I wouldn’t blame him if he opted out of this one.
Even if he didn’t blame me, didn’t find me disgusting, just dealing with the fact that it had happened at all was hard. There were so many what-ifs. So many lost chances.
So many things that couldn’t be fixed.
We’d lost thirty years that would never be returned.
I had trust issues. Privacy issues.
I heard Tim say goodbye.
Twisting my hands, I turned to face the man I loved with all of my heart, feeling trapped.
He was smiling, his brown eyes twinkling. He pulled me to him and kissed me, opening his mouth and taking me with him into the place where only he and I existed. My tongue met his, and everything else faded away.
“Mmmm.” His hungry growl made me hungry, too. “I thought about this all day long.”
With his hands at my back, he pulled me against him, fitting his groin to my pelvis. He was hard.
And offering me a respite. Another time out of time. A trip back to fantasy land. I accepted his invitation.
I was in that place again, lying with Tim, floating on clouds of sensation, untouchable. One perfect moment led to another, until . . . it didn’t.
Tim’s fingers were between my legs, touching me. I could feel the crescendo building, and then, out of nowhere, there was dread. And coldness.
I lost all sensation. And started to panic.
I’d promised myself I never had to have sex again. I’d promised. I didn’t have to.
His fingers continued to move against my private parts, and I started to cry and squeezed my eyes shut to hold in the tears. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want . . . It had been so good. And I’d hoped and . . . I didn’t want to do this. I’d promised me I didn’t have to. Ever again. And . . . I was trapped. I couldn’t get out. I had to get out. I had to.
“Hey, Babe!” It was Tim’s voice. He was above me. But there was nothing between my legs.
“Babe?”
I opened my eyes.
“Babe, it’s me. Tim.”
I focused on the voice. And then the face above mine. I looked into his eyes. They called out to me just as they always had. He was right. It was Tim. My Tim.
Reaching for him, I pulled him down to me and held on while I sobbed.
Tara was in the bathroom. She’d calmed down, and they’d gone out for something to eat. He didn’t want to push her, but he had to know what was going on. He didn’t have a hope in hell of fixing it if he didn’t know what it was.
Whether she wanted to talk or not, at this point he needed an explanation at the very least.
The bathroom door opened and she came slowly out into the dimly lit room. Sometime between disaster and dinner, the sun had set.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“This. Me. The day.”
“I’m not sorry for any of it. Come sit with me,” he said, patting the couch beside him.
She sat down, but no part of her body was touching his. He pulled her over and put his arm around her shoulder.