Midlife Do Over

“That’s not true. We were great.”

“We were a rite-of-passage. Childhood sweethearts, first sex partners, first heartbreaks, sure. But it was never love and if it was, I’m glad I’ve steered clear of that trap all these years.” She sighed and smiled into the distance, looking proud of herself that she hadn’t love anyone in twenty years.

“Not something I’d be bragging about, Pip.”

Her nostrils flared again. “I said don’t call me that. Nicknames are for friends and we are not friends. We never were,” she whispered that last part to herself.

“You were my best friend.”

“Ha!” She laughed and laughed, until her face was red and she was out of breath. “That’s why you waited until the day before you left for Nashville to tell me you were going and not taking me with you?”

“Pip…”

“I’d hate to see how you treat people you actually give a damn about.”

“I loved you,” I told her. “I still do.”

Her smile faded and her eyes went dark. “You never loved me, Ryan. I know that, and I don’t blame you. We were kids with silly fantasies that were destined to be nothing more than broken promises. We had attraction and chemistry and we thought it was love. Silly, right?”

“I loved you with all my heart and I never stopped.”

“No!” She slammed her glass down and the stem cracked. “You didn’t. You never did. I was just a fun girl willing to sleep with you, but it wasn’t love. Not for you.”

I stood and set my glass down. “Don’t tell me how I felt, Pip.” There was less than a foot between us now. “You can be sore about how things ended up between us, but don’t downplay what we had. It was love. The big kind of love that you never forget. That kind that stays with you forever and ever.”

“Like a chronic illness,” she mumbled into the wine glass.”

That was it. My temper flared and I reached out to her, wanting desperately to shake some sense into the stubborn woman. “Does this feel like a chronic illness, Pip?” Her blue eyes widened and I was sure a smart remark was on the tip of her tongue, but my mouth crashed down over hers, consumed her until she was silent. Until she gave in to the heat that always sparked between us. Even when we were mad. Even when she hated me, or wanted to anyway.

Her hands clung to me and then fisted in the fabric of my robe. She moaned when my tongue slid against the seam of her lips, urging them open. Our tongues collided and Pippa melted into me, moaned again. The sound hit me right between the legs and I deepened the kiss, her taste taking me back to a time when she was mine. A time that we were happy and planning for a future that never came to be.

In that moment, there in the Lover’s Suite, the past didn’t matter. The future didn’t matter, the only thing that I cared about was hearing more of those sexy throaty sounds she made when our tongues touched, the way her hands slid beneath my robe and over my shoulders, down my back until the robe hit the ground.

Pippa sucked in a breath and pulled away, her gaze dark as it raked over my body. “Totally unfair,” she growled and recaptured my mouth, gliding her tongue back and forth across my lips. Her kisses were more intoxicating than the wine, and I let her take control just to see how far she would take it, but when she nipped my chin and my jaw, that playful sexiness that I remembered so well came back to me in vivid color, and I lifted her in my arms.

She gasped, as if suddenly aware that very little fabric separated us. Specifically, her soft and fluffy robe was the only thing between us, and when I lifted her in my arms, her hot, wet flesh pressed against where I was stiff and aching for her.

“Goodness,” she growled and held on to me with one hand while the other roamed my body as if she was trying to remember every inch of me. Every muscle, every dip and plane of my flesh.

One drop was all it took. One little drop of her arousal slid down my belly and that was it, my control snapped. I marched us over to the bed and tossed her down, staring at her because twenty years hadn’t changed how gorgeous she was. Long legs, still lean and well-muscled, ample hips and a narrow waist punctuated with tits that were more than a handful. “So fucking gorgeous,” I growled and knelt on the bed, eager for a taste of her.

“Ry,” she gasped when my shoulders spread her thighs. “You don’t…oh!” The words died on her tongue when my tongue slid through her wet folds in a slow up and down motion. Eventually her hips joined in the dance, swirling eagerly as I lapped up her juices and slid my tongue deep inside her. “Oh. Ry.”