Stitches

“He told me you’re leaving,” I begin, softly.

His broad, muscular shoulders rise and fall in a shrug far too casual. “It just feels like time.”

“Because of me,” I say.

“No, not because of you.”

“Because of Ashley?”

He drags his gaze to mine, making a visible effort not to let it drop below my face. “It’s for me, all right? There are things I want out of life that I can’t get here, and I may not be able to get them anywhere else either, but at least somewhere else, no one’s rubbing it in my face.”

I think it’s unfair that our relationship’s existence, our happiness, feels like rubbing it in his face. We don’t go out of our way to express it in front of him, that’s just how we are with one another.

But maybe he understands that, and that’s why he wants to leave. This isn’t an instance where anyone has done anything wrong; we’ve simply outgrown one another. Maybe the right thing to do is to let him go. I would miss him all the time, and I know Sebastian would miss him even worse, but maybe that is the right thing for Griff.

Sebastian won’t agree with that, though. I adore my husband, every corner of him, but he has a rigid side when it comes to his loved ones. It works for me; I’m flexible and happy to go along with most things. Letting Griff go is not something he will accept, even if it is better for Griff in the long run, because it will hurt. Because Sebastian thinks he can control the situation; he thinks he can use me to stop Griff from leaving. I understand, though. I feel for him. Sebastian has lost enough in his life, and he won’t volunteer to lose anything more—especially a relationship so crucial to him.

I can’t make Griff stay if it will make him miserable, but I can’t let him go because that will make Sebastian miserable.

These two men that I love are breaking apart, and maybe I am the only thing that can stitch them back together.

I try to visualize where to go from here. I imagine sliding up against Griff’s hard body, running a hand up under the black T-shirt he’s wearing tonight. I can explore the muscular chest that I got a good look at a few weeks ago. I can dip my head and kiss him, swirl my tongue around his nipples, run my hands down his chiseled abdomen.

It all makes me feel… I don’t even know. Too many things. There is attraction mixed in there somewhere. Curiosity. What would he do? What would it feel like to have his rough hands skimming the planes of my body? What does he taste like? What does his cock look like? Is he a tender lover, or more aggressive?

I shouldn’t know any of this about Griff.

“You okay?” he asks, watching me go through this weird range of emotions.

I meet his gaze. “I don’t want you to go. We don’t—” I cut myself off, since he rolls his eyes. He’s already told me to quit the “we bullshit,” but…

“Sometimes you have to do the hard thing, Moira.”

“What if you didn’t?” I ask.

“I do. I’ve thought this over. Sebastian already—”

Instead of waiting for him to finish telling me how he needs to leave for reasons I already know, I give him something new. I scoot closer, tentatively looking up at him. His blue eyes are wide and wary. They drop to my sheet-covered body again, drifting down like he’s imagining what’s underneath.

“Would you still need to go… if you didn’t just have to watch?” I ask, feeling my whole body flush at my brazenness.

It’s heady, the way he looks at me. Like I’m the most valuable thing he can ever imagine looking at. Like he’d give everything to be able to see beneath the sheet. I can see his struggle when he meets my gaze again. I wonder how I haven’t seen it before. Was it always there, just beneath the surface, or did this just start with Ashley’s betrayal?

“Did you leave Ashley?” I ask.

He nods slowly.

I heave a sigh of relief. “Good. She didn’t deserve you.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” he tells me, honestly.

I don’t know how to explain it with words—or I guess I do, but I don’t have the nerve left. I don’t have it in me to tell him my husband is willing to let him fuck me, if that’s what it takes to make him stay. He wouldn’t like that, anyway. Even if Griff literally dreams about what it’s like to be inside me, h

e wouldn’t like Sebastian using me that way.

Sometimes I like being used. Not like this, but… well, we’ve never tried it before.

In the most direct way possible, I explain—by dropping the sheet and revealing my naked breasts. For the briefest moment, he stares. Then he forces his gaze away, demanding, “What the hell are you doing?”