“We need more than that,” he says. “I’ll wait.”
“No. Tell me.” I’m nipping at his heels, and grab his elbow, turning him back to face me. “Baby, what is it?”
“It’s what I said.” He reaches up and spears his fingers into the hair brushing my shoulders. “I miss you.”
“But I’m right—”
“Don’t say you’re right here. You know that isn’t what I mean, Bris.”
“Sex?” I ask, a frown knitting my brows. “Is this because we went a week without having sex?”
“That’s just a symptom.” He caresses my cheekbone with his thumb. “This is not what I signed up for, babe, and I’m not gonna tolerate it.”
“Not tolerating what?”
“Half measures. Glimpses of you. Snatches of time. Weekly fucks. That is not who we are, and I won’t settle for it.”
“It’s a season,” I say gently. “Everyone has kids and a job and commitments that pull them in different directions for certain seasons.”
“We don’t have to. I love our kids. I’d give my left nut and my whole life for them. You know that, but they aren’t the reason I married you.”
“But, Grip—”
“And I love my career. Love performing and doing all the things I get to do, the things you help make happen for me, but I don’t want those things more than I want you.”
“I get that, but—”
“If we aren’t first, nothing else feels right, and I want to adjust things before they ever feel wrong.”
“Agreed.” I finally get a word in. “After the tour—”
“No, before the tour,” he cuts in softly. “On the tour.”
I tip my head back to study the implacable lines of his face.
“What do you mean on the tour?” I ask. “I was thinking I would work from New York while you’re away. So what do you mean on the tour?”
His beautifully sculpted mouth tightens and turns down at the corners.
“I want you and the kids to come on tour with me.”
My eyes widen and a frown pulls my eyebrows low.
“Babe, there’s so much going on. I can’t possibly drop everything to trot off after you around the world.”
“I’m not asking you to drop everything, and I sure as hell would never ask you to trot, but you have to admit we’ve been seeing less of each other.”
“I’ve got shit to do, Grip.”
“So do I, Bris, but none of it is more important than this.” He presses my hand to his heart, which thuds the rhythm of his love and devotion against my palm. “More important than us.”
“Of course not.” I step closer, resting my forehead against his chin. “Of course not, but we have responsibilities. We can’t just—”
His thumb lifts my chin so we’re staring at each other. “We can do whatever the fuck we want to do.”
He dips his head and seals his lips over mine, invading my mouth with powerful strokes of his tongue until my knees go weak and my bones melt. By the time he’s done, only his wide hands holding my hips and my fingers clinging to his shoulders keep me standing.
He bends to leave kisses on my neck. I tilt my head back so he can lick me, bite me, whatever he sees fit to do. His lips brush my ear with feather-soft words.