Making It Last (Camelot 4)

His foot found hers under the table, and he slid past so their legs pressed together, calf to calf.

He wished there were some way to tell her. Some new way that involved different words. Another language.

He said “Yes,” and it sounded like nothing.

“Did she love him?” she asked.

He looked up, wanting to see the answer in her expression, but now it was her turn to avoid his gaze.

Neither of them comfortable. Neither sure what to say in this conversation that wasn’t a conversation. This fantasy that wasn’t a fantasy, quite.

“I thought she did,” he said. “She left me for him.”

She drew a circle on the railing with her fingernail. “I think we’re both doing this wrong now.”

“Sorry. We can talk about something else.”

But he didn’t know what she wanted to talk about.

He didn’t know what she wanted at all.

They’d started off together in a pitch-black basement—not so auspicious, but they’d had a good time together in the dark. Swapped jokes, traded innuendo until he was so distracted by his dick he’d forgotten to be afraid down there.

He’d taken her home that night, and then he’d hesitated. Wanting her, but worried if he slept with her he’d get in over his head.

He was in over his head now. So far in.

He wanted in deeper. Wanted to dig himself in so far that there wasn’t any possibility of either of them turning back. To dig until the only option was to keep going forward, together.

But seeing her with that guy at the bar—thinking about Marc—he couldn’t pretend she didn’t have other options. She could leave him. It wasn’t in his power to stop her, if that was what she wanted.

“You took off your ring,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“So I think you must want something from me.”

“Something, huh?”

“Something.”

She didn’t answer. Just kept drawing circles on the railing with the shining tip of her polished fingernail.

He imagined that fingernail on his dick and shuddered when the image swamped him in a wave of lust. It was fucking weird, wanting his wife this way—like she was a stranger, and so was he. But he did. He did want her. And more than that, he wanted her to want him. He wanted her to tease him with those fingernails, to invite him back to her room and fuck him like they’d never done it before.

“You tell me what you need,” he said. “And I swear to God, I will give it to you.”

She smiled faintly. “What if I want a house on the beach?”

“I’ll build you one.”

“A million dollars?”

“I’ll rob a bank.”

“What if I want some of that cockiness, back in my room?” She put the glass to her lips.

“You want the cockiness or the cock?”