her until, growing impatient, he reached down and pushed them to his knees.
His penis was free. Hard and heavy and free.
Without thought, Will stopped at the triangle between Becca’s legs, pulling it to one side—just enough for him to find her moist opening and plunge himself inside.
She was climaxing by the time he completed his first thrust. He climaxed on his second.
It was the most incredible experience he’d ever had in his life.
And he hated himself for what he’d done.
SHE’D BEEN WRONG. She’d told Will that their making love wouldn’t have to change anything—except that it might help. It did change things. But not for the better.
If anything, Will was more distant from her than ever. They were having sex often, nightly when they could manage it, but they weren’t making love anymore. For Will, adding sex to the equation only made his struggle worse. Becca could see that.