Nothing But This (Broken Pieces 2)

He felt tearing regret at the loss, but his hand had a life of its own, not caring about his remorse or pain. Instead it crept under her skirt and found the lace of her panties.

She arched into his touch, and thus encouraged, his hand slipped down the front of the lace and found her sopping, swollen slickness an instant later. He gently grasped the full bud of her clitoris between the knuckles of his first and middle fingers and rolled it in a firm massaging motion.

She cried out, her arms clamping around his neck. Her grip was almost painful as she tried to drag him even closer.

“Oh my God!” She sounded shocked, almost horrified, and she buried her face in his neck as she pushed herself against his hand and shuddered against him. Her orgasm was fast and powerful and left her limp in his arms.

He was as shocked as Olivia. She had always been extremely sensitive and receptive to his touch, but this was way faster than usual. She had gone quiet in his arms, still shuddering intermittently, her breath coming in harsh sobs, but she was no longer urgently moving against him or kissing him.

“That was such a mistake,” she whispered into his ear, and he screwed his eyes shut.

“We still have this, Olivia. It was good between us before. It can be good again.”

“I admit we have some serious chemistry, but . . . ,” she began to say, her face still in his neck, before she paused and then sighed. “Uh . . . do you mind moving your hand?”

The request was so polite that for a second, he had no idea what she meant. Until she wriggled against him. He flushed and withdrew his hand from her panties. He stepped away from her in the same motion.

“Whoa,” he cried in alarm when she wobbled, and he grabbed her arm to keep her steady. She found her footing immediately, and he loosened his grip and reluctantly let her go.

Her eyes dropped to the front of his jeans, which did little to conceal his erection.

“Sorry,” she said with a grimace. “That can’t be pleasant.”

“It’s not. But it won’t kill me.”

She didn’t say anything in response to that, merely smoothed her hair back from her face. “You should go. Thank you. For the door and the plumbing . . . but please just leave.”

“Olivia, we still have this spark between us. We can—”

“It’s just sex, Greyson. It’s always been just sex between us,” she interrupted fiercely.

“We made it work before.”

“You know that’s not true,” she said tiredly. “It didn’t work. It never could. Because without the sex, what else did we have? Just lies and distrust. Our marriage was doomed to fail, and our relationship—such as it was—should have remained sexual until it burned itself out and we both went our separate ways.”

What the hell is wrong with me? Libby despaired. Why was it so hard to resist him?

“You know that you’re sending me some very confusing signals, right?” he asked gently.

“I know that,” she admitted, her voice exasperated and filled with regret. “You don’t think I know that? I’m confused too. I know I don’t want you in my life anymore, but for some crazy reason I still want you in my bed. I’m only human, and we’ve always been really great together, and I can’t stop thinking of that.”

And it didn’t help that he was suddenly so much sweeter, more approachable, and more appealing than before. Her head and heart couldn’t agree on how she felt about him. Her head told her she hated him and should keep him at a distance. Her heart said he was the father of her child and he was trying to make amends . . . and then her horny body joined the conversation and said, Hey, guys, let’s sleep with him. That’ll be fun and awesome and cool, right?

Ridiculous.

“You still want me in your bed?” he asked, his face lighting up. Jeez, how like a man to focus on that detail.

“Yes, but it’s not going to happen.”

His face took on a frustratingly neutral expression before he nodded. “You’re right, I should leave. But . . .” She tilted her head, waiting for him to continue. “Can I come tomorrow? To replace the door handle?”

“You can come in the morning or evening, after Clara and I have left. The door will obviously be unlocked . . .”

He nodded, and before she knew what he was going to do, he walked to the playpen to stare down at the sleeping baby.

“I’ll see you soon, baby girl,” he said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watched her. He turned his head unexpectedly and snared Libby’s eyes with his intent gaze.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice holding a gruff note of sincerity. “For today. It meant everything.”